#one bed trope

[webaloo]

Joke I came up with at School

[alleiraa]

One Night, One Bed - nm.r

Pairings: Idol! Ni-ki x fem 8th member! reader

Wordcount: ~3k

Summary: After an annoying mix-up at a hotel, leaving you and Ni-ki with only one bed to share, you're confronted with the unspoken words that have been floating around your head for months. But you shouldn't cross that line...you really shouldn't.

Content: MDNI, One-Bed Trope, 8th Member, Friends to Lovers, Confessions, Cuddling (duh), Smut F/M, Fingering, Marking, uhhh I think that's it?

A/N: I love this trope so much, and after learning that Ni-ki is a certified cuddler, I had to do this (also, absolutely obsessed with Limbo Ni-ki).

You walked into the hotel room and dropped your backpack with a huff. The single bed in the middle of the room stared at you mockingly, its perfectly straightened sheets and undisturbed covers daring you to ruin it.

Ni-ki walked in behind you, lugging his large leather duffel. He stopped when he saw the bed, and you felt the sudden urge to create space between the two of you.

“I guess they weren’t lying about the bed mixup.” 

You walked to the window, tossing your bag into the corner, “I guess not.”

You heard him shift on his feet, “I can sleep on the floor, ask them to bring up some extra pillows and blankets…”

“No, it’s fine, we can manage, it’s just a bed.” You said, although your heart raced at the idea of sharing a queen-sized bed with Ni-ki. He was a tall guy, and you knew from the other members that he tended to stretch out in his sleep. You thought about the other members peacefully enjoying their rooms with separate beds, and cursed the gods for making you and Ni-ki the youngest, always getting the leftovers.

Ni-ki walked to the bed. “Which side do you want?”

You jumped onto the right side, closest to the window, and took your phone out. “This side’s fine, want to get room service?”

He smiled and climbed on the bed next to you, reaching for the TV remote, “You read my mind.”

Thirty minutes later, two plates of potstickers and a big bowl of orange chicken with rice sat between the two of you on the bed. You watched the TV together, the light from the screen casting a soft glow on your faces. It was almost midnight, and the building was quiet. Based on the group chat, you guessed that most of the others were asleep. Only Jungwon, doing his nightly Weverse messages, was still active. You loved the stillness that came with staying up late. It was a moment for you to have the world to yourself, to take a break from all the day-to-day activity. 

Ni-ki was the same; he often joined you on late-night walks or midnight snacks in the kitchen. You didn’t talk all the time, just enjoyed each other's presence, passing the time together when your heads were too loud to sleep. 

But tonight was different.

Tonight, there were no separate rooms to retreat to when your eyes started to get heavy. There was only this bed, nothing to cut the tension that hung between the two of you on lonely nights. 

Ni-ki’s deep laugh echoed next to you, sending a jolt down your back. You shifted on the bed, taking another bite of food before standing up. “It’s getting late.”

Ni-ki nodded, “Yeah, we should sleep.”

You stared at each other for a second, unsure how to navigate the new situation. “I guess I’ll shower first?”

He nodded again, eyes darting away and back to you, “Sounds good.”

You bit your lip slightly and grabbed your bag before heading to the bathroom. You heard him start to clean up the food as you closed the door.

You showered quickly, too anxious to enjoy it properly. You opened your bag to get your sleep shirt, and after a few seconds of digging, realized with horror that you had forgotten it in the dorms. You looked through your other clothes, but none of them were baggy enough to be comfortable for sleeping. You sighed, putting on your sleep shorts (that you thankfully remembered), and wrapping a towel around your chest. 

You cracked open the door to the bathroom and found Ni-ki lounging comfortably on the bed, his head propped on the raised arm behind his head. “Ni-ki?”

He glanced up, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the towel you clutched to your chest.

“Could I borrow one of your shirts? I forgot mine.”

His eyes got even wider, but he didn’t waste a second. “Yeah, totally.” He went to his bag and grabbed a large black t-shirt, tossing it to you, his eyes avoiding you like the wrong side of a magnet.

“Thanks,” you stammered, quickly closing the door behind you. You leaned against the door, cursing yourself for the second time that day. Of all days, you chose this one to be forgetful?

You removed the towel and pulled Ni-ki’s shirt over your head. It was huge, falling low enough to cover your thighs. Unable to resist your curiosity, you sniffed it slightly. It smelled like him, well, like his perfume at least. Mandarin and basil, a calming scent you’d always liked on him. 

You finished up in the bathroom and cracked the door open slowly, avoiding Ni-ki’s eyes as you set your bag back in its corner. But you felt his gaze on your back the entire time, dragging down your back and legs. You felt it like a physical touch, a warm caress down your hot skin. It made you shiver.

You let your eyes glance up as you crawled under the covers. He was staring, but clearly trying very hard not to. He ran a hand through his honey-colored hair and stood up almost as soon as you sat down, like he couldn’t stand to be near you. Without a word, he grabbed his stuff and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You scrolled on Weverse as you listened to the shower run, replying to posts and comments. It was the only thing that kept your mind off the feeling of Ni-ki’s shirt on your skin, and what you would do if Ni-ki’s legs brushed against yours in the night…

The shower stopped, and a few minutes later, the door opened. Ni-ki walked out with his hair damp, a towel resting on his shoulder over a white tank top. His boxers hung low on his hips, revealing the top of his V-line. You dragged your eyes away, feeling heat creep up your neck. 

He rubbed his hair with the towel one more time and climbed into bed. The space was even smaller than you anticipated. If you shifted your legs more than a few inches, you knew you’d brush against him. You could feel his body heat already sinking into your skin, making the covers feel hot and stifling. You felt the urge to throw the covers back, but you felt strange being so exposed. The sheets were the only thing between your bare skin and Ni-ki’s gaze. 

Ni-ki scrolled on his phone beside you, chuckling at random TikToks. You were looking at your phone, but your mind was fully concentrated on the proximity of Ni-ki’s elbow to your shoulder. You shifted to give yourself more room.

He looked over, “Comfortable?”

You smiled, “Yeah, just warm.”

He glanced down, “You can take off your shorts if you want, I don’t mind.”

You bit your lip. Maybe he didn’t mind, but you weren’t so sure you didn’t. But the longer Ni-ki looked at you, the warmer you got, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you were practically melting. 

“Ok…” You slipped off your shorts from under the sheets, leaving yourself in nothing but underwear. 

You looked at him, and he quickly glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. You swore you could see a hint of red on his cheeks…

You bit your lip, “I’m going to turn off the lights now.”

He nodded, eyes locked on his phone.

You turned off the lamp on your side table, and he turned off his, plunging the room into darkness. The glow of Ni-ki’s screen was the only light in the room, and you turned so your back was to him. 

A few minutes later, Ni-ki put his phone on the bedside table and turned on his side. You felt his breath ghosting the back of your neck, and heard him inhale sharply. “You smell good.”

His voice was so quiet you thought you were hearing things, “What?”

“You smell really good.” 

You were not hearing things.

He moved slightly closer.

“It’s probably my shampoo,” you whispered. 

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

His breath was hot on your neck, and you put all of your energy into keeping your heart rate steady. You thought he would touch you; you realized you wanted him to.

But he didn’t, and ten minutes later, the quiet sounds of his breathing filled the room. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. What were you thinking? This was better anyway, you wouldn’t want to make things…awkward in the group. But you couldn’t help but acknowledge the hint of disappointment that sat heavy in your gut. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the tension slip off your shoulders as the softness of the mattress sank under you. You listened to the quiet sounds of Ni-ki’s breathing and slowly slipped into sleep.

After what felt like hours, you were awoken by the heat of your skin and a thin layer of sweat on your neck. You were hot. One of your legs was thrown over the top of the covers, your bare skin exposed to the room. You were curled forward slightly, hugging a bundle of sheets to your chest. 

And that’s when you noticed the arm wrapped around your waist. 

Ni-ki’s chest was pressed against your back, holding you close so your body molded around the curve of his torso. His face was buried in your hair, his lips brushing against your neck. His body heat flowed into you like a heater, setting your skin on fire for more than one reason. 

You shifted slightly, your arm ghosting over the one wrapped around your waist. Ni-ki made a sound and pulled you even closer, sighing deeply. 

You froze, unsure whether to move or keep still. You tentatively placed your hand over Ni-ki’s, stroking the skin slightly. 

He stirred again, “y/n,” he whispered. 

You tensed, your name falling from his lips like a confession, his voice low and rough with sleep. 

“Yeah?”

He burrowed his face between your neck and shoulder, “So warm,” he murmured.

You weren’t sure if he was just saying things or if he was awake. “Ni-ki?” You whispered.

No response.

A devious thought slipped into your head. You started to wonder how he would react if he were awake. You moved your leg, the one trapped under the covers, until it tangled with his. Then you interlaced your fingers, keeping his arm locked around your waist. 

You heard him exhale, and he squeezed your hand.

You moved again, this time lightly grinding against his crotch, which you felt pressed against your ass.

His arm moved, letting go of your hand and drifting away from your waist down your thigh. He traced the skin lightly, only brushing your hot skin with the tips of his fingers. Shivers raced down your spine, and you felt a slight pressure building in your core.

“Ni-ki?” You whispered.

His hand returned to your waist, this time slipping under your (his) shirt and resting on your bare stomach. His mouth went to your ear, “Did I tell you how good you look in my shirt?”

You smiled, “No.”

“You make me crazy.” He kissed your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as it fell across your skin. 

You sighed softly, your hand drifting up to his hair. You tried to turn over to face him, but his hand on your stomach held you in place, moving over to grip your hip. “Stay still for me.” his hand dipped lower, brushing over your panties that were already wet with your arousal. “Let me make you feel good.”

You grinded against him again, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips, “Ok.”

His other hand reached under and around you to grip your breast. He squeezed it slightly before brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. His other hand cupped your core, his palm just barely rubbing against your clit.

You groaned, your whole body pressed against his chest as Ni-ki’s hands wandered over your body. Just light enough to make you whine with need. He held you tight, whispering quiet praise in your ears as you squirmed against him.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He said, his breath racing over your skin like fire. He continued to kiss your neck, working his way to the nape. He flicked out his tongue, wetting the skin. 

You moaned, “Ni-ki…”

“Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.” Without warning, he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin, making you gasp. You arched against him, drawing a groan from Ni-ki’s lips as you rubbed against his hard length pressing against you. He brought his mouth back to the aching spot, running his tongue along the wound and sucking softly. 

The pain mixed with pleasure, and you felt your walls start to clench around nothing. “Ni-ki, I need you, please.”

“Yeah? What do you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I-inside me, please-” You gasp as Ni-ki’s fingers dipped under your panties and into your folds in one fluid movement. The hand that had been playing with your nipple grasped the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up until your tits were exposed to the cold air of the room. He massaged one with his right hand and bent his head over your body to take the left one into his mouth, licking hungrily. His left hand continued its assault on your core, slightly dipping into your entrance and pulling out, never going where you needed him. 

You moved your arm to tangle in his hair, pushing his head down closer to your chest. A deep rumble vibrated from his throat as you pulled on his hair. The sound made your walls clench again, and you moved against Ni-ki’s hand, desperate to be filled.

His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he turned his head to capture your lips. The kiss was messy and desperate, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease. You felt his finger finally duck fully through your entrance. You moaned, and his mouth swallowed it, the wet sounds of your tongues mixing with the sound of his finger squelching in your juices. 

He groaned with you and slipped in another finger, the stretch making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp as you felt your orgasm building. “I-I’m close.”

He picked up the pace of his fingers, “Let me hear your sounds y/n, you’re so pretty when you’re loud.” 

Your nails dug into his scalp as you felt the pressure build, your breathing turning into desperate gasps. Ni-ki watched your face as your orgasm ripped through you. Your eyes widened, your back arching against his chest. He kissed you through it, placing gentle marks up your neck and on your cheeks. The pleasure swept through you in waves, tingling and pulsing across your body. You stroked Ni-ki’s hair, breathing slowly as the pressure dissipated and settled. 

He removed his fingers from your hole, bringing them up to his lips and sucking softly, holding your gaze the whole time. Then he leaned down and kissed you, gently this time. You tasted yourself on his lips, and you sighed breathlessly against him. 

He pulled away and lay back down, pulling you tight against him. He kissed your neck, “My girl,” he whispered. 

You closed your eyes. The warmth from his body, paired with the exhaustion of your muscles, beckoned you back to sleep. Ni-ki traced slow circles on the bare skin of your stomach, murmuring into your ear as you drifted off with the feeling of his reverent hands drifting over your skin.

The next morning, you woke up to the feeling of warm sunlight on your face and a large hand holding yours. 

You slowly opened your eyes and found Ni-ki’s sleepy face staring back at you. His features were soft and relaxed, his hair messy and sticking up in every direction. You’d always thought Ni-ki was especially cute in the mornings.

Your hand rested next to your face, and he held it gently within his own, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“You look so beautiful when you sleep.” He said, his eyes locked on yours.

You smiled teasingly, “You definitely have the best bedhead I’ve ever seen.”

He laughed and buried his face in his pillow.

You interlocked your fingers with his, bringing his hand up to your lips and kissing it softly.

He looked up, watching you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “So…” he said, his eyes darting nervously between your face and your interlocked hands.

“So…” You said back.

He reached out with his free hand and brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “Everything I said last night was true. I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you.”

You smiled, but it quickly faded when you thought about what awaited you outside of the bubble of the hotel room. “I just don’t want to hurt the group.” You whispered. 

He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. “We won’t, not if we’re careful. You’re mine, and I’m yours. We’ve always known it, and ignoring it will only make it worse.”

You thought back to the numerous late nights spent eating ramen and laughing until you were both crying, the unspoken words you never dared acknowledge. You saw now that the two of you had always been on interweaving paths, paths that were inevitably set for collision. And now that you tasted the sparks, felt them race down your skin, you knew there was no going back.

You moved, crawling over him until you straddled his waist. His hands instinctively grabbed your hips, looking up at you with wide, hungry eyes. You leaned towards him slowly, “You’re mine, you said?” 

He smiled and met you halfway, his lips parting around yours. His hand ran through your hair, tugging slightly as he pulled back to whisper against your lips. “And I’m yours.”

[khemical-katalyst]

[firelilyfox]

two friends and one bed

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve knows what he wants. He just doesn’t believe he’s allowed to have it.

Warnings: friends to lovers. one bed. words of affection. yearning. no use of y/n.

——————

 When Steve first met you, you had a boyfriend. He remembers that very clearly. 

You’d laughed at something he said - head tipped back and eyes bright with joy - and he’d thought … oh no. He could feel his heart doing a somersault. 

And then you’d said „My boyfriend loves that movie too,“ and just like that he shoved the feeling down. Because Steve Harrington, reformed idiot, does not cross this kind of line. 

So he becomes your friend. Just your friend. And it’s easy somehow. 

Movie nights with the whole gang and you teasing him about rewinding tapes at Family Video. Him stealing fries off your plate and pretending he doesn’t notices the way you look at him sometimes. 

Then one day, casually, you mentioning you broke up with your boyfriend. Steve nods, says he’s sorry it didn’t work out and absolutely does not let himself think anything else. Because if he would … he would’ve been overstepping a boundary, he could not go back from. 

A week later, everyone’s at your place. The kids are arguing about what movie to watch, someone spills popcorn, but at some point everything shifts from loud and chaotic to peaceful and warm. 

By midnight, they’re all gone. Except Steve. 

„I’ll help you clean up,“ he says, already stacking cups. 

Your both laughing over something Dustin said earlier while washing the dishes together. Time passes like it’s nothing and suddenly it’s the middle of the night. 

„I should go home.“ 

You glance at the clock on the counter. „It’s like three in the morning. You could just stay? I mean. If you want.“ 

He hesitates for half a second. „You sure?“ 

„Yeah. I’ll grab extra pillows.“ 

But your place was small. Too small to have a spare bed and your couch was drenched in sugary lemonade, that Dustin spilled by accident a few hours before. 

„I don’t mind if you don’t mind,“ you say flinching at how stupid that sounds. 

Steve smiles. „I don’t mind.“ 

You lay down on opposite sides at first, with a very obvious, polite distance between you. The darkness wraps itself around both of you like a safety blanket. 

„Goodnight, Steve,“ your voice barely a whisper. Heart beating loudly. 

„Night.“ 

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Neither you or Steve moved a muscle. 

„You still awake?“, Steve asks suddenly. 

„Yeah.“ 

You both laugh quietly like children sharing a secret. Then you start talking again, about stupid things and then about real things. Fears, hopes and childhood stories. The kind of stuff you don’t say in a crowded room. 

At some point, the space between you disappears almost naturally. Your shoulders brushing, but nothing happens until you fall asleep facing each other. 

But … it feels like something did happen. 

And then it keeps happening. The late night talks, shared blankets and hands accidentally touching in the safety of the night, repeating itself. Steve never tries anything. He never pushes further or assumes that something has to happen. 

Which only makes your crush worse, because he is so careful with you. So utterly good … so right. 

One night, the house is quiet. You’re lying on your sides again, facing each other. The soft glow of your bedside lamp as the only light source. 

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. „Steve?“ 

„Yeah?“ 

„Can I ask you something?“ 

He sifts slightly closer. „Always.“ 

You swallow. „How do you… feel about me?“ 

The tension in the room shifts. He doesn’t joke or deflect. Steve just looks at you and for a second, he looks nervous. 

„I’ve liked you,“ he says softly. „Since the day we met.“ 

Your breath catches. 

„But you had a boyfriend,“ he continues. „And even after you broke up … I didn’t wanted to be that guy. I didn’t want you to ever think I was waiting around like some vulture.“ 

You blink, stunned. Unable to find words. 

„I wasn’t keeping my distance because I didn’t want you,“ Steve says with a gentle voice. „I was keeping it because I respect you. I’ve always been loyal to you. I always will be.“ 

You chest feels like it might burst. „So you haven’t thought about …“ you start. 

„Oh, I do,“ he cuts in softly. „Trust me. I do.“ 

You laugh a little breathlessly. „I thought I was loosing my mind,“ you admit. „I’ve liked you for months. I just didn’t know if I was imagining things.“ 

„You weren’t,“ he murmurs. 

„So,“ you whisper, heart racing. „What do we do now?“ 

He smiles - that warm, slightly shy smile that makes you melt. 

„We could,“ he says slowly while reaching for your hand. „Try this. For real. No rushing and without pressure. Just … us.“ 

Your whole face lights up. „Just us.“ 

He reaches up - hesitates for the briefest second - then brushes his thumb along your cheek. „Can I kiss you?“

You nod immediately and he leans in. Slow, to give you time to pull away. But you don’t. 

The kiss is soft, careful even and a little clumsy in the best way. His lips calming yours and a tiny moan escapes his throat. 

When you pull apart, you’re both smiling like idiots. 

„That was worth the wait,“ Steve murmurs. 

„Yeah,“ you grin. „It really was.“ 

He rests his forehead against yours and for the first time in weeks, the space between you isn’t filled with tension. Instead the warmth and certainty takes it‘s place.

You fall asleep that night tangled together. Steve’s arm wrapped around you like it belonged there from the beginning. 

———————

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[withluvmia]

summary : there's only one bed at the hotel.

cw: smut

a/n : wrote this at 2:35 am instead of sleeping

you both stand in the dingy motel room staring at the only bed in the room. your day has already gone to shit and the crappy motel didn't help. you let out a deep suffering sigh rubbing your temples.

Dean who stood beside you shifted awkwardly, "i could take the floor if you'd like" he offered.

you rolled your eyes, "we're adults Dean, we can sleep on the same bed without touching each other with like a bunch of horny teenagers" you had said.

it wasn't a big enough bed for each of you to stay on your respective sides. to make things more comfortable after you kept shifting, he wrapped an arm around you waist and pulled you up against his chest.

he was warm and you settled immediately, frustration turning into comfort. minutes past and his hand started to wander just to test the waters. you had unintentionally shifted against him, you ass pressing back into his crotch. he had sucked in a breath, tried to restrain himself but it was too late. he was already semi-hard the moment you two decided to share a bed.

your breathing hitched, his warm breath ghosting over your throat. "Dean" you tried to warm but instead it came out soft, a near whine. he smirked, "i know it was a bad day, let me make you feel better sweetheart" he coaxed.

he started to leave open mouthed kisses against your neck. and then his hands snaked into your underwear. he cursed against your neck feeling how soaked you were already. "i haven't even touched you properly yet sweetheart" he cooed and ran his fingers through your folds. he gathered your slick before bringing it up to rub harsh circles on your clit.

moans spilled out of you, grinding against his hand. at the moment, he started to rut against you chasing after any friction to relieve his aching cock. you could feel the pre cum sleeping through his boxers, smearing across your ass.

soon you cry out as your climax broke riding it out with his praises, "yeah give it to me sweetheart.... that's a good girl" he grunted against your neck.

he pulled his hand away to lift your thigh back over his leg spreading you nicely. reaching down he freed himself and you gasped at the feeling of his rock hard cock hitting your ass. he lined himself up before pushing in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. sinful sounds left your mouth, mouth hanging open in bliss as he started thrusting.

"atta girl. taking me so good aren't you sweetheart" you could only whine at his praises while you're being stretched so beautifully by cock. every thrust had you whining like a bitch in heat. every thick drag through you velvet walls, fluttering against him. you could feel every ridge. every vein. you clenched down and his grip tightened on your hip, sure to leave bruises.

this man doesn't grunt. he growls. how could he not when your pussy was so warm, the heat and arousal welcoming him so easily. obscene wet sounds filled the room. squelches. skin slapping skin.

soon you cried out his name again, gushing around him. but he didn't stop. this went on for multiple rounds. the worries of the day now forgotten as loads of his cum leaked from your raw pussy. he pulled out briefly, still hard, only to run it between your puffy folds, his tip nudging your swollen clit earning a twitch from you.

with a low chuckle he pushed into your sopping pussy again.

[filmsbyun]

Borrowed Walls || Choi Yeonjun

꒰🗝️꒱ Your apartment’s being renovated, leaving you without a place to stay for the night. Your childhood friend says you can crash at his place and the catch is he shares it with a flatmate. You weren’t planning on saying yes but it’s the safest and the most reasonable option you have.

⤷ ゛ This story is part of the One Bed Series .ᐟ.ᐟ

⊹ wc .ᐟ 16.8k

pairing: childhood friend!choi yeonjun x fem!reader

tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining, sexual tension, original character, attempt humour, fluff, suggestive jokes, drunk!yeonjun, drunken confession [probably missed some]

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, dry humping, nipple play, mild dirty talk, heavy petting, big dick!yeonjun, panty fucking, fingering, handjob, mututal masturbation, multiple positions, lotus position, missionary, prone bone, unprotected sex (not huzzah!), creampie (please don't), biting and marking, sweet aftercare [definitely missed some]

first fic of 2026! and also my first yeonjun fic <3 kinda nervous ngl. i have proof read it but there still might be mistakes scattered here and there so i'm really sorry for that ^^ the reference to yeonjun's outfit in the fic was this <3 Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

It occurred to you a second too late that this was going to cost you more than you’d planned for. You had always been good at anticipating consequences. This time, you’d misjudged the timing.

Well — doomed might have been an exaggerated way to phrase it, but it certainly felt that way when you were standing in the middle of what used to be your bedroom. Renovating your apartment didn’t necessarily mean you were knee deep into damnation, sure, but it was definitely up there with the list of inconveniences that made you rethink every decision you’d supposedly made with confidence.

You started out in this place four years ago, back when splitting rent with a flatmate was the only way to survive college without selling your organs on the internet. You moved out of your parents’ house with a cardboard box of belongings and a stubborn idea that you could do everything on your own. You subsisted on project work, internships, weekend shifts, tutoring jobs that paid in both cash and headaches. Thankfully, you had the scholarship money that kept your tuition from eating your rent alive.

Crazy thing is, that somehow landed you a well-paying job the moment graduation ended, and because you had the good sense your friends often accused you of weaponizing, you saved every extra penny you could. You were socking away paychecks the way other people hoarded takeout receipts. 

That frugality paid off in the most unexpected way when your landlord announced he was getting married, moving abroad, and— oh, right — selling the apartment! And as if the universe wanted to make the choice painfully convenient, your flatmate had moved out just two weeks prior to your landlord's news without so much as a goodbye party. You had waved while thinking of managing the extra rent money and how nice it would be to have the place under your name.

You were served the choice on a silver fucking platter. 

The apartment was Pinterest perfect and it was everything you had ever wanted — light that fell the way soft film light does in pictures, a ten-minute commute to your office, a block of quiet shops where you’d learned the barista by name. And the price was not a fantasy number.

So naturally, you bought it. Papers signed, small celebratory drinks taken, and spent the next few days internally screaming at the idea that you now owned property. You — who once didn’t know how to cook rice without Googling it — now legally possessed a piece of real estate. It made you feel simultaneously grown-up and like an imposter in someone else’s adult life. 

It should have been the high point of a long series of sensible choices; the problem, however, was that you had never owned a place before and therefore had no earthly idea that buying an apartment sometimes meant getting a call from the building manager about structural inspections and code compliance. You called your mother later asking for directions, and she laughed at your face before ending the call. How fun!

Not to mention, you had overlooked the single most vital part of the process that you wouldn’t be allowed to live there during the particularly loud, dusty parts of the work; you had overlooked the two-week window of demo and piping and men in fluorescent vests; you had overlooked, most catastrophically, the implication that you needed somewhere to sleep until the hammering stopped.

So yes, doomed was performative, but not untrue.

But see, you had wanted this and you’d earned it. You were also suddenly, gloriously, alarmingly unprepared for the practicalities of owning a place, which was its own kind of chaotic humility. The next logical step was obvious, of course, find a roof for a few nights. Preferably one that didn’t come with the word “hotel.” Preferably one that involved fewer fluorescent vests.

And that, by the mercy of a long-standing friendship who always returned your favors, is how the idea of crashing at Yeonjun’s — because he insisted, and because it was safe, and because your floors were about to sound like the inside of a drum — suddenly stopped being a Plan B and became the only plan you could live with.

Your lord and saviour — Choi Yeonjun — rolled up in his car on the morning of the renovation day. This dude knew when to flaunt style, stepping out of the car like some movie hero wearing sunglasses as he spotted you. A smirk and a cock of his eyebrows as he waved at you, to which your smile painfully twitched at the edges, threatened to snap into an actual scowl, while your brain did the rapid-fire calculation of whether your neighbors had the misfortune of witnessing his stupid ass and embarrassing actions. 

“Do I carry your baby first?” he called, pointing finger guns at the potted plant in your hands before pivoting one finger toward you. “Or do I carry my baby first—oomf!”

Whatever punchy line he had prepared died in a strangled squeak as you shoved the plant into his chest to make him stumble backward, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. A perfectly orchestrated disaster in slow motion. You spun away before he could weaponize his cheshire grin.

“Less talking, more helping,” you said over your shoulder. “Handle her gently. She’s seen things.”

Ushering your friend to carefully place the plant at the back of his car, you punctuated all your words and actions with a grateful, charming smile. If he was going to give you a roof over your head until your apartment came back to life, you had to be nice to him, right?

Of course, you knew deep down you didn’t have to act nice. Yeonjun had always been that friend who would show up at your door the moment you even hinted at a problem. Hard times, awkward situations, you name it — he’d be there. There was no hesitation, no ‘let me see if I can help’, no calculating pause to gauge if you deserved it. Sure, you poked fun at each other relentlessly, a constant volley of teasing and one-upmanship that made your friendship a delicate dance of ego and affection but beyond the teasing, beyond the sarcasm, beyond all the jabs that left you both laughing or wanting to rip each other’s head off, Yeonjun had seamlessly morphed into something more permanent than a childhood friend — he was family.

Still, him being so unnervingly well-behaved, so obedient and agreeable, without the faintest attempt at pissing you off was… suspicious. You told yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just in a good mood! But the longer it went one, the more unsettling it became. He didn't let you lift a single thing, intercepting every bag before your hand even reached for them. He even opened the car door for you, palm resting on the roof like a gentleman so you wouldn’t bump your head. Strike two.

Then, when he mentioned taking you out for breakfast before heading to his place, it was the third streak of suspicious behavior that made your internal skeptic raise a fist. Now as a person he was polite, yes. He held doors open for strangers, tipped generously, helped aunties carry groceries without being asked. Yeonjun was a lot of things but being a gentleman with you? He had never once been this much of a gentleman around you, not in the entire twenty-plus years you’d known him. 

When he pulled your chair out for you at the cafe, you stopped pretending it wasn’t weird. This was either a setup or a prank.

You cut into your croissant sandwich, flakes scattering across the plate, you threw him a look that could slice steel.

“Yeonjun.” your tone was deceptively light.

He hummed, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his cup.

“What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”

He inhaled and choked immediately, coffee spraying into the wrong pipe, eyes watering as he grabbed for a napkin. You watched, smiling unbothered as he coughed and wheezed across from you. Someone a table over glanced at him with concern. You smiled at them too.

“God,” he rasped, dabbing at his chin, “can you be a little civil when you speak?”

“Can you noy lie by omission?” you countered, pointing your fork at him. “That face you've been making since you picked me up, and the way you’re acting, all these tell me that you did some shit and expected me to not notice.”

He pressed his lips together, debating whether to deflect or confess. But he deflated real quick under the way you were looking at him. “Okay. It's nothing bad, really.”

“I’ll decide after I hear it.”

“There’s… uh, my cousin. He’s staying over at my place for a bit.”

You paused mid-chew. Ah. That cousin. The name didn't even need to be spoken; you knew exactly which cousin he meant. The same one who used to show up at every family dinner when you and Yeonjun were kids. He was someone you found either tolerable or exhausting depending on the year. You didn’t mind him — but it did mean one thing.

“He’s in your guest room,” you said, not accusing so much as confirming it out loud.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun replied, exhaling through his nose. He pushed his cup aside and scrubbed a hand over his mouth like he was rewinding the morning to find a better entry point. “The spare’s his for now but he’s leaving in three days. I should’ve told you earlier, I know, but—” He cut himself off, rubbing his face. “I didn’t want you stressing more. And I didn’t want you trying to figure out somewhere else and ending up somewhere sketchy because you didn’t want to inconvenience me.”

You ran through the alternatives you already knew would fail. It was nearly Christmas; most of your friends were out of town for the holidays, parents were too far to make daily check-ins on the renovation feasible, and hotels were a financial joke you weren’t in the mood to entertain. 

Inconvenient as it was, he had a point.

You sighed, shaking your head once, eyes lifting back to him. “No, you’re right,” you said finally, tone even, “that this is genuinely the least terrible option I have.”

The relief that crossed his face was immediate and, frankly, humiliating. “I’ll make it up to you.” He paused, frowned, then added, “I already am, technically. Breakfast. Transportation. Emotional support. I feel like those are solid offerings.”

“Don’t push it,” you muttered, snorting as you reached back for your food, nudging a fallen flake of pastry aside with your fingertip before taking another bite. You chewed slowly, watching him as you half-expected another shoe to drop. Thank god he didn’t let it. 

Instead, he straightened in his chair, suddenly looking earnest in a way that made you wary.

“Seriously, though,” he said, clasping his hands together on the table. “You won’t feel uncomfortable, I promise. You will take my room. I’ll crash on the couch. It’s fine. I’ve slept on worse. Floors. Airport chairs. That one time in the back of a van or—” he paused, lifting a finger as a better idea struck him mid-sentence, “—I can even stay in my cousin’s room. He owes me. For, like, several things. Some of them are crimes.”

“Yeah, I don't wanna know about the last one,” you spoke solemnly, giving him a long look. Still, you were surprised by how carefully he was laying it out, as though he were afraid one wrong word might tip the balance. “Also, no, that won't be necessary,” you said, shaking your head as you felt bad when he mentioned giving up his bed. “I trust you, Yeonjun. And I’m grateful you even thought this far ahead for me.”

He nodded quickly, like he’d expected resistance. “I know. I just—listen, I don’t want you lying awake wondering if you’re being a problem. You’re not, and you’ll never be.” He reached across the table then, nudging your plate closer when he noticed you’d drifted away from it.

A funny sort of silence dawned upon you two. You gave him another long look. He returned it to you. 

“Yeonjun,” you whispered, leaning forward with your nose scrunching as if you’d just bitten into something unexpectedly sour. “This whole formality thing is getting weird. Like, physically uncomfortable.” 

He gave a long sigh of relief then leaned in too. “Right? I thought I was losing my mind, but no. No, this is wrong,” he whispered back, eyes comically wide. He dragged a hand down his arm, shivering. “It’s like my body knows this isn’t how we talk and it’s protesting.” He paused, then added scandalously, “I hate it.”

“See, this is why I like you, Jjunie. We’re always on the same page. Always,” you said in a sing-song voice. You nudged his foot lightly with your shoe under the table, not bothering to look down. “Besides, I would've kicked your ass if you hadn’t given me your place to crash.”

“Please,” he scoffed, lifting his cup for a sip. “You wouldn’t have gotten the chance. My mom would’ve beaten you to it the moment she found out.” He shook his head, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “I can hear it already. ‘You had space and you let her struggle?’ Best believe I’d be dead.”

You resumed eating as you said, “I love your mom, Jun.”

Too focused on the sudden call from one of your leading renovating workers, you failed to notice the soft smile playing on his face. And somewhere in that moment, Yeonjun raised his mug, hiding whatever had crossed his face before you could catch it.

You barely made it past the threshold before Joonho’s arms banded around your shoulders with zero regard for physics, personal space, or the fact that you were well into your late twenties and not, in fact, a long-lost child returning from war.

The air left your lungs in a sharp rush as he squeezed, voice booming against the side of your head as he marvelled loudly at how much you’d grown, how long it had been, how he couldn’t believe you were standing here now. You returned the enthusiasm in theory only, patting his back and waiting it out as you knew resistance would only prolong the ordeal.

Oxygen was becoming a fond memory when your mental plea was answered not by Joonho, but by Yeonjun, who caught the back of his cousin’s shirt and hauled him away in one smooth motion until Yeonjun deposited him a respectable distance away. His palm still fisted in cotton like he was restraining an overexcited dog.

“Hands to yourself,” Yeonjun said mildly.

“I was welcoming her.”

“There are better ways to do that. You’re in her space, dipshit.”

Yeonjun released him, then turned to you without missing a beat, eyes flicking over your face once. He reached down, plucked your bag from beside your feet before you could argue, and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on.”

As you were about to follow him down the short hall, you paused only when Joonho snickered behind you.

“Big fan of whatever this is,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.

You glanced back at him, then at Yeonjun’s retreating figure, and decided not to make an effort to investigate. Joonho had always lived on a frequency you never quite tuned into, always spoken in sideways implications, even when you were younger. And you’d learned long ago that dissecting his words rarely led anywhere useful. Whatever he thought he was observing could remain his own private entertainment.

Yeonjun kept his promise and then some; fresh sheets stretched tight across the bed, pillowcases crisp and smooth beneath your fingers, the whole space scrubbed of any trace that it had been occupied the night before. It did not look like a guest setup hastily arranged out of obligation.

He had opened the wardrobe as well, sliding hangers aside and clearing a section that was conspicuously empty for you to keep your clothes. Yeonjun stepped back for you and leaned against the wardrobe, folding his arms as he watched you unzip your bag and begin sorting through its contents.

“You didn’t need to bring clothes, though,” he mentioned offhandedly, glancing toward the open bag as you reached for another sweater. “You could’ve just worn mine.”

You snorted, crouching lower to fish out a pair of folded jeans, smoothing them over your thigh before placing them away. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘feeling comfortable in your own skin’?” you asked, tipping your head to look at him. “Hmm?”

He shifted his stance, one heel tapping lightly against the floor as his mouth curved and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m fairly certain that phrase is meant to imply a totally different thing, but—”

“What I mean,” you cut in, rising to your feet with the drawer sliding shut under your palm, “is that you’ve already done more than enough.” You turned fully toward him then, hand still resting on it as if to brace the point. “You don’t need to keep adding to it or be stressed on my behalf.”

“Not stressed,” he murmured, pushing off the wardrobe and reaching past you to close the doors. The motion boxing you in for a second too long to ignore before he stepped back again. “And it’s not really extra effort.”

The evidence of his earlier feline grin was long gone. What replaced it didn’t look like seriousness so much as absence, a rare unreadable look that felt oddly out of character. 

“I just like seeing you in my clothes.”

The startling absence of empty flirtiness in his voice made your heart do a bewildered lurch. These words and antics from Yeonjun were not new to you. You had heard variations of that line before, over the years, reshaped and repackaged into jokes you both knew how to handle. This time, there was no such padding.

Scoffing, you stepped into his space planting both hands on his shoulders and turning him bodily toward the door. “Why, because they look better on me than on you?” you said lightly, nudging him forward as you laughed, giving him a final push toward the hallway. “Careful, might steal your fame as the best dressed person in every room.”

“Going ahead of yourself is, unfortunately, a flaw you should really work on—hey, ouch,” he cut himself off with a sharp hiss when you pinched the back of his arm in retaliation, turning back to glare at you over his shoulder. He tried to maintain dignity while rubbing at the spot, but the effect was ruined by the way his mouth pulled into a sulk. “That was uncalled for. Absolutely unprovoked.”

“That’s for the slander,” you said, unrepentant.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, holding his arm with pursed lips. “I open my home, my wardrobe, my heart—”

“Door,” you calmly corrected, pointing.

Thankfully whatever foreign feeling that had momentarily settled in your heart got promptly flattened by the delight you got from his reaction. With a sulking and pouting yeonjun finally leaving you alone, you unpacked taking your time. The rest of the day dissolved into motion with trips back and forth from your apartment, calls with the renovation team, photos sent, questions answered, decisions made until your head felt heavy. By the time night settled in properly, exhaustion had worked its way into your bones.

The boys floated the idea of a movie night. You declined without much thought. Yeonjun caught on immediately with just one look at you, shut Joonho off before he could protest himself hoarse, shooing you toward the hallway with an insistence that you rest. You mumbled goodnight to both of them and retreated into his room.

Sleeping anywhere other than your own bed usually left you staring at the ceiling, counting phantom shadows and waiting for rest that never quite came. You expected the same here. But despite the unfamiliarity of the space, the familiarity of his scent clinging to the subspaces clouded your senses and soon enough, lulled you into a gentle, dreamless sleep. 

You woke to the smell before you were fully awake. Hunger nudged you down the hall and into the kitchen, where roasted beef and coffee welcomed you all at once. Yeonjun stood at the counter with a paper bag torn open, unpacking takeout containers one by one. He lined them up with his sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair still flattened in odd directions from sleep. He glanced over when you shuffled in, his mouth curving into a soft acknowledgment.

“Morning,” he said, nudging a coffee cup closer to the machine. “You sleep all right?”

You answered with a nod and stepped closer, close enough that your arm brushed his. Closer still, until you leaned into him and let your cheek rest against the solid warmth of his bicep, your eyes half-closing as you watched his hands work. You thought you felt him stiffen for a nano moment, not really putting much thought behind it when he resumed his flow of work. He was humming under his breath.

“Smells… insane,” you murmured, the words arriving late and dragged out of sleep as you reached for a fry before nibbling on it with little care for manners.

He glanced down at you, then at the fry between your fingers, and nudged the plate an inch farther from the counter’s edge with his knuckle. “You’re going to tip over,” he said, not stopping what he was doing.

“Mm,” you answered, voice muffled where it pressed into his shirt as you shifted closer instead of backing off. “Food’s taking too long. I’m supervising. Very hands-on position.”

“Ahh, important role,” he humoured you dryly. “If I mess this up, I assume there’s a formal complaint process?”

“Immediate termination,” you said, reaching for another fry and bumping his forearm in the process. “Start over. New kitchen. New cook.”

Footsteps approached, heavier and less considerate than yours had been. Joonho filled the doorway with a stretch and a yawn, pausing mid-motion when his eyes landed on the picture you made leaning into Yeonjun’s side.

“Wow,” he said, blinking once as if his brain needed a second pass. “Good morning to… this,” he added.

You didn’t bother lifting your head. “Morning to you too,” you said, reaching blindly for a fork and tapping it against the counter in his direction. “If you’re going to stare, at least make yourself useful.”

Yeonjun took the opportunity to gently step away, sliding a plate into your hands in the same motion. “Sit down,” he told you, gesturing toward the chair. “I’ll get you your coffee.”

Joonho snorted, grabbing a sandwich and already taking a bite. “Funny to see you two play house in your grown age.”

You dropped into the chair, blinking up at them both. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Calm down.”

“Twenty-four hours is plenty,” Joonho replied, reaching for the napkins and dragging the whole stack toward himself. “People have made worse life decisions faster.”

Yeonjun clicked his tongue under his breath as he poured the coffee, before sliding it across the counter toward you without looking. “Like how you once agreed to a group trip after knowing people for twelve hours, Joonho? Should I remind you that financial recovery took months?” he said, giving his cousin a flat look. 

You wrapped both hands around the mug the second it reached you. The heat pressed into your palms as you leaned back in the chair. Your eyes drifted between them while the kitchen filled with their cacophonies of back-and-forth jabs. You smiled to yourself because some things truly never change.

That noon found you folded into the corner of the couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs as you sorted through your work emails. Joonho had left the house an hour ago, and Yeonjun had mentioned — almost in passing — that he’d shower before heading out to work. You reached for your phone to cross-check a note and came up empty-handed, the absence registering slowly and you frowned after patting the cushion beside you, then the coffee table, then the pocket of your cardigan. You then remembered that you’d set it down on Yeonjun’s bed earlier, right before you wandered back out to the living room with your coffee.

You could still hear the water running so you figured announcing yourself wasn't necessary as you nudged his door open with your shoulder, eyes already sweeping the bed in search of your phone. Spotting it near the pillow you crossed the room quickly, you grabbed it just as the bathroom door opened behind you.

Yeonjun stepped out with a towel thrown over one shoulder, skin still dewy and sweatpants riding low on his hips, droplets tracing idle paths down his chest as he scrubbed at his hair with the towel. His movements were thoughtless until his gaze lifted and landed on you, stalling mid-rub.

“Oh—” The word left you only after you looked up from the bed and actually took him in, phone clutched loosely in your hand. “Sorry. I was just grabbing my phone. I didn’t think you’d be out yet.”

He scrambled to make a sound that sounded like it had been meant as a laugh and didn’t quite make it. Shifting his stance he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged them a fraction higher. He turned away a little like he was giving you space.

“No, it’s—yeah. You’re fine,” he replied.

Now, the only sensible option would have been to retrieve your phone and retreat, to give your friend of over two decades space to finish getting dressed, right? You were about to do it, you swear. Yet, your feet stalled where they were and your attention stayed anchored on him in a way that felt mildly inconvenient because while Yeonjun shirtless was hardly a new visual in the long archive of your shared history (memories stacked with sunburnt afternoons and public pools, shared vacations involving Yeonjun shirtless in some capacity, borrowed shirts tossed at your face) — none of that had ever felt strange. The version of him standing there now carried angles and proportions your memory lagged behind on.

You knew he worked out; you’d heard him complain about sore muscles, had teased him about protein shakes crowding the fridge, endured the commentary about macros and sleep cycles with the indulgence reserved for habits that had always been his. None of this was new. But, what was new was the geometry of him now. Your brain took an extra second to update its internal file on him around the fact that his body no longer matched the version it had filed away a few months ago — definition etched where there used to be softness, shoulders carrying a broader span, and that he looked… bigger, in a way that demanded attention.

“Did you—” you began, then paused, redirecting mid-thought as your gaze traced the shallow grooves along his stomach while he shifted to face you. “Have you been working out lately? Because —” you gestured at him, gaze openly evaluative in a way that had never felt off-limits between you. “— holy shit. You look big.”

His mouth curved before he could stop it, teeth flashing in a brief, reflexive grin as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Yeah,” he said, bracing one hip against the edge of the dresser, the motion pulling a subtle flex through his torso. “I’ve been more consistent. Work’s been a lot lately, so I figured I’d channel it somewhere useful.”

“Makes sense,” you murmured, already closing the remaining space, your curiosity steering you forward with no sense of consequence, fingers pressing into his upper arm. You squeezed once, then again, brows knitting with genuine interest. Even when he wasn't flexing, his muscles were so well defined that it almost resembled a sculpture, so tenderly pleasing to the eye. “Damn,” you added softly to yourself. “This couldn’t have been easy to get.”

You were standing so close that the residual warmth from the shower still rolling off him reached you without effort, bleeding into the small space between you. He drew a breath through his nose, shoulders lifting and lowering with it as he adjusted his footing again, fingers regripping the towel. “It wasn’t,” there was pure honesty in the way he spoke. “It did take a while, almost gave up halfway through. Hasn't been easy, yeah.”

“The hard work definitely paid off, Jun. You look incredible.” You hummed, still distracted and testing the muscle under your thumb, then gave a small nod like you’d reached a satisfying conclusion. “I mean, you could probably pick me up and toss me across the room if you wanted.”

You looked up only after the sentence cleared your mouth, catching the way he cocked a brow as his gaze dropped to your hand and then climbed back to your face. The flush at his ears looked deeper up close, spreading across his cheekbones that made you briefly wonder if the water had been hotter than usual, because surely that had to be it. A corner of his mouth slowly tipped upward, and he leaned in just enough for heat to register.

“You’d like that, huh?”

There was a sudden flip that rippled through your stomach as your fingers flexed around his muscle, and you were acutely aware of how close he was now —  you could count the faint freckles at his shoulder, close enough that your gaze traced down his chest before you caught yourself and brought it back up, a strange recalibration happening as your mind still struggled to place this version of him into a category that made sense.

It wasn’t that he looked different so much as the fact that you were seeing him differently… again. Noticing proportions, noticing presence, noticing how little distance there actually was between you, and the awareness made your breath hitch to be baffling and — oh, god. You must've been crazy.

Whatever this moment was, it stretched past its welcome before he was the one to break it, stepping away with a quick motion. That sent a ripple of cooler air across your skin as he reached for the shirt draped over the chair, pulling it on with brisk efficiency. You let air fill your lungs once more.

“Anyway,” he said, already moving past you toward the hall, grabbing his wallet from the counter as he glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ve gotta head out and do the grocery run. Joonho’s dead set on cooking tonight, so I can’t bail out.”

And by the time you could come up with a properly formed sentence, the main door’s closing sound echoed through the house. You stood there in the middle of the room, phone clutched between your fingers as you frowned and shook your head once, then again, like that might settle whatever had been stirred loose. But it didn't shake off the jittery feelings still infesting your insides.

Joonho came back not long after Yeonjun left. Tossing his keys lazily onto the counter he announced that his boss had apparently decided that becoming a new father was reason enough to let everyone clock out early, which you accepted with polite skepticism until he held up a paper bag sagging with baked goods. He unloaded the story between bites of custard-filled bread and sips of tea. That is until the sugar crash nudged you back toward responsibility and your laptop, relocating yourself on the dining table while Joonho occupied the sofa.

You’d barely settled back into work when your phone buzzed, Yeonjun’s name lighting up the screen. You answered, shoulder tilting to pin the phone there as you scanned a line of text on your screen.

“Hey,” you said absently, typing.

“Okay, quick question,” he started, and there was a gravity to his tone that made you squint, “I need you to tell me if this sounds right.”

That alone was concerning. 

“Okay,” you encouraged. “Go on.”

“There’s this packet of red chillies,” he continued, voice careful, “five pieces. Thirty thousand won per pound. That’s… normal, right?”

Your fingers stopped moving. Your brain, for a brief and merciful second, did too.

Thirty thousand for five fucking chillies.

The neurons in your head cycled through the numbers once, twice, like a buffering screen, searching desperately for context that would make this sentence make sense. Because surely this was a joke, or he had misread the tag, or Yeonjun was annoying you on purpose. Yes. That had to be it.

Choi Yeonjun could not possibly be standing in a grocery store, contemplating financial ruin over five sad little chillies. He was a grown man with a job and a functioning life. He could not possibly be asking you, with sincerity, whether five chillies were worth that much money.

“You—” you began, then stopped, unable to form a proper speech, “where did you even find five chillies for thirty thousand?”

From the couch, Joonho muted the television without looking at you, his attention suddenly razor-focused on the conversation.

On the other end, you heard the rustle of plastic. “It’s this stall near the entrance. Oh, they’re imported,” Yeonjun said, as if that explained everything.“They look good. Like, actually good. Not wrinkly. And the guy says they’re fresh.”

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling through your mouth. Fresh. That was his defense. Okay, so maybe the frontal lobe development had, in fact, skipped a step.

“Yeonjun,” you said, voice still level. “Why are you even standing there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you considering it?” You were now rising from your chair and beginning to pace. “Yeonjun, please listen to me. This is how people get scammed. Put them back.”

“You sure?” he asked, genuine concern threading his voice. “Because they look really—”

“No, no, no. Why are you still standing there? I’m begging you to use your brain for two seconds and put that back,” you cut in, stopping short by the window before beginning to pace again.

There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a faint shuffle.

“Are you freaking out about the price?” he asked, trying to soothe you. “It’s okay, I can afford it.”

You stopped walking. You were about to need more patience than this.

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, words tumbling out faster now. “The point is that just because you can afford to get scammed doesn’t mean you should. Do you know how much chilli powder you could buy with that? Paste! An entire plant! You could grow your own for that money.”

“Okay, but these are whole—”

“No!” you cried out with an exasperated sigh. “No, don’t ‘whole’ me. This is not about whole versus powdered. This is about you standing in a market, looking at five vegetables, and thinking, yeah, this seems reasonable.”

“Alright, alright.” He laughed softly, the sound carrying through the line. It felt funny in your chest. “No need to panic.”

“I’m being practical,” you shot back, dragging a hand through your hair. “There’s a difference. Please. I’m asking you. Step away from the chillies.”

“I’ll then get some paste.”

“Yes,” you said immediately, collapsing back into your chair. “Or powder. Or nothing. Honestly, nothing is preferable to this.”

The call ended not long after, Yeonjun promising to text you before buying anything else, and you let your phone drop into your lap, staring at the ceiling for a moment as the leftover headache ebbed. If the universe had decided that you were meant to orbit a man who could be trusted with big things but not small, overpriced ones, then so be it. You’d known him long enough to accept that trade-off. Someone whose nonsense still brought a reluctant fondness out of you even as it shaved years off your lifespan.

“You should marry him.”

Whisplashed, you gawked at Joonho. He had said it without looking over, eyes still on the muted television as his fingers reached into the paper bag on the table, fishing for another pastry.

“Then he wouldn’t be doing stupid shit like this,” he added, sounding pragmatic rather than provocative.

“Dude—what?” You barked out a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t caught awkwardly in your throat. “Where did that even come from?”

He glanced up then, brows lifting just a notch as if he were surprised you hadn’t already arrived there yourself. “I’m serious,” he said then added, “I’m surprised, actually.” 

“Surprised about what?” you still couldn’t conceal the bewilderment.

“Now, why do you sound surprised?” he pointed a finger at you. You figured he might have guessed you’d stay quiet until he gave you a proper explanation. Luckily, he gave you one. “Think about it. You’ve known him forever. You already manage his life half the time.” 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So?”

“From watching the two of you for most of my life,” he said, waving his hand. “I’m honestly surprised you two never dated. Not in high school, not in university. People with half your history usually screw it up at least once just to get it out of their system.”

You let out a frustrated snort as you crossed your arms, shaking your head. “Absolutely not. That is not how that works. That’s not how anything works.”

Joonho watched you for a beat before inquiring, tone unchanged. “You’ve really never thought about marrying him? Like, not even once?”

You were ready with rebuttals you’d used a hundred times. Timing had never lined up — that was always the first excuse. Friendship was safer, the second. And there were lines that once crossed couldn’t be redrawn, which was reason enough to stop before anything began.

But nothing came out. Because instead, your mind slid sideways into territory it had always avoided, and suddenly there he was not as your childhood friend calling from a grocery aisle, but as a constant presence folded into the mundane architecture of your life.

You imagined waking up in the muted light of early morning, the fragrance of brewed coffee curling through the kitchen as Yeonjun shuffled around in one of his beloved tank tops; the mundane comfort of scrambled eggs and toast punctuated by lazy smiles exchanged over mismatched mugs. You saw yourself bundled in his jacket for grocery runs that ended with impulse snacks tossed into the cart. The shared fatigue of evenings where you came home at different times but always ended up in the same place, and the nights blurred into soft, whispered conversations before sleep.

And in every scenario, there was the brief yet startling intimacy of sharing a kiss. It didn’t leave you shaken, rather it left a sweet aftertaste in the palate of your thoughts. Despite how much you denied, you knew it wasn’t just  a sweeping vision. It was nothing cinematic nor inflated because it arrived in pieces, ordinary enough to feel borrowed from a life you could plausibly live. 

“Ah, there it is!” Joonho snapped his fingers and leaned back against the couch. “That faraway look. It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” A pause, then a crooked smile. “You’re picturing it right now. I can tell. Wild that you two never did the whole childhood‑promise nonsense. Pinky swears, wedding vows at seven years old, not even a ‘if we’re still single at thirty’ deal. Feels like a missed cliché, honestly.”

“Yeah, well,” you replied too quickly, reaching for your mug and lifting it to your lips before realizing it was empty, the ceramic knocking lightly against your teeth. You set it down gently. “That stuff exists in movies for a reason.”

Joonho remained silent then began folding the top of the paper bag shut. “I’m not trying to push you, but you really never thought about it?” then he stole a quick glance at you. “Because you didn’t say no.”

You seriously cannot be thinking about Yeonjun this way after all these years.

Again.

The lack of speech from you wasn’t making the space empty; it was getting full of all the unsaid and unexpressed feelings you had harboured for your childhood friend years ago in your younger days. Yes, you had thought about it. No, you had never acted on it, because cowardice had been easier than loss. You had decided, over and over, that wanting him was a risk you couldn’t afford, that Yeonjun mattered too much to gamble on a crush you’d once dismissed as juvenile and temporary, even when it wasn’t. You couldn’t risk altering the shape of your life with him. So you learned how to live alongside it until it dulled into background noise.

You had dated men who were good, men who listened and showed up and treated you with respect, men who looked good beside you and fit neatly into your life. You had done everything to replace the habit of thinking about Yeonjun.

But none of them were Yeonjun, and none of them ever would be. His ghost was bound to forever haunt you.

Even more now that Joonho brought up the topic and awakened latent emotions. The thought, once placed, refused to leave.

“I…” You exhaled, the word thinning into nothing. You still couldn’t say the truth, so you reached for the closest thing that sounded acceptable. “I don’t know.”

So, as it turned out, letting your feelings crawl back to the surface and sit there had consequences, chief among them the fact that you were now painfully alert to Yeonjun’s presence in a way you hadn’t been in years. 

That was exactly what you had been dealing with since your last talk with Joonho. Now, you were even more knee deep into this war with yourself as you stared down at your phone, the college batch group chat hollering with enthusiasm about a pre‑Christmas gathering tonight. Names you knew too well kept chiming in with zeal and inside jokes resurfaced that felt almost contagious. You had never been a difficult person to exist around; you didn’t collect grudges, didn’t leave messes behind you in the form of unresolved conflicts. There was no reason not to go and the longer you scrolled, the harder it became to justify sitting this one out without sounding evasive, even to yourself.

Except there was still one very real problem you kept circling back to.

The couch dipped beside you as Yeonjun dropped down with his thigh brushing your knee. The scent of his shampoo crowded your senses.

“Did you check the chat?” Yeonjun asked, already craning his neck closer, his arm stretching out behind you along the backrest.

“That’s literally what I’m looking at,” you replied, tilting the phone slightly so he could see, even as your awareness narrowed to the point of contact between you. 

“Oh,” he said, drawn‑out, almost pleased. “Do you want to go?”

You stayed silent a beat too long because you were still unsure if you could squeeze it into your agenda. Yeonjun caught the hesitation immediately. He shifted so he could look at your face instead of the phone. 

“You don’t want to?” he asked slowly. Then quicker, before you could answer, “It’s fine if you don’t. I won’t go either. We can stay in, order takeout, talk about how annoying everyone was in college—”

“No, wait,” you cut in, sitting upright. You gestured vaguely with your phone. “It’s just… I don’t know,” you said, which had become a familiar placeholder lately. 

Yeonjun raised his brows with a small nod, patient with you as he always is. 

“I do want to go. I’m just thinking about the renovation mess. My workload has swelled into something unwieldy with year‑end deadlines looming, and I don’t want to spend the whole night half‑present, and everything feels a little—” You stopped yourself, then glanced at him. “Besides, what do you mean you'd sit out for me if I didn't go? Don’t say things like that.”

He shrugged, too casual for the way his eyes stayed on your face. “I mean exactly what I said.”

You stared back at him, incredulous. “I could never let you do that, idiot. You should go if you want to. Your friends miss you—I’m sure of it.”

There was a beat where he didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned forward with elbows on his knees as he tilted his face to stare up at you. There was a faint crease between his brows.

“You’re more important to me,” he said plainly. 

The look in his eyes translated as if the answer was an obvious fact rather than something that sent your thoughts skidding.

“Oh,” you managed, and before you could find your footing again, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“But I do think you should come with me,” he said. “We’ll go together. You’ve been running yourself into the ground for weeks. I can help with the rest—your workload, the apartment, whatever you need, you know that, right? You deserve to have fun.”

“Yeah,” you said finally, a small smile breaking through. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

You had to stop by your apartment first. Everything you’d brought to Yeonjun’s place had been chosen for convenience and nothing meant to be seen outside of errands and long days. Tonight called for winter-appropriate and a presentable version of yourself. You registered what Yeonjun had worn. Faded gray jeans, a white shirt pulled neat beneath a red tie and above it a black jacket. 

Yeonjun lingered in your living room while you changed. When you stepped back out, his attention followed you and stayed there.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you answered, shrugging into your coat while you checked that you hadn’t forgotten anything obvious.

“You look beautiful,” he said, grabbing the keys from the table and tossing them once into his palm, “you’re about to make people regret not seeing you more often.”

You scoffed, though heat crept up your neck as you stepped past him toward the door. “Save it. Sweet talk isn’t getting you out of driving tonight,” you said, toeing off your shoes to trade them for boots. 

“Please.” He laughed, holding the door open as you stepped into the cold, breath fogging between you. “Wouldn’t even dream of it, pretty.”

The car sealed you both inside against the cold the moment you shut the door, and you exhaled a shiver in comfort as the heater kicked on under Yeonjun’s quick adjustment of the controls. You fiddled with the music player while he drove to your destination. At a red light, he pointed out a bakery you both used to skip classes for. You told him it still sucked. He said you were lying. Neither of you followed it up.

By the time you arrived the voices and music had swallowed the night whole. Faces you hadn’t seen in years surfaced all at once, hugs exchanged, names called across the room as people stepped forward to participate in the greeting. Yeonjun barely made it three steps before someone clapped a hand against his back and dragged him away, then another voice called his name, then another, leaving you standing with your own circle as he was absorbed into his. He turned back to look for you instinctively as if to check you’d found your footing, and you gave him a small nod, a wordless assurance that you were fine.

“I’ll find you,” he promised, raising his voice slightly over the noise.

You laughed, waving him off. “Go. You’re clearly in demand.”

Much later, across the room when you were done with dinner, your eyes met. He had a drink in hand now, jacket gone, hair no longer sitting quite the way it had earlier, and you lifted your brows in a silent check-in. He smiled back in all teeth before someone leaned into his space again and pulled his attention elsewhere.

“Are you seeing anyone these days, or is work still your tragic soulmate?”

You were sharing a table with three other women you hadn’t seen properly since graduation. It was Mina who sent the question your way while nudging your elbow with hers, eyes bright with wine and curiosity.

You huffed a laugh as you reached for your drink. “Work’s winning by a humiliating margin,” you said, taking a sip before setting it back down and wiping a thumb along the rim. “I don’t even think I’m putting up a fight.”

“That tracks,” Hana chimed in. Her tone carried a dry affection as she was someone who’d watched you live like this for years. “You were always like that. We thought you’d mellow out after uni, but somehow you got worse.”

“N-no, she dated,” Jieun cut in far too eagerly (and drunkenly) before you could respond. The wine in her glass dangerously sloshed as she lifted her hand in defense of your reputation. “I saw pictures. Ni—ce pictures. She had—had a boyfriend. The last one. What was his name?” She squinted at you as though the answer might be written on your face. You smiled unhelpfully at her. “Joohyuk? Joohyuk, right? Yeah. Him. Shame you broke up. I liked him.” 

Mina groaned and reached over to push Jieun back into her seat. “You sound like you were dating him yourself. Use your words properly before you get yourself in trouble.”

You had to stifle a laugh as you watched Jieun’s eyes comically widen followed by a disgruntled Mina giving her an earful and Hana’s atrocious cackle. Oh, how you missed this.

“No—no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jieun protested, waving both hands, then stopping to grip the edge of the table for balance. “I meant he was good. For her. As a person. I’m not stealing anyone’s man,” she rushed, then looked at you with genuine concern. “You know what I mean, right?”

“I know,” you said, laughing as you slid Jieun’s glass a little farther from the table’s edge before it could become a casualty. “You’re safe, Jieun. Don’t worry. But please sit properly, you're going to give me a heart attack if you fall off.” 

The clatter of surrounding voices bled into the gaps as someone nearby laughed too loudly. You took your time before speaking again, fingers resting loosely around your glass as your gaze met Mina’s before drifting to Hana.

“It wasn’t a bad breakup. We talked it through instead of letting it rot, and we both knew whatever we had wasn’t taking us anywhere we wanted to go.” You smiled and sipped on your drink as you told them. “He’s a good man. Just not the right one for me, and I think he knew that too.”

Mina listened with her chin propped on her knuckles, then nodded once, thoughtful. “Honestly, it feels like everyone either married their first serious partner or walked away from dating entirely and hasn’t recovered since.”

Hana’s attention snagged on something past your shoulder. She tracked movement across the room before returning her focus to you.

“Speaking of nothing sticking,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “have you noticed Yeonjun’s pattern?”

His name cut clean through the pleasant haze of wine you’d settled into. “What pattern?” you asked with the same smile, curiosity worn lightly rather than forced.

“Oh my god,” Mina said at once, scooting her chair closer with a scrape that drew the table tighter together, her forearm sliding across the wood as she leaned in. “I forgot how popular he is. Didn’t he date, like… a lot?” She rolled her wrist vaguely, as though quantity mattered less than the impression it left.

“Not a lot,” Hana countered, brow pinching as she tried to sort memory from hearsay. “Just— often, I guess? It never lasted though. A month, maybe less. You’d blink and suddenly he was single again.” She shrugged.

“I’ve heard that too,” Mina added, lips pursing as she considered her wording, eyes flicking briefly toward the crowd before returning to you. “He’s kind of… how do I say this nicely.” She paused, eyes narrowing in thought before she gave a small, apologetic smile. “A bit of a heartbreaker.”

“A player,” jieun quietly supplied from beside you, drunk beyond senses.

You listened without interrupting, watching the condensation trail down the side of your glass before you brushed it away with your thumb. In that pause you recognized how little the conversation stirred you. A strange sense of distance was all you felt because what they were trading wasn’t Yeonjun so much as a shorthand version of him, assembled from overheard endings and retold assumptions. 

Aside from feeling distant, there was also relief in understanding that distinction, in knowing that the version of him they were dissecting had never belonged to you in the first place.

They liked Choi Yeonjun as a name that moved through rooms. They liked the idea of him by talking about him as if he were a concept instead of a person you’d shared scraped knees, late-night calls, and entire versions of your life with. They didn’t know him as the one whose first relationship faded because they were barely old enough to know what they were asking of each other, and whose second ended because trust was broken on the other side, not his. Nothing beyond that except him trying, stepping back when it didn’t fit, never keeping anyone where they didn’t want to stay.

You knew he wouldn’t care about being reduced to rumor, because he’d said it more than once that people would talk anyway and he didn’t want anyone bleeding on his behalf. Still, childhood loyalty had its own habits. There were lines you wouldn’t let be crossed, even casually, even here.

“I think people confuse brevity with carelessness,” you said, reaching for another snack and nudging the bowl toward Hana as you did. “If a relationship isn’t working, ending it sooner can look messy from the outside, especially when no one’s around for the conversations that come before or after.”

You glanced around the table. Resting your cheek on your palm, your smile widened when you saw Hana looking at you with an apologetic look. The look carried both acknowledgement and embarrassment, the subtle admission that she had overstepped in speaking of someone she didn’t fully know, someone who had meant enough to you to warrant respect.

“And it’s interesting,” you added, tilting your head slightly, “how easy it is to talk about someone when you haven’t actually bothered to see them beyond the image everyone else paints. You can repeat labels and summaries and assume you know the whole story, but it rarely reflects the truth of the person themselves.”

Mina lowered her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek before shaking her head. “God, you’re right. I went ahead of myself with the rush of this conversation… I shouldn’t have said that. Honestly, I wouldn’t feel good if anyone talked about me like that, so I should be more careful.”

“Yeonjun’s always been pretty upfront with people. That tends to get mistaken for a lot of things it isn’t,” you spoke lightly, glancing at Jieun, who had succumbed to slumber halfway through the discussion due to her drunken state. 

You didn't feel the necessity to stretch this conversation further. They admitted their fault and you defended your friend. The win was yours. With that settled, you steered the banter back toward lighter topics. Time slipped past unnoticed until the sudden glance at your watch made you realize that midnight was nearly upon you, and Yeonjun was nowhere within your line of sight. His absence tugged at your attention with a strange urgency. You excused yourself, sliding out of the chair and weaving toward the terrace.

Your shoulder bumped lightly against someone. You looked up to find Beomgyu, one of Yeonjun’s old friends, grinning at you. You exchanged a few light pleasantries before you asked with a small furrow of your brow if he had seen Yeonjun, noting that your calls had gone unanswered. Beomgyu’s expression shifted with a slight frown as he recounted that Yeonjun had been at the bar earlier, that he’d seemed fine then, maybe a little too enthusiastic about refills. You thanked him before letting him go to his own circle. Your gaze swept across the room before it landed on the bar tucked along the far wall.

He was there exactly as Beomgyu had said, hunched over the counter with a half-finished glass beside him. The sight nudged a fond exhale out of you as you crossed the remaining distance and took the stool beside him.

“You’re really dead set on making me drive us back, huh?” you asked, observing his reaction. 

Yeonjun’s head lifted, his gaze hazy yet catching yours with a slow widening of eyes as though he just realized you were there. The spark in them was dulled by drink but somehow still present, like embers beneath ash

“Oh,” he breathed, the word soft and warm as he leaned closer without thinking, his elbow slipping on the polished surface before he caught himself, “there you are,” then he folded again, cheek pressed to his forearm.

“So much for saying you’d find me,” you mused, eyes glinting as you mirrored his action and let the side of your head rest on your folded arm over the bar.

“Hi, love,” he sweetly drawled, voice thick with the haze of intoxication. He smiled dazedly at you, shifting his head only slightly so he could keep looking at you.

You couldn’t help the small coo of exasperation that slipped out, sitting upright and reaching to rake your fingers through the strands of his hair. “Hi,” you said softly, allowing your tone to mirror the warmth and care threaded through your touch, noting how his eyelids fluttered closed at the contact.

He hummed with the same stupid smile. How much did he drink to be this wasted? You were already counting the ways this night was ending with you behind the wheel. Good thing you had only one glass of wine.

He cracked one eye open, watching you from beneath his lashes before he frowned slightly, squinting at the space between you. “Too far,” he murmured, voice slurring. “Need you closer.”

He reached out, fingers wrapping around the side of your stool and with an easy pull he brought you closer until your knees brushed the edge of the counter and your hip pressed into his side. The lopsided smile returned on his plush, pink lips.

“Mhhm. Better.” 

The strength was casual yet intimate that it pulled a catch from your chest you hadn’t anticipated. It occurred to you a second later just how attractive that was. It was messing with your head.

“Jun, let’s go home.” You caressed his cheek. “Yeah?” 

But he didn’t seem like he was registering your words.

"Hey," he slurred, but somehow still gentle. "You… you're, uh, you’re so pretty," he continued, blinking at you as though it was the most profound revelation of the night. "Like, you’re so beautiful, you know that?"

You stifled a laugh, amused but also slightly worried as you reached out to straighten the collar of his shirt. You had seen him like this before, but tonight, there was something more raw about it.

“I know,” you teased with a hint of tenderness in your words. “I’m pretty sure you’ve told me before.”

He shook his head, a goofy grin spreading across his face as he sat up again, and leaned toward you, almost tripping over his own feet from the tool. You had to suppress another laugh, but your heart was full watching him act so carefree and so uninhibited.

“No, no,” he argued, shaking his head. “I mean like, really pretty. You’re… you're so pretty, it’s like…” He paused, his brow furrowing as though searching for the right words, but only the most basic thoughts slipped out. “It’s like you’re glowing. Like… an angel or something. I don’t know how anyone can look at you and not… not, like, fall in love with you.”

Your smile locked in place, then faltered, and then slipped away altogether as his words echoed back at you in pieces that refused to arrange themselves into anything sensible. Could he possibly be mistaking you for someone else? Seeing through you instead of at you, that somewhere in the crowd there was another woman he’d confused you for after too many drinks? 

But his attention didn’t drift, didn’t waver, didn’t go looking for anyone else. It stayed locked on you. 

“You’re drunk.” You aimed for reason, though the end of the sentence softened despite your effort. “You don’t mean that.”

He frowned at you as if you’d spoken a language he didn’t recognize. You watched his expression go pliant, noticed the slight stagger in the way his shoulders adjusted as he tried to keep himself upright on the stool but still gazed at you with such intensity that it made your heart race. His eyes were glossy like he was tearing up at the way you spoke to him.

“No,” he said firmly. “I do mean it. I’m, like… so in love with you, you don’t even know. Like— right here.” He pressed his palm clumsily to his chest, missing the mark and correcting himself with a breathless laugh. “I’m so in love with you, it makes my chest hurt, but in a good way. I can’t even explain it, it’s like… every time I see you, I feel like I’m falling all over again, over and over. It’s so much. I can’t keep it in anymore.”

“You—” you tried, leaning forward instinctively as his balance tipped toward you. Yuo could see the earnestness in his eyes even as they were clouded with alcohol. His breathing was stuttered, bottom lip plush and glistening as his tongue swept across it absentmindedly.

He reached out, clumsily touching your cheek first before finding its place properly. “I don’t care if it sounds stupid,” he muttered, the sentence breaking when he swallowed. “I’m so in love with you. I just... I just want you to know that. I need you to know.”

You had always thought drunken confessions were a convenient excuse for honesty rather than proof of it, because it seemed impossible that anyone could loosen their guard so completely that every carefully tucked-away feeling spilled out all at once, raw and unfiltered and beyond retrieval. You were so wrong. It was unfathomable that your childhood friend, the boy who knew every phase of you and whom you had loved far longer than you ever admitted even to yourself, just laid his heart out to you.

You took a deep breath trying to keep your composure and to remind yourself where you were and who you were being in this moment. But your heart was racing, your stomach doing flips.

“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” you said softly, as you guided his hand away from your face, not pushing it aside but redirecting it to rest against the bar. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in a gesture meant to steady him more than anything else. 

He shook his head like a child. “No. I won’t. I can’t.”

You weren’t going to take advantage of this. This was a topic reserved for when you are both sober and can make decisions for yourselves. 

“Well, aren’t you a charmer,” you teased, brushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead when it slipped into his eyes again. “But I don’t think you’re going to remember a single word of this in the morning. Tell me again when you’re sober, okay?”

He grinned, nodding far too eagerly in agreement. “No way I’ll forget. I’ll tell you again tomorrow, I promise.”

In that moment, you knew that no matter how silly the situation was, it didn’t matter. Because in his eyes, in the vulnerable honesty of his words, you could see the truth. And you would hold onto that, even if it was a little messy, a little imperfect. Even if it was drunk.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, Yeonjun had gone pliant in the passenger seat with his head tipped awkwardly toward the window. It told you sleep had already taken him halfway. You killed the engine, sat for a moment to let the silence settle, then reached for your phone and called Joonho downstairs.

Getting him inside took coordination more than strength. You wondered how Joonho carried him on his back because the latter was much bigger than him. You were grateful he still managed to do it. You followed close behind, peeling off Yeonjun’s shoes and tugging his socks loose, gathering what you could before they became obstacles. Once you were thoroughly satisfied that he was comfortable in his bed, you allowed yourself a final glance at his face before gently closing the door behind you. You decided to take the couch for tonight.

When Joonho was about to leave for his room, you called his name. “About me and Yeonjun… well,” you started, faltering as you searched for a clean way through the mess in your head.

Joonho turned slowly, watching you with far too much patience. “Did he…?” he prompted, leaving the rest open for you to fill in.

You narrowed your eyes at him, exhaustion sharpening your voice. “You knew?”

His grin was unapologetic, wide, and entirely too pleased. It answered everything. 

In a way you were glad you didn’t have to explain everything from the beginning. Turned out, Joonho had always been watching the two of you dancing around each other in ways that weren’t only just visible to the two of you. His satisfaction at finally hearing you admit it was truly a sight to see. Over a bottle of wine, the two of you talked.

You went to sleep that night feeling oddly settled, your doubts dulled by Joonho’s reassurance and the simple relief of having said it to someone out loud. You couldn't say the same thing for Yeonjun though. Because early in the morning, you had to leave for your place to oversee the renovation work in person, trusting Joonho to handle Yeonjun’s inevitable hangover.

You wouldn’t be meeting Yeonjun until night. The knowledge followed you through the latter half of the day like a tenacious hum in your mind, growing louder with every passing hour of the year-end closing shift. By the time you finally clocked out and stepped into the evening air, the nervous energy had settled so deeply into you that it felt almost juvenile, a jittery awareness that made you scoff at yourself for feeling like a teenager again when you had lived so much more life than that. 

The text from Joonho arrived just as you were merging onto the road home, announcing he wouldn’t be back until morning, capped with a teasing line about doing whatever you two wanted in the empty house. Having the place to yourselves should not have made your pulse kick the way it did (yet it did) and you exhaled through a short laugh that did nothing to calm the way your fingers tightened briefly around the steering wheel.

The apartment lights were on when you arrived. You toed off your shoes and followed the sounds of movement into the kitchen, where Yeonjun stood by the counter as he reheated dinner he clearly hadn’t eaten. He startled when he noticed you, bumping against the counter and reaching too quickly for a glass.

“Oh—you’re home,” he stuttered as he filled it with water before setting it down between you without lifting his eyes. “You must be starving! I, um—I didn’t know what you’d want, so I just—there’s food, if you’re hungry. Or we can—you don’t have to eat now. I mean. Later is fine too.”

He glanced toward you, then immediately back to what he was doing. The counter between you a narrow barrier that felt intentional even if neither of you had named it. You reached for the glass he’d offered, watching how his gaze fixed stubbornly on the microwave timer instead of your face.

“You’re awfully bad at keeping promises,” you said lightly as you took a sip.

It was meant as an airy remark to gauge his reaction. You smiled into the rim of the glass because you were already certain, from the way his shoulders tightened, that he remembered last night in full.

The silence was punctuated by the low hum of the microwave which suddenly felt too loud. Yeonjun exhaled hard as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, finally glancing your way before dropping his eyes again.

“Sorry, I, uh—” he started at once, turning the apology over itself before it could land properly. “I drank way too much. I shouldn’t have disappeared like that, and you had to come find me, and then you drove us back when it should’ve been me—I swear I didn’t plan to—” He stopped, swallowing, voice lowering as if he were afraid of the next part even existing out loud. “I… must’ve said something. Last night.”

You nodded slowly, appearing composed on the surface but inside you were folding in on yourself because there was no artifice in him at all — just this tall, capable man suddenly reduced to nervous hands and a voice that kept tripping over itself.

His restlessness mellowed out the jitter buzzing under your skin, smoothed it down into something more daring. You felt the urge to poke at him gently, to test how much space there was for play between the two of you now. You almost did, but you held yourself back when you noticed the way he still kept refusing to meet your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to put that on you,” he said, shaking his head as if he was disappointed in himself. “I know it wasn’t fair, especially like that. If I crossed a line—”

“You didn’t,” you cut in gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I’m not going to talk about it unless you’re sure you want to.” 

You had waited before. You could wait again. You would not chase what hadn’t been chosen — even if every part of you hoped he would turn around on his own.

The smile you offered him was soft and open, assuring him that you meant what you said, and with that you moved around the island. You intended to give him space, to let him breathe, to let the moment pass if it needed to.

You barely made it a step past him before his hand closed around your wrist.

“I meant every single word I said.”

He didn’t face you.

A shiver ran across you at the sound of his voice pitched lower like that, starting at your shoulders and spreading down your arms. Your breath left you in a controlled exhale though your heart had started misbehaving entirely.

“Then look at me,” you said gently.

A soft instruction rather than a demand — one he ignored by keeping his gaze fixed ahead and his shoulders only lifted with a shallow breath. You stepped closer, lifting your free hand to his face, your fingers fitting along his jaw. You guided him toward you without force, your thumb brushing his cheekbone.

“Do you remember,” you began, keeping your voice light as your fingers slipped into his hair, “how I told you last night that you’d have to say it again when you were sober?” You traced the shell of his ear as you spoke, basking in the small hitches of breath he gave you at the contact.

His hand slid to the small arch of your spine, drawing you closer until the space between you narrowed and the sudden proximity sent a sharp jolt through you that you refused to retreat from. You tipped your chin up, meeting him with a calm smile that took effort you didn’t show, even as your pulse skittered under his touch.

Yeonjun let himself look at you properly instead of just fleeting glances. Your heart soared because the same earnest intensity you had seen the night before was there again swirling in his orbs — and this time — stripped of any alcohol. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs pressing in as he closed his eyes for a brief second.

“I love you,” he said, voice gravelly from raw honesty. “It’s been so long since I started loving you that I don’t even remember when it began. All I can tell is that I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Damn his foolish heart for betraying him so openly by letting his gaze be drawn again and again to the soft curvature of your mouth. Fractured thoughts scattering in every direction at once, his mind cycled through each possibility and tallied the ways he could have misunderstood the way you looked at him tonight. Every glance from years past suddenly rushed forward to stand trial alongside this one.

Regardless, your words of assurance came back to him. You had asked him to say it again when he wasn’t drunk, had asked him to stand by it with a clear head and an even voice, and that had to count for something, didn’t it? There was no sense in punishing himself for finally doing the one thing he had always done too late. If all you were asking for was truth, and if all he could offer was himself, then he would do that much at least, even if the thought of losing you after this frightened him more than silence ever had.

Maybe honesty, once finally spoken, deserves to stand without apology. 

You, meanwhile, felt warmth spreading through your limbs until it left you lightheaded, buoyed by a feeling that bordered on giddy. A soft laugh escaped as you let your forehead fall against his chest, your hands abandoning his face to curl around his neck instead. You felt Yeonjun shudder above you as he quietly said your name. That made you stare up at him.

“What took you so long, hm?” you said at last with a rueful smile, before you shook your head at yourself and corrected course mid‑thought, your fingers flexing lightly at the nape of his neck. “No—no, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t say that to you. This isn’t on you. If anything, I should’ve been honest sooner. Maybe then we wouldn’t be standing here now, years late to our own conversation. I chose not to want you. I was—”

“Scared,” Yeonjun softly finished your sentence, speaking for the both of you. 

You nodded. “But I was wrong.”

You fought the urge to playfully jab him in the ribs when you saw his signature sly smirk appearing slowly in his lips. His eyes, once pouring with so much rawness, narrowed slightly but nonetheless still held the rawness. There was just a spark of heat in them now.

“‘Wrong’ how?” he leaned in until the space between you thinned to breath and heat, his words brushing your mouth more than reaching your ears. “I need you to be more honest with me here, love,” he added, gaze flicking once to your lips before lifting again.

You let out a short scoff and tipped your head back a fraction, denying him the closeness while keeping his attention exactly where it already was. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t want this too,” you replied. “And I wouldn’t have asked you to tell me you loved me when you were sober if I hadn’t meant it.”

His chest gave a quick thrum — a reminder that it had never learned restraint where you were concerned. Yeonjun followed to fill the gap you created, stepping forward until the counter met the back of your hips. He set both palms against the surface on either side of you, lowering his head to be eye level with you. His presence eclipsed everything else.

“Please, tell me before I lose my mind,” he rasped. “Because—oh God—I’ve been holding myself back for so long.”

Your teeth caught your lower lip as you considered just how much more you could push before it became unfair. You had tortured him enough. Your hands — one slid down his chest, fingers spreading over his sternum, the other finding its way back to his face and cupping his cheek as you guided him closer.

“I love you, Yeonjun,” you said, every word chosen and owned. “I always have.”

His lips were softer than anything you've ever known. It's soft like the first snow, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It was sweet, so devastatingly sweet and it bloomed until your senses were overwhelmed. 

He pulled back sooner than you were ready for and you chased the space without thinking. Your fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders as a small sound slipped from you, breathless and needy in a way that made him shudder as if he’d felt it in his bones.

“You have no idea how many times I talked myself out of this,” he said, voice low and rough as his forehead brushed yours, his thumb tracing along your jaw before slipping beneath your chin, tilting your face up again because he needed to see your eyes while saying it.

You laughed breathlessly and tugged him closer, forcing him to feel how little space there was left to negotiate. “You don’t look like someone who’s been holding back,” you replied, tipping your head just enough to brush your nose against his, stealing the air he’d been breathing.

He chuckled, the sound barely there before you pulled him back in and this time there was nothing cautious about it. You had never gotten so lost in a kiss before. Your heart kept tripping over itself as your fingers dragged him closer, closer, still not close enough. You had loved before but it didn’t feel like this. You had kissed before but it didn’t burn you alive. It left you flushed and dizzy and wanting more.

Yeonjun’s hand slid into your hair, fingers spreading at your scalp as he tipped your head back, deepening the kiss until your breath caught. His other arm wrapped around you and lifted you without warning, setting you on the counter as he stepped in between your thighs. You hooked your legs around his hips, pulling him closer as his mouth worked yours with growing insistence. You found yourself gasping for breath, whimpering when he bit your bottom lip as his other hand braced beside you.

The haze of sensation left your vision swimming, every nerve alive as his fingers slipped under your shirt, tracing the heated planes of your skin, teasing, exploring, igniting sparks that sent heat skittering through you. He pulled back only slightly before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Sometimes, all I can think about is this—us like this, you in my arms. Underneath me, too." His lips brushed yours again, then he exhaled. “No—forget that. You deserve more respect than that. I just… I haven’t been able to stop myself from wanting it.”

You smiled at that, resting one arm across his shoulder while your other raked through his hair. You tilted your head and hummed.

“What else do you wanna do?” you asked, voice dipping.

He pretended to ponder as he narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking away before returning to you with a smirk. “Take you to dinner after this,” he said, hand shifting on your waist, drawing you closer. “Do things in the proper order for once.”

“Mmm,” you replied, rolling your hips forward just enough to press yourself against him, watching the way his breath hitched. “And then?”

He straightened slightly, lips curving as he leaned in to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Then we get dessert.”

“We’ve never waited for dinner to get dessert,” you murmured, the challenge clear as you grinded against him again, smiling when his inhale went sharp and his hand slid down to your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he said, a rough laugh in his voice as his grip tightened. “I had a very stable life before you moved in.”

“Ah,” you sighed, feigning a forlorn expression as your hand slid across his chest. “Then maybe we should stop. Let you go back to that stable life while I go to slee—waoh!”

Laughter erupted from you when he deftly lifted you up and carried you to his room. His mouth never straying from yours even as you both fell onto the bed in a disordered sprawl, the frame creaking softly beneath the sudden movement while his lips slipped from yours only to trail wet kisses down your jaw and throat, sucking and biting until your skin was a canvas of his marks. It sent shivers shooting down your whole body, your hips bucking. He settled between your legs and you felt the solid presence of him there pinning you to the mattress. 

His hands slid up your thighs and under your skirt. You moaned against his lips when he massaged the flesh there as he pulled back to stare down into your face while lifting the material, leaving a trail of goosebumps all the way up your thighs. You felt yourself clench around air, a sharp pulse of need in your core. Your hunger stripped everything down to sensation, and it felt dangerously good to stop resisting it.

His lips were swollen and damp when he paused. “You want this, right?”

Your breath came uneven as you swallowed. You had never been more sure of anything in your life. With a shaky laugh you nod, unbuttoning your dress shirt with a wolfish smile. 

He tongued his cheek at the sight of your black lacy bra and your expression, hands already reaching for his own clothes. He pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, muscle shifting under skin as he tossed it aside. You were on him immediately which he happily complied, wasting no time clashing his mouth against yours. Your hands were all over his torrid naked skin, touching and grabbing every inch of skin they could access. 

Your back arched as you broke the kiss with a moan when he slipped one hand underneath your bra and kneaded the mound of your breast. The barrier was making him impatient so he quickly worked with the clasp of your bra and flung it somewhere over his shoulder before greedily taking one perky nipple in his mouth. 

Your hand tangled in his hair as he sucked and nipped on your skin, the other hand busy where it rolled and pinched the other nipple in between his fingers. You felt like you could cum alone from nipple stimulation because holy shit he was so good at whatever he was doing. His growing hardness pressed insistently in between you, and you sought friction by trying to grind up against him. 

“Please, Yeonjun,” you breathed, the plea tugged loose as your hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer even as your back arched toward him.

He looked up at you through his lashes, releasing your nipple with a pop and grinned deviously. “I know, baby.” A quiet laugh brushed against your skin as he shifted, one knee nudging your thighs apart, his hand sliding lower to cup you through the thin barrier of fabric. His mouth returned to your throat as he spoke, words punctuated by the drag of his lips. “Need me here badly? I can feel how bad you want me.”

If you were in the right mind right now and not overcome by lust, you would have swiped that smirk off his face with a punch or some snarky remarks to reclaim a little pride. But all you could do was nod and do whatever to make him give you what you wanted. You tugged your skirt down your legs which had hiked up your waist earlier, and was about to tug your panties down too. You didn’t get far. His hand closed around your wrist and stilled you.

“Not yet.” His tone dimmed as he sat back on his heels. Gaze tracked you in a way that made you squirm like he’d decided to take his time and wanted you to feel every second of it.

Goosebumps travelled up your skin as you raised your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was waiting for. You bit your lip with hitched breaths when he thumbed your cunt over your panties, tracing over the slick dampness. He worked on his pants with the other hand, pulling out his hardened cock. Your body felt another rush of heat roll over when you took him in — long and veiny, a pool of pre cum already gathering at the tip. He gave himself a few lazy pumps with the same rhythm as he stroked you, brows furrowed with the sensation as a low groan slipped out.

“Didn't know you were a tease in bed, Jun,” you breathed out with a laugh, feeling yourself getting wetter as more slick gushed out.

He let out a throaty chuckle before kicking his pants off and climbing back over you, eager to kiss you again. “You have no idea,” he whispered against your mouth.

He greedily took in your moans when he pressed his leaking tip against your clothed cunt — a delicious friction that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core. Each grind pushed the tip, the soaked cotton yielding just enough to let him tease the entrance of your aching pussy, but not enough to grant full access — leaving you teetering on the edge of frustration and ecstasy.

"God, you're so fucking hot," he teasingly groaned against your ear that sent shivers down your spine. 

Whimpering, you looked down at the place but he held your jaw and made your face tilt back up to kiss you again. Your body arched instinctively to press harder against him, the subtle drag of the panties creating a tantalizing burn that heightened every nerve. Yeonjun's grip on your jaw softened, his thumb brushing tenderly over your lower lip.

You bit your lip, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush, "I want you inside me, Yeonjun—please, I need it so bad."

At your unabashed confession, Yeonjun gave one little cheeky grin before finally hooking a finger into the edge of your panties to pull them off. The sudden exposure sent a rush of cool air over your swollen, dripping pussy, making you gasp as his cock slid fully against your bare entrance, the tip teasing your opening and agonizingly bumping into your clit.

You got up, pushing him back to sit down as you climbed on his lap and claimed his mouth in a searing kiss. You nipped at his lower lip, sucking it gently between your teeth before plunging back in, the filthy slide of saliva mingling as you lost yourself in the sensation of his taste.

"Fuck, you're dripping for me," he let out a prolonged groan, his fingers sliding through your sopping folds. 

He pushed two digits inside of you with ease and you sighed at the stretch. His fingers curled inside you with a slow rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure that made your inner walls clench around him. You rocked your hips, grinding against his hand as his thumb brushed over your swollen clit, drawing out gasps that echoed in the dim room. Every breath you took was ragged, your skin flushed and slick with a light sheen of sweat. 

Yeonjun's dark eyes locked onto yours, his free hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer until your foreheads pressed together. "That's it, love," he murmured against your lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you, heightening the delicious friction as his fingers stretched and stroked your depths.

Through the haze of heady ecstasy, you looked down at him only to have your chest warm up. There was so much awe and love in his eyes. His devotion ran deeper for you than you could imagine.

You reached down to wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him. Yeonjun's breath hitched, a deep groan escaping his lips that mingled with your own soft whimpers. As the intensity built, your free hand clutched at his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to elicit another low growl from him. His cock twitched in your hand as he thrusted harder against you. The veins on his shaft stood out prominently against the backdrop of smooth skin slicked with precum and sweat. You could feel every ridge and pulse as you worked him with increasing fervor. 

But you didn’t want to cum just yet like this and neither did you want him to finish so soon, despite already dying to taste him. You released him before pushing his hand away from inside you.

You gave a breathless laugh when Yeonjun put his fingers in his mouth, pinning you with his gaze as he licked them clean. You lifted yourself up, knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of his hips and aligned his cock with your slit. The thick, rigid length of him slid into you with a wet squelch, stretching your swollen folds wide as you sank down.

“Oh, fuck, y-you’re going to have to help me. Too, too tight,” you hissed, feeling waves of warmth travelling all over your body.

Yeonjun grunted as his hands found purchase on your hips, his grip tight and it felt so fucking good. You knew they’d be leaving bruises. Despite all the nudging and the rampant lubrication of your pussy, it still took a full minute, probably longer, to work his entire length inside of your tightness that made your thighs tremble, but you didn't stop there.

With a shared, heated glance, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and giving him easy access to thrust up on you, making you let out a high pitched whimper. Once Yeonjun was finally seated deep inside you, a shared sigh of relief and laughter escaped your lips, the stretch bordering on overwhelming but laced with a delicious ache that made your toes curl.

“My angel,” Yeonjun choked on his words as he ran his hands over your back, soothing you. “I love you so, so much—and I don’t know how I went this long without saying it out loud.”

You closed your eyes shut, head falling on his shoulders as countless tremors went through your body at his size. “Hah, it really did take you being drunk to finally say it,” you said between breaths.

He grinned, but it was a little lopsided, like he couldn’t quite hold himself together. "Yeah, but I'm glad I finally did. And I promise, I’m not gonna screw this up. I won’t. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you. No matter what."

You lifted your head up to return his smile, before leaning in to a kiss. His lips moved languidly with yours, tongue poking out to lick against yours. His hands wrapped over your back, drawing you flush against his chest, your breasts pressing into the firm planes of his chest. Your hands clutched at his broad shoulders, nails digging into the warm, sweat-slicked skin as you whimpered into his mouth, the kiss deepening with a raw hunger that mirrored the way his body claimed yours. 

"You alright?" he whispered, his voice a husky mix of concern and desire that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a moan, and he added softly, "I got you." 

His hands gripped your ass firmly then, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he began to guide your hips in a slow pace, lifting and lowering you with effortless strength. Each upward thrust drove him deeper, the friction building into a fiery crescendo that had you both groaning — his low, guttural sounds vibrating through your joined bodies, while yours escaped as breathless gasps. 

You could feel the veins of his cock pulsing and the heat of him seeping into you, making your inner walls clench in desperation for more. His breath was hot against your neck, a ragged rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart as he continued his torturous grind. 

With a low growl, he eased you backward, his strong arms supporting you as he laid you down on the bed. Yeonjun paused for a heartbeat, savoring the sight of you laid out before him — body flushed with sweat, boobs lightly swaying with every rise and fall of your breath, eyes half lidded and glossy that matched your glistening pussy. His hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples as he began to move again, thrusts growing more purposeful. You were so lost in the blissful haze of pleasure coursing through you that the sudden wave of coldness and emptiness startled you; Yeonjun pulling out his entirety out of you, making you whine to get back the feeling of his warmth. 

Without warning, Yeonjun's strong hands gripped your waist, flipping you over, rolling you off your back and onto your stomach. The sudden shift left you disoriented, a jolt of surprise flashing across your face as you glanced back at him over your shoulder.

Gripping himself, he swiped the head of himself through your sticky folds, bumping your clit to slide back down to your center and it once again made you whine. The cool sheets pressed against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body hovering above you, his knees straddling your thighs to pin you in place. You felt his hard cock sliding along the curve of your ass before he positioned himself, the tip nudging at your slick entrance once more. 

“Yeonj—hnngf!”

With one easy thrust he entered you again, deeper this time, the angle pressing him against your most sensitive spots in a way that had you seeing stars. Yeonjun let out a low whine, his body collapsing slightly as he rested his head between your shoulder blades, his hot breath fanning across your skin like a branding iron.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum already," he choked out.

You tried to respond, but all that escaped was a breathy moan.

The prone position amplified every sensation, his body molding to yours as he lay partially over you, his chest brushing against your back with each shallow thrust. Your pussy clenched around him, the tight confines of your body gripping his thick length as he drove in and out, the friction building with an exquisite pressure that bordered on overwhelming.

He was so fucking deep inside you, rubbing against all of your deepest nerves. His moans and whines were music to your ears, his hot breaths came in ragged huffs tickling the nape of your neck, while his hands roamed possessively — one sliding under your hips to tilt them just right, the other threading through your hair to expose more of your skin to his lips.

Yeonjun's thrusts grew more urgent but they carried a tenderness too. His lips pressing soft kisses along your shoulder, whispering praises that made you feel cherished amidst the raw desire — how perfectly you fit him, how your body responded to his like it was made for him. Your fingers clawed at the sheets, the building pressure inside you coiling tighter with every deep pump of his hips.

You croaked out his name—"Yeonjun"—as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls spasming wildly around him, milking his length with uncontrollable pulses. He faltered then, his pace stuttering into erratic thrusts, a guttural groan escaping him as he buried his face deeper into the nape of your neck. Your gasps and moans fell like waterfall into the mattress as he drove you into it.

Sensing his restraint crumbling, he managed to gasp out, "Can't hold it back, love." His voice breaking with the effort, his hands trembling on your waist.

The plea in his words ignited a final surge of desire in you. "Come inside." The command breathlessly slipped from your lips as you craned your neck to look at him.

Perhaps it was the aphrodisiac and fucked out look in your eyes that made him surrender, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep into you, hot ropes of cum flooding your sensitive pussy. You felt every twitch, every warm rush, as it mingled with your own lingering aftershocks, leaving you both shuddering in the quiet aftermath.

Both of you stayed unmoving for a few seconds before Yeonjun eased himself out of you, his breath still coming in ragged gasps that matched the rise and fall of your back beneath him. Your spent pussy clenched slightly as he withdrew, a warm gush of his cum leaking out, glistening on your flushed skin and soaking into the fabric below. 

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze at you. The moment rolled strangely after, breath still uneven between you as your eyes met in startled disbelief, and then whatever tension remained cracked open into soft, breathless laughter that shook through both of you. He reached out, pulling you into his arms as you nestled against him. Your lips met in a deep, lingering kiss, tasting the salt of your exertion, your tongue brushing his with a tenderness that made his heart swell.

You pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed, and began to whisper, "That was so—" but the words dissolved into another fit of giggles, your head shaking as if the sheer intensity defied description, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back.

Yeonjun silenced your laughter with another soft kiss, his hand cradling the nape of your neck, feeling the rapid beat of your pulse under his thumb. "Let's take a bath," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and soothing. "I'll clean you up."

The lukewarmness of the water wrapped around you both later. You guided him to sit on the edge of the tub while the water warmed, steam climbing the air and settling against your skin until the aches in your body began to loosen. He watched you with damp lashes and a softened smile, palms braced behind him as you tested the water, then turned the tap down a fraction and nodded to yourself. 

When he reached for the shampoo you caught his wrist and shook your head with a small smile as you took the bottle from him. “Sit,” you said, guiding him back with a press to his shoulder, and he let you without question. You worked the lather through his hair, thumbs circling his scalp until his eyes slid shut and his shoulders dropped.

You followed with soap, careful hands moving over his back and arms, rinsing him clean while water splashed against porcelain. Your fingers combed through his hair again and again, traced paths along his back and chest, kissing warm skin whenever the impulse struck. You spent long minutes on motions that served no purpose other than letting him feel held.

By the time you were done, his breathing had slowed, but his chest rose sharply once as he laughed under it, sounding close to tears instead. You frowned, kneeling immediately in between his knees to look at him. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes glassy as he blinked hard.

“I’ve never had anyone treat me like this,” he said, one hand cupping your face. “You know that I’m… not used to feeling like this, right? The people I’ve been with before were distant, and for the longest time I thought that was just how it was supposed to be. Until I started loving you.”

Your arms slipped around his middle, cheek resting on his shoulder letting the water run while you held him there. “I know,” you said softly, squeezing him just a little tighter. “And I promise you’re not going to feel like that with me. You deserve to be loved properly, Yeonjun, and I mean it when I say I’m all in—starting with making sure you never spend thirty thousand on five chillies again.”

His laughter broke through the tenderness as his smile softened into something fond and open. “Yeah,” he said, brushing his thumb along your cheek, eyes bright as he nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

True that there had never been any childhood pinky promises between the two of you, no naive vows whispered under desks to look back on. But as you stayed there together, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the time it had taken to arrive here because the absence of those clichés hadn’t taken him away from you. Some stories didn’t need an early beginning to arrive where they belonged.

And god, you were never going to let Yeonjun feel alone or unloved again — not after everything he had already given to people who never knew how to hold him.

THE END.

Taglist; @bambiihee @xylatox @hoefororeo @i-like-to-read-at-4am @caratcakemoa @90steele @cen116 @i-am-not-dal @bamgeutori @nanilis @sunooqvrlsx @izzyy-recs @fancypeacepersona @littlemoasoobin @r1hanna123 @bamtoriui @vamppgojo @soobinz-wife @yystarz @stargirllost @virtaideen @usuallyunlikelyfox @mojicatfatsposts @tyunstarz @gyutaepie @ningeom @slutfornagi @beomgyusluver @jaegerbombin @chbq2 @bunniwords @wonderstrucktae @seonghwasprincess @yeonyeonyeonjun @luvforlix @arianacraze @neonaby @purrplegyuu @petulapetula @soohashits @chocomoas @beomelmyu @thearchersupremacy @starry-eyed-moa @charlottevlog @dearjiwon @mondayyfri @lunarlaina @friedneuron @jaehmarks @katsukis1wife @rainyjeno

[soft-jkdark]

What Happens in Vegas • JJK

Summary: A weekend in las vegas took an unexpected when a drunken bet led Jungkook and you to an Elvis wedding- and forced you both to face the feelings you had kept buried.

Genre: Friends to Lovers • Smut • Accidental Marriage • Fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Y|N)

Warnings: 18+ (Mature) • Explicit Sexual Content • Alcohol Consumption • Strong Language • Fluff • Vegas Wedding

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

Las Vegas.

You know what they said about it — the city that never sleeps. Every corner had a casino or a wedding chapel. Cheap Elvis impersonators were everywhere. People came here and walked away lighter in the wallet. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

Still, you couldn’t help but stare when you finally arrived that night. Las Vegas was exactly how you’d imagined it: enormous neon signs washed the city in waves of red, blue, pink, and gold. Lighted billboards battled for tourists’ attention, like the whole place refused to ever quiet down.

Luxury hotels lined the Strip, and somehow the boys had managed to get you into the most famous one of all — Caesars Palace.

When you stepped out of the taxi in front of Caesars, you literally lost your breath for a second. The hotel loomed like a Roman palace: towering columns, elegant fountains, and grand statues gave the building a majestic air.

Taehyung’s gaze bounced between you and Jungkook, a wide grin spreading across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is going to be the best weekend ever!” he shouted. Before anyone could answer, he grabbed his suitcase and barreled into the hotel lobby.

Jimin watched Taehyung, shook his head with a laugh, and called after him, “We’re going to hear about this all weekend.” He snatched up his bag and followed Taehyung into the crowd of hotel guests.

For a moment, you just let the night breeze run through your hair, still stunned by the grandeur around you.

Jungkook broke the silence. “He’s like a kid on Christmas.”

You laughed and glanced at him. “But that’s why we love him.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said.

He kept staring at the hotel like he wanted to drink it in, and the golden lights played across his face. Whenever they caught him, his eyes seemed to glitter.

“So…” Jungkook finally said, turning back to you. “Ready for a weekend of chaos?”

“As long as we don’t wake up with a tiger in the room or accidentally get married, I’m up for anything.”

Jungkook laughed. “We shouldn’t have watched The Hangover before we came.”

After you’d all checked in, you hauled your suitcases upstairs. But just as you were standing in the hotel room, Taehyung suddenly remembered something. “By the way, we only have three rooms.”

Jimin frowned. “But there are four of us.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said with an innocent smile. “So two of us will have to share.”

A hush fell over the room. “I am not sharing a room,” Jimin declared, folding his arms.

“I need my own room,” your voice cut in. “I swore I’d never share with any of you again—worst night of my life.”

Jimin immediately burst out laughing at the memory. “Oh god, true.”

You sighed. “I remember it too well. Someone snored, someone kept stealing my blanket even though we each had one, and someone had to pee every five minutes.”

“That’s denial,” Taehyung protested.

Jungkook couldn’t hold back a laugh and shook his head. “Okay, listen. Y/N and I will share a room,” he said finally.

You looked at him, and he only grinned. Inside you, the arrangement threw you completely off balance. Just being near Jungkook made your head spin; the thought of spending an entire weekend in the same room with him felt a little dangerous.

“Fine, I’ll agree. But if you snore, I will kick you out,” you warned.

Jungkook smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

About an hour later, you were all getting ready for the night. You weren’t in Las Vegas to stay cooped up in a hotel room.

You took a last look in the mirror. Your outfit was made for Vegas: a deep-red lace corset top under a burgundy leather jacket, paired with a short black skirt. You breathed in and out. You were strangely nervous, though you couldn’t say why—maybe the overwhelming glamour of the Strip, or the fact that you were about to share a room with Jungkook for an entire weekend.

You stepped out of the bathroom and spotted Jungkook at the foot of the bed, scrolling through his phone. The click of your heels made him look up.

For a moment, his gaze traced over you. You could tell he was trying not to stare, his eyes flicking away and then back again. The light caught the plane of his cheek and the slow curve of his mouth, and the ordinary sight of him sitting on the bed hit you harder than it should have. The air between you tightened; your pulse sped, and your breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with the elevator or the walk from the lobby. Every small movement he made—the way he shifted his weight, the casual tuck of his hair behind his ear—seemed amplified. You found it impossibly difficult to look anywhere but at him, and the thought of an entire night in such proximity made your stomach flutter with a heady mix of anticipation and nerves.

He straightened, clearing his throat. “You look good.”

You smiled, your heart too loud in your chest. “Thanks.”

You both forced your eyes away at the same time, each pretending not to notice how difficult that was.

The two of you left the room; Jimin and Taehyung were already waiting in the hallway.

“About time,” Taehyung grumbled. “What took you so long? I want to get going.”

You all took the elevator down to the lobby together. The night was warm, and a soft breeze toyed with your hair. Even at this hour, the Strip was alive—people laughing, music spilling from bars and casinos, a constant hum of energy.

“First stop: a casino,” Taehyung declared. He was the trip planner—every time you went away, he took charge of everything, from logistics to the itinerary.

Less than ten minutes later, you were surrounded by flashing slot machines and crowded gaming tables. Older men lounged at the machines, blowing coins and flirting with the staff.

“That’s rigged,” Taehyung muttered, staring at a slot machine.

Jimin laughed. “You’ve lost five times. I don’t think it’s the machine.”

Jungkook eyed his dwindling stack of chips and sighed. “Gambling isn’t for us.”

“Definitely not,” you agreed, laughing.

“Plan B, then,” Taehyung said, draping his arm over Jimin’s shoulder. “Let’s find a bar.”

Nobody objected. You left the casino and soon slipped into a crowded bar, where loud music and raucous voices spilled out onto the street, pulling you into the night.

Hours flew by with the boys at your side. With them around, you always felt safe, as if nothing could go wrong. Taehyung and Jimin spun story after story—your brothers, in every meaningful way, people you couldn’t imagine life without. They were treasures to you.

You and Jungkook listened, laughing along; it felt like home—drinks kept coming to the table, one after another. Conversations grew louder, laughter more uninhibited. Even the blaring music seemed to smooth into the background.

A waitress approached—timelessly pretty, with a charming smile and long blonde hair that made her eyes light up. “Hey, I’ll be your server for the rest of the night. My colleague finished up.” She kept glancing at Jungkook; it was hard not to notice. You understood why—he had that pull. He drew people in like a magnet.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, laying a hand almost casually on his shoulder.

“Sure, thanks,” Jungkook answered politely.

Her attention stayed on him, as if the rest of the world dissolved around them. You knew that look all too well—how everything shrinks to a focal point when someone else becomes the only thing that matters.

You watched in silence while Taehyung and Jimin got lost in their own conversation. A tight, unfamiliar ache spread through your chest—sharp and stupid, like a slap. You had no right to be jealous; Jungkook wasn’t yours. He could flirt with whoever he wanted. Still, what stung most was how comfortably familiar he seemed with her, how effortlessly he gave her one of his smiles. Sometimes you wished that smile belonged only to you.

You tightened your grip around your glass; the tequila burned on the way down. Jimin noticed the change in you—he always did. “You okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” you lied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Inside, the knot twisted tighter.

The waitress slid a paper to Jungkook. “Text me if you want to have fun in Vegas,” she said, pressing what was probably her number into Jungkook’s hand. He tucked the paper into his jacket with a quiet “Thanks,” and she moved on to help other guests.

Your fingers curled so hard around the cocktail that your knuckles went pale. Your jaw clenched. The alcohol made everything sharper; it felt like you might burst.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asked, his voice close to your ear. You felt his breath against your cheek—warm, casual, dangerously intimate.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling again. Without another word, Jungkook drew your chair nearer and rested his hand on your knee.

That touch sent you reeling. You watched his palm on your leg as if you’d been struck mute—every other thought evaporated. The buzzing in your head quieted into a single, feral focus on him. “If you say so,” he murmured, voice low.

With each round, thoughts blurred, except for the undeniable fact that Jungkook was dangerously near. Laughter grew louder and looser around you—everyone drunk on the moment, even if none of you could remember what had started the jokes.

“I’ve got an idea!” Taehyung grinned, tipping forward over the table. He was drunk, eyes rimmed red and mischievous.

“Oh no,” Jimin groaned, already laughing.

“Since gambling isn’t our thing,” Taehyung said, “let’s make a bet.”

“This never ends well,” Jungkook muttered, his grip on your knee tightening.

“Exactly—that’s why it’ll be fun.” Taehyung’s eyes flicked between you and Jungkook. “I bet you two wouldn’t dare get married in a Vegas chapel tonight.”

For a moment, the bar fell away—the music and chatter dimmed into silence in your mind. Marry? Jungkook?

Jungkook laughed. “No way.”

“See?” Taehyung crowed, pointing at you both. “It'll be so fucking funny.”

“Forget it,” you said, waving him off. “I’m not that drunk.”

But your heart pounded so loud it felt like everyone could hear it. The thought of it made the skin along your spine tingle in a way you couldn’t ignore. You didn’t even dare look at Jungkook, afraid he’d see how much the idea had lodged under your skin.

“Come on,” Jimin pushed, grinning. “It’s just for fun—we’re best friends.”

“No,” you said sharply and gave Jimin a cool look.

“Scared?” Taehyung teased, face alight with prankish glee.

You laughed, nervous and small. “Tae, this is insane.”

“It’s Vegas weddings. They don’t count,” Jimin said.

“Exactly—cowards,” Taehyung mocked.

“We’re not cowards,” Jungkook said immediately.

Your eyes found him almost of their own accord. He was already looking at you; his cheeks were faintly flushed from the alcohol, a crooked smile on his lips. Something in his expression betrayed a flicker of uncertainty beneath the easy front—as if he, too, was grappling with the absurdity of the bet.

“Well? Are you in?” Jimin nudged.

Jungkook shook his head, then met your gaze and held it longer than felt casual. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

You couldn’t tell whether it was the wine or the gravity in his eyes, but something shifted. “Alright,” you heard yourself say.

A grin spread across Jungkook’s face. “Then let’s do it.”

“YES!” Taehyung jumped up, whooping. “Let's go before you change your mind!”

The little chapel was exactly the kitschy cliché you’d expect: white silk flowers trimmed the altar, neon lights flickered along the walls, and standing before you was an Elvis impersonator in a glittering white suit, black pompadour, and oversized sunglasses.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in an exaggerated baritone, “we are gathered here today...”

Tae and Jimin dissolved into helpless laughter before Elvis could finish the line. You couldn’t help it—you laughed too. Jungkook shook his head with an amused smile beside you.

“I thought this was just a cliché,” Taehyung giggled, clutching Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Apparently not,” Jungkook returned, steadying himself on Taehyung as he hiccupped a laugh.

Elvis cleared his throat theatrically. “When you’re done laughing...”

You all apologized to the officiant. Jimin stepped up to be your witness, Taehyung beamed as Jungkook’s. They’d been scheming to be the ones to stand up there with you from the start.

“Now, the vows,” Elvis announced.

Jungkook turned and took your hand. The laughter fell away; whatever playfulness had ruled the night softened into something honest and quiet. “So,” he began, scratching the back of his neck with a shy glance, “I didn’t plan on getting married tonight. But if I have to marry someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Each word made your heart trip. You knew it was ridiculous—alcohol and a stupid bet—but his voice cut through the fog nonetheless. The idea that you were the one he’d pick, if only for a joke, landed in your chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the room.

“You’re funny,” he continued. “Stubborn as hell, and probably the only person who can drive me crazy regularly. That’s why I like having you around.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. Even if you could blame it on the drink, a seed of hope planted itself where you hadn’t expected it.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “I never thought I’d go to bed married tonight,” you said, smiling.

"But,” you added, softer, “if I had to pick someone to go through this mad story with, it’d be you.”

Jungkook went quiet in a way that made the rest of the chapel hush, too. The careless grin slipped off his face; he looked as if he’d narrowed everything down to just you in that moment. “You make me laugh no matter what,” he said, voice low. “You’re honest, you’re ridiculously funny, and you actually cook. I like having you near me.”

Elvis nodded like a proud priest of kitsch. “Now for the important part.” He turned to Jungkook. “Will you take this beautiful woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Jungkook met your eyes and then smiled. “I will.”

“And will you take this handsome man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I will,” you answered, every syllable sounding real in your ears.

Elvis beamed. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

At that, Taehyung erupted—jumping and cheering. “They really did it!”

Jimin clapped and laughed beside you. “Wait until Namjoon finds out—he’s going to lose it.”

You stood there with your hands linked, the ridiculousness of it all wrapped in something tender and electric. The vows had been spoken between giggles and neon, but they landed like a promise—messy, unexpected, and entirely yours for the night.

After you left the chapel, the night wasn’t over. Taehyung insisted the wedding had to be celebrated properly, so you hopped between two more bars, laughter and shouting blurring into one long, warm buzz. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you finally made it back to the hotel.

The walk to your rooms felt longer than it had hours before. Jimin and Taehyung’s laughter ricocheted down the corridor until they stopped at their doors, wobbling a little on their feet.

“Good night, newlyweds!” Tae slurred, giving you a thumbs-up.

Jimin fumbled for his doorknob, still grinning. “Tomorrow I want every single detail.”

“You won’t remember any of it anyway,” Jungkook murmured beside you, amusement in his voice.

“Fair point,” Jimin replied and let the door click shut behind him. Tae’s door followed with another muffled sound, and the hallway fell quiet.

You and Jungkook slipped into your room. The door closed with a soft thud, and he leaned his back against it, breathing out a long, tired laugh. “What a night,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

You collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I still can’t believe we let Tae talk us into this.”

Jungkook held up his left hand and rolled the simple ring between his fingers. “Pretty wild,” he said quietly.

For a moment, you watched the ring on your own hand, the reality of what had happened settling over you like a warm, shocking wave. It had really happened.

Jungkook pushed off the door and climbed into bed beside you. He lay on his back, eyes tracing the patterns of neon light that bled in through the curtains. “You know,” he began softly, voice thick with sleep and something else, “I expected a lot tonight — knowing Tae — but I didn’t expect we’d come back married.”

You laughed, a breathy sound that held equal parts disbelief and something tender. “Me neither.”

You lay there side by side in the hush, the city’s glow painting your faces in red and blue. For a while, neither of you spoke; the room filled with the low hum of Vegas beyond the glass.

After a few slow breaths, Jungkook turned his head to look at you. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

The question was small, but it landed heavily. Despite the alcohol, his eyes were clear, and something like hope trembled there — like your answer might tilt the night one way or another.

You turned to meet him. The silence felt intimate, like the two of you were the only people left in the world. “No,” you said, surprising yourself with the steadiness in your voice. “Strangely… no.”

Relief unfurled across his features, softening him. He smiled — the kind of smile that reached his eyes — and you felt it in your chest. “Good. Me neither.”

Everything settled then. The jokes, the exaggerated bravado, and the dizzy laughter softened into something quieter and real. He reached out, thumb brushing the back of your hand where the ring sat, and the contact sent a little electricity through you. You squeezed his fingers, and he squeezed back, small and sure.

The two of you lay like that, breathing in sync, as the neon outside pulsed and the late-night city life continued oblivious. You felt vulnerable and safe at once — ridiculous and content. Eventually, Jungkook curled closer, his shoulder pressing against yours, and you rested your head near his chest. His heartbeat was steady and warm beneath your ear, and you drifted toward sleep with his arm wrapped lightly around you, the surreal, imperfect promise of the night soft and simple between you.

The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy, until Jungkook shifted beside you. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. "We still have a wedding night."

You turned your head, blinking at him in the dim glow of the neon lights. "What?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with dark, steady eyes. The playful exhaustion had faded, replaced by something sharper, more intentional. "You know," he said slowly, his thumb tracing idle circles against your palm, "I've been thinking about fucking you since you came out of the bathroom in that outfit."

Your breath caught. "Jungkook—" you started, but his name came out softer than you intended, almost like permission.

He leaned closer, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and something else, something uniquely him. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his mouth hovering near your jaw, "and I will."

But you didn't. The ring on your finger felt suddenly warm, weighted with new meaning, and when his lips finally found yours, it was slow and deliberate—not rushed like the chaos of the night, but deep and searching. His hand slid from yours to your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him, the heat of his skin bleeding through his thin shirt.

"Is this crazy?" you breathed against his mouth.

"Probably," he whispered back, smiling as he kissed you again, hungrier this time. "But we just got married in a Vegas chapel with Elvis as our witness. Crazy seems to be the theme tonight."

You laughed, but it dissolved into a gasp as his hand slipped beneath your shirt, palm warm against your ribs. His touch was careful at first, questioning, but when you arched into him, the restraint snapped. He rolled you beneath him, settling between your legs with a confidence that made your head spin—though whether from the lingering alcohol or him, you couldn't tell anymore.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough against your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. "I want you to stop talking," you whispered, "and show me what you've been thinking about all night."

His answering groan vibrated through your chest, and then there was no more talking—just the sound of fabric sliding against skin, the rustle of the sheets.

Jungkook didn't rush. He took his time to take off your shirt, his fingers deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as each inch of skin was revealed. When he finally pushed the fabric over your head, his breath hitched—just barely, but you caught it.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word landed soft and warm against your collarbone. He traced the curve of your breast with the back of his knuckles, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "You're so beautiful."

He lowered his head, mouth hovering over your nipple, his breath hot and maddening. You arched up, seeking contact, but he pulled back with a faint, wicked smile.

"Easy," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

When he finally took you into his mouth, the heat and wet suction dragged a ragged sound from your throat. He was thorough—circling with his tongue, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with soft lips. He switched sides, lavishing the same attention on your other breast, his hand remaining to roll the abandoned nipple between his fingers, tugging just enough to make you squirm.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, your hands finding his hair, gripping tight.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. "So responsive," he praised, looking up at you with dark, blown-pupil eyes. "Love how you react to me."

His free hand drifted lower, palm flat against your stomach, then slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt. He paused there, waiting, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip.

"Can I?" he asked, though his voice left little room for refusal—more a courtesy than a question, a check-in that made your chest tighten with something tender.

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

He slid your skirt down your legs, his gaze raking over you with open appreciation that made heat pool in your cheeks. When you were bare before him, he settled between your thighs, spreading you open with gentle hands.

"Look at you," he said, almost to himself, his thumb brushing through your folds, spreading the wetness he found there. "Already so wet for me. Such a good girl."

The praise sent a flutter through your stomach. He kept his thumb circling your clit, light, teasing strokes that built slowly, deliberately. Every time you started to climb toward the edge, he pulled back, easing the pressure, watching you tremble.

"Not yet," he said softly, leaning down to kiss your thigh, your hip, anywhere he could reach. "Let me take my time with you. Want to feel you fall apart."

When he finally pushed a finger inside you, you moaned, your head falling back against the pillow. He moved slowly, curling his finger to find the spot that made your vision blur.

"So tight," he murmured against your skin, adding a second finger, stretching you with patient, scissoring movements. "Taking me so well. You're doing so good, baby."

You were panting now, your hips chasing his hand, desperate for more friction, more pressure. He gave it to you in increments—building you up, backing off, building again. His free hand slid up your body, finding your throat, his fingers wrapping loosely, not squeezing, just holding you there, grounded, his eyes locked on yours with intense focus.

"Want to feel you come on my fingers," he said, his voice low and rough. "But not yet. Not until I taste you."

He withdrew his fingers slowly, drawing a whimper from you, and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a filthy, deliberate sound that made your thighs clench. Then he settled lower, his shoulders pressing your legs wider, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow, exploratory, dragging from your entrance to your clit with flat, broad pressure. You cried out, your hands flying to the sheets, gripping tight. He did it again, and again, establishing a maddeningly steady rhythm—never quite enough to push you over, always keeping you hovering on the precipice.

He moaned against you, the vibration making you buck, and the sound was wrecked, hungry. "You taste incredible," he mumbled, his tongue circling your clit before dipping lower, fucking into you with pointed, teasing strokes.

He returned to your clit, sucking gently, then harder, alternating pressure while his fingers slid back inside you, curling to stroke your walls. The dual sensation had you trembling, your legs shaking around his shoulders.

"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for—more, less, release, eternity.

He lifted his head, his mouth swollen and wet, his eyes dark with control and desire. "Not yet," he said again, his fingers stilling inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit and holding, keeping you right there on the edge, trembling, desperate. "I want you to wait for me. Can you do that? Be good for me?"

You nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it, the need coiling tight and hot in your belly.

"Good girl," he whispered, lowering his mouth again, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous rhythm. "My good girl. Let me take care of you."

He paused, his tongue still pressed against you, his fingers buried deep. When he looked up, his eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, holding something far more deliberate than alcohol-induced impulse.

"You know," he said, his voice rough and vibrating against your sensitive skin, "I wasn't even that drunk tonight." He dragged his tongue slowly up your center, watching your face crumble. "Two whiskeys. That's all." He curled his fingers inside you, making you gasp. "I knew exactly what was happening. At the chapel."

You stared down at him, shock rippling through your pleasure-fogged mind. His mouth was wet, his chin slick, and his gaze was steady—completely, terrifyingly sober.

"I was drunk," you breathed, your voice shaking as he flicked his tongue over your clit again, "but I was still clear-headed enough to know what I was doing."

A slow, devastating smile curved his lips. "Then you knew," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, "that I've wanted this. Wanted you." His fingers began moving again, purposeful and deep. "For so fucking long."

"Me too," you whispered, the admission breaking something open in your chest. "God, me too, Jungkook."

He groaned, raw and desperate, and surged up your body. His mouth crashed into yours, and you could taste yourself on his lips—salty and intimate and obscene. He tore at his own clothes, shoving his shirt over his head, his pants kicked off in frantic, clumsy movements until he was bare against you, hot and hard and trembling with restraint.

"Turn over," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, rough with the weight of his confession. "Now."

You scrambled to comply, flipping onto your stomach, and he pulled your hips up with rough hands, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The head of his cock dragged through your folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your entrance until you were pushing back against him, whining with need.

"Please," you begged, your cheek pressed against the mattress, your fingers gripping the sheets. "Jungkook, please—"

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, bottoming out with a guttural groan that sounded torn from his throat. You cried out, your back arching, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the bed against the wall.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, his hips snapping against yours with wet, filthy sounds. "So fucking tight. So perfect." He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, his mouth hot against your ear. "This is what I wanted. What I imagined. You're taking my cock like you were made for it."

You could only moan, your voice breaking with every impact, the pleasure building sharp and overwhelming. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision go white out, and you screamed his name, your arms giving out until your shoulders were pressed to the mattress, your ass in the air, completely at his mercy.

He fucked you through it, relentless, his stamina terrifying, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. When you finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he pulled out with a hiss, his cock slick and throbbing.

"Wall," he growled, already moving, lifting you with hands that barely registered your weight.

He pressed you against the nearest wall before you could process the movement, your back hitting the cool surface as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist by instinct. He entered you again in one smooth, brutal thrust, the new angle making you see stars, your head falling back with a cry.

"Look at me," he demanded, his hand wrapping around your throat again, not choking, just holding you there, pinning you in place as he drove up into you with savage, desperate force. "Look at me when you come."

You forced your eyes open, tears streaming down your face from the intensity, from the stretch, from the way he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world. His hips pistoned upward, each thrust lifting you, your back sliding against the wall with the friction of it.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, feeling the coil tightening again, impossibly, building toward something catastrophic.

"Come with me," he ordered, his voice breaking, his control finally fracturing.

The word shattered you. Your orgasm crashed through you with violent force, your body clamping down on him, your nails raking down his back, your scream swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you messily, desperately. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a roar that vibrated through your chest, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, hot and endless and claiming.

You both slid down the wall, trembling, gasping, tangled together in a heap of limbs and sweat and racing hearts. He stayed inside you, his face buried in your neck, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your skin.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice wrecked.

You laughed, breathless and delirious, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. "Yeah."

The neon lights outside pulsed red and blue across your tangled bodies, the Vegas hotel room suddenly feeling like the only place in the world that had ever mattered.

The aftermath settled over you like warm water—slow, encompassing, impossible to fight. Jungkook didn't pull away. He stayed tangled with you on the floor, his chest rising and falling against your back, his arm heavy and possessive across your waist. The carpet was rough against your shoulder blades, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"Come to bed," you mumbled, your voice hoarse, your eyes already drifting shut.

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, but neither of you moved. Not yet. His fingers traced lazy circles on your hip, touch gentling with each pass, until your breathing synced—deep and even, exhaustion finally claiming you both.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then the shell of your ear. "Stay right here," he whispered, though you were already half-gone, sinking into darkness with the taste of him still on your lips.

You didn't remember him lifting you, but you woke in the bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the morning light bleeding through the curtains in thin, harsh stripes. For a moment, you lay still, your mind blank, your body aching in places you'd forgotten existed.

Then the memories flooded back—the chapel, the rings, the way he'd looked at you when he said I do.

You turned your head. Jungkook was awake, propped on one elbow, watching you with soft, unguarded eyes. The harsh morning light should have made him look different, should have revealed last night as the mistake your rational mind insisted it must be.

But he just looked like Jungkook. Like home.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

You stared at him, at the ring still on his finger, at the marks you'd left on his shoulder, at the way his free hand had already found yours under the sheets.

"I can't believe this happened," you whispered.

A slow smile curved his lips—not teasing, not performative, just real. "Which part?"

"Any of it." You looked up at the ceiling. "All of it. Us. Here." Your voice caught, and you hated yourself for it, but he just squeezed your hand, waiting. "After all those years, Jungkook. All those years of wanting you and thinking it was hopeless, thinking I'd missed my chance, thinking—"

"I know," he said quietly. "I know."

You turned to face him. "A stupid bet. Taehyung's stupid, ridiculous bet, a chapel in Vegas, and two whiskeys." You laughed. "That's what it took?"

He shifted closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his nose brushing your cheek. "I'd have married you sober," he said, simple and devastating. "I'd have married you years ago if I'd had the guts to say so."

Outside, the city was already roaring back to life—horns and footsteps and the endless, chaotic hum of Vegas refusing to sleep. But in the hotel room, with Jungkook's heartbeat steady against your palm and his ring catching the morning light, the noise felt distant.

You'd come to Vegas expecting a story to laugh about later. A wild night, a funny anecdote, another memory of almosts and what-ifs.

Instead, you'd found this.

"So," he said, his thumb brushing over your ring, "annulment? Or..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

You looked at him—the man you'd loved in silence, the man who'd carried you to bed, your best friend who'd become your husband in a room that smelled like whiskey and bad decisions and something that felt frighteningly like forever.

"Or," you said.

His smile could have lit the whole damn city.

[blueberrylily18]

Three Isn’t Always A Crowd

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader x Dennis Whitaker

Summary: You’re sharing one bed with Jack Abbot and Dennis Whitaker, purely for comfort and body heat. You just happen to be sandwiched in the middle of the two when you have a saucy dream. Chaos ensues.

Warning 18+: NSFW Grinding. Dry humping. Oral sex (fem receiving) fingering. Dirty talk. Edging. Threesome. F/M/M

NOTE: this is an except from my 218k word fic on Ao3! So spoilers for crush. My reader is named Reid, so that’s why she’s named here.

You can find the full fic here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/79106356/chapters/207527516

You were dreaming again.

You knew that you were dreaming this time because you weren’t seeing a memory.

And nothing made sense.

You saw faces in your mind, dark swaths of color, and your body tingled in response. You couldn’t make sense of the things you were seeing. It was all bathed in shadow, moving shapes and dim watercolors behind your eyelids. It was almost like it was painted in candlelight.

A piercing pair of dark brown eyes.

A mop of silver curls.

A warm hand and soft smile. Blue eyes.

None of it made sense to you. You couldn’t see who the eyes belonged to, or remember who had that soft smile.

All you knew was that you could feel.

And you felt.

You felt warm in places you shouldn’t. Your chest tingled as a rosy pair of lips pressed themselves to your overwarm skin.

You knew you were dreaming then, because when you looked down, you met those dark brown eyes.

Your body felt strange as you arched under the touch, feeling something solid and warm pressing against your back. And the motion just felt so good, so very good as you rocked against something wedged between your legs.

This dream-

Oh god-

It just felt so real.

You could feel the liquid heat pooling in your belly. You could feel your heart in your throat. You could feel the goosebumps rise on your skin.

The gentle hands turned to your waist, and you writhed as this dream man caressed your sides. Your clit rubbed so perfectly over whatever was between your thighs that you couldn’t help but keep rolling and rolling your hips. The friction the sensation created made your breathing quicken.

You turned your head, trying to spy those captivating and deeply lined eyes again, but when you went to look, your hands were full. They were full of a head of soft silver curls, and you managed to see a sinful mouth curving, and you involuntarily called out, writhing against the solidness at your back, the solidness between your legs. Your chest positively ached, practically begging to be touched as a throbbing need built between your thighs.

This dreaming version of you revelled in the touches, the sights, the sounds, and your body had a mind of its own as you continued to roll your hips against whatever you could feel. The friction was practically sinful.

A solid warm arm tightened around your waist, the hand splaying over your stomach, holding you to its owner. You could already feel that powerful and all consuming tidal wave building in your belly, just waiting, just a little more. You needed more.

You heard a distinctly male sigh in your ear, coming from behind you, and it only spurred you on further, on faster. You felt something prodding into your backside, but you paid it no mind as you chased your own high.

Then you heard a throat clearing.

Wait?

A throat clearing?

That didn’t make sense in your lust addled dream. No, your dream was all soft sighs and deep groans.

Your eyes flew open.

Only to meet a pair of definitely awake hazel ones.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as your brain caught up with your body. Your body had moved during the night.

You were no longer in Jack’s arms, instead you were in Whitaker’s. And it was his back you were pressed against. His arm around your waist. You were facing Jack, barely any space between you now. You could feel his breath coasting over your face.

And then you looked down, at the barely visible space between your bodies, only to find that it was Jack’s thigh wedged between your own.

It was-

It hadn’t been a dream-

It was his thigh you were-

Oh, god.

Your face flamed hotter than the sun as embarrassment and shame crept up your neck.

And suddenly you were very aware of the hardness pressing into your back. Whitaker’s-

Whitaker’s hardness was-

You tried to escape Whitaker’s hold, going where, you didn’t know, but his hold tightened, and you only succeeded in wriggling. This caused Whitaker to make a noise you’d never heard from the man, and your whole body flushed hotly at the sound.

You could feel wetness pooling in your lower belly, soaking through your underwear. Oh, god. You were so embarrassingly wet, you were sure that Jack could feel it beneath the thin material of his scrubs.

Your stomach fluttered and your heart pounded as the three of you froze.

Whitaker breathed your name, the syllables stirring up your hair at the nape of your neck.

The aching need in your belly and the hardness pressing into you was impossible to ignore, and it only flamed the fans of desire more when Jack sidled even closer to you.

Jack took your chin in his hand, his fingers pressing in delicately as he met your gaze.

He glanced once behind you, presumably at Whitaker, and then back to you.

“Nice dream?”

You could have sworn your whole body was on fire.

You had- Oh, god. Had you really made those sounds out loud?

You were too dizzy with desire to respond in words. All you could do was nod.

“You going to finish what you started, sweetheart?” Jack looked pointedly at where your hips had begun to roll again, your clit rubbing so deliciously against his warm thigh. The grind of the fabric just felt so good against the sensitive bud, you couldn’t help it.

Whitaker groaned in your ear as your movements only caused your ass to grind against his hard length.

“P- please don’t- don’t stop.” Whitaker’s words were desperate and needy in your ear, ruffling your hair as his breath danced over your ear. His arm tightened even further around your waist, pulling you harder against his solid chest.

Jack’s hand tightened on your chin, and you knew your eyes were going glassy as your movements became more frantic as you grew more needy. You were going to burn alive. Jack was staring at you so intensely you thought you’d die right then and there. Your breaths started to come out in short, sharp bursts, filling the room with the sound.

Your hips rocked and jerked against Jack’s thigh, chasing release, but Jack’s other hand came up and landed on your hip, halting your movements. He suddenly pulled his thigh out from in between yours, and you made a pathetic whimper at the loss of sensation. You hadn’t realised how bad you needed it until it was gone. You felt achy and empty.

Whitaker made a similarly embarrassing sound, a mix between a cry and a moan as you stopped writhing against him.

Oh, shit.

Jack had-

Jack had pulled away.

He’d- he’d had to be the smart one-

You were-

You’d fucked everything up.

You and Whitaker-

Everything was ruined.

Then Jack’s hand became more firm, more pressing on your hip and chin.

“I asked you a question.” He stated.

What?

What the fuck was he talking about?

Whitaker groaned your name, his hand pressing into your abdomen as he tried to create any sort of friction.

“Whitaker, stop.” Jack demanded, and the younger doctor froze against you.

“This is how this is going to go.” Jack spoke, and you were mesmerised by his words, achy and needy for him, for Whitaker, for anyone. Anything to stop that incessant ache. “You only get to come if you're good, and if you listen to me. I asked you a question, Reid. Answer it.” He demanded.

Your mouth dropped open as your mind went blank.

What the hell was he talking about?

“Fucking hell! He asked if you were going to finish what you started!” Whitaker said, groaning from behind you, clearly just as achy for you as you were for him.

If your mouth wasn’t already open, it would have dropped open with shock. Had you ever even heard Whitaker swear? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter one bit, not as Jack returned his sultry gaze to you.

“Well?” He asked.

You nodded dumbly.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Say?

Say what?

You’d forgotten how to speak.

How did you speak again?

You were that needy, that desperate.

This was-

This was happening.

And you were loving every second.

“Jesus Christ! Just say it! Say what he wants! Say anything! I don’t care! Just- p- please.” Whitaker groaned from behind you, his chest squished against your back.

You forced yourself to meet Jack’s desire filled gaze. You forced your tongue to work.

“Yeah- yes- fuck yes. Yes. I want to finish what I stared- finish the dream- whatever you want me to say.” You cried.

Jack’s thigh thrust up, landing in its place between your legs, and you cried out.

“Prove it.”

You didn’t waste a second.

Your hips immediately started up their own rhythm, grinding and rubbing along Jack’s thigh with wild abandon.

It just felt so good.

So damn good you couldn’t help the little breathy sounds that began to form on your lips.

Your hair tickled the skin of your neck and cheek as Whitaker let out a surprised grunt from behind you, which quickly turned into a groan as your movements pressed and rolled against his hardness.

Your core pooled with warmth as your clit grinded mercilessly against the seam of your pants. The friction and the heat was a delicious combination that sent pleasure sparking up your spine.

You didn’t know where on earth your hips had learned to roll and undulate the way they were rolling against Jack’s thigh, but you didn’t have time to contemplate it.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it. Take what you need. Take it all.”

The heat, the friction, the sounds-

Your breathy sounds had turned to sharper little cries as Whitaker’s groans behind you turned louder, more impatient.

The heat of him at your back was downright delicious. His hips met your frantic ones as he continued to grind against you.

“I need- I need-“ your words were breathless.

“What do you need, baby?” You felt Jack’s hand on your hip, urging you faster.

You wanted more.

You wanted less.

The sensations were too much.

The sensations weren’t enough.

You wanted less clothes.

You wanted more touch.

The sensation in your lower belly curled tighter, like a bowstring readying to be fired.

Whitaker’s low groans had turned into something higher, more needy. You could tell he was getting close.

You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed until Jack’s hand landed on your cheek. “Open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but follow his order, your eyes flying open as your hips continued their frantic movements.

“R-Reid-“ Whitaker moaned from behind you, his words getting higher and higher.

Your now open eyes met dark hazel ones, and oh god-

His eyes were beyond intense. Beyond focused. Beyond heated.

Jack’s eyes were positively all consuming as he looked into your face, his mouth slightly agape.

“You like that, huh?”

Your answering cry was pathetic.

Your clit was hitting your seam just right-

“You like grinding up on my thigh like some needy little thing while Whitaker is fucking himself into you from behind?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and Jack’s hand tightened on your face.

“Oh no you don’t. I want those pretty eyes on me, and only me.” His tone brooked no room for argument.

His hand on your hip tightened as you refocused your gaze on him. But his stare was so intense, so focussed, your eyes closed of their own volition.

Jack gripped your chin.

“Reid- Reid, I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” Whitaker’s voice cracked on the words.

You cried out as the spikes of pleasure continued.

Jack’s grip tightened on your chin.

“What did I just say? Eyes open.”

Your eyes opened once again, your mouth hanging open as you shamelessly grinded yourself against Jack’s hard thigh.

“Good girl.”

You moaned louder, your release gathering so closely you could almost taste it.

“That’s it. That’s it, baby. Just keep rubbing yourself. Just like that-“

And before you could get another word out, Whitaker groaned loudly from behind you, his breaths harder and faster as his movements became wild and erratic. Then they slowed.

And then you felt his hips withdraw from behind you.

He’d finished.

“I- I- sorry- I-” was his explanation, and you whined as the sensation of him behind you stopped completely.

“Whitaker-“ you breathed, needing the feel of him at your back to spur you on.

Jack’s hand slowed at your hip, and you whined embarrassingly.

“Jack- please- I’m so close- I just need- I need-“ you begged.

“I know, I know, baby.” He soothed mockingly, his fingers in your hair.

Your hips continued to chase that release that was so, so close, regardless of the emptiness at your back.

Your hips had a mind of their own, your swollen clit continuing to ride Jack’s solid thigh.

“Please- please, Jack- please, I need-”

“You know you never have to beg me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need. Use your words. Just tell me.”

Your release was so close, so close all you needed was just another touch, another sensation, something else.

“You.” You breathed. “You. I need you, Jack. Please.” You knew you sounded pathetic.

“I’m right here, baby.”

“No- I- I need-“

“Oh, I think I know what you need.” He whispered.

Then he did the worst thing imaginable.

He withdrew his thigh from between your legs. Leaving you empty.

“No!” You sounded beyond pathetic, and you knew that you would be embarrassed in the morning by the pathetic sounds you made. “I was- I was so close!”

“Sh, sh, sh. I know, I know. I know you were so close.” Jack soothed your hair, and you felt stupid, angry tears gathering in your eyes.

“C’mon, Abbot, that was cruel.” Whitaker said from behind you.

“Trust me, Whitaker. It’s for a good reason.” Jack’s eyes were positively luminous as he shifted.

You could tell your face was lust addled, and you were pouting. Your eyes were shiny and wet, but you were so needy, so desperate. You just needed to relieve this pounding between your legs. You just needed a touch, a whisper, something.

You turned to Whitaker.

This ache was going to burn you alive.

“Whitaker, please. I was so, so close, just, please.” You didn’t even know what you were asking him for at this point. You just knew you needed this ache to stop.

He looked down at you. “Of course.” He breathed, and his hand landed on your stomach, his fingers making a downwards trajectory to your waistband. His hand lit up the nerve endings on your stomach as his hand trailed further down.

You sighed in contentment as his fingers slipped beneath your waistband, your hips eagerly rising to urge him further, faster. You needed him just a few inches lower.

His fingers had just reached your thin underwear when a hand snaked out, gripping his wrist, stopping him.

“Not so fast.” Jack sounded delighted with himself as he stopped Whitaker, mere inches from where you ached desperately.

“Fuck!” You cried out, empty and desperate and needy and aching.

“Come on, Abbot. You’re just torturing her now. Let her come.” You were inclined to agree with Whitaker.

You nodded. “Let me come, Jack.”

Jack looked you over, at your flushed face, and your spread thighs, Whitaker’s hand down your pants.

“Whitaker, please remove your hand.”

Whitaker looked at you, an apologetic look on his face as he pulled his hand back. Traitor. You whined.

A devilish smile graced Jack’s beautiful face, the lines around his eyes crinkling.

“It seems as though I’ve just remembered a debt I owe.”

Your blood turned hot, then cold.

The shower.

The decontamination room.

Him on his knees before you.

His head between your legs.

“You remember last time don’t you, sweetheart?” Jack’s eyes were on your face, and you swore your core pounded harder.

You nodded dumbly.

Whitaker stayed silent.

“Please.” You breathed.

Jack didn’t respond to you. He just looked at you, and you looked down to notice that his own arousal was tented in his scrubs. Your eyes practically bulged out of your head as you realised that Jack Abbot, PTMC night shift attending, was rock hard for you. His size was a whole other matter. God, he was going to be a tight fit. If he fit at all.

You sat up as he moved off the bed, trying and failing to grab him and pull him to you.

Then he moved back towards you.

You tried to grab his waistband, but he dodged your clumsy attempt with ease.

“Not yet.” He winked.

He fucking winked.

That’s it. You were going to kill him.

You were going to kill Jack Abbot.

Right after he fucked your brains out.

“Whitaker, move her towards the end of the bed. Give me some room to work.” Jack ordered the younger doctor.

Your mouth dried up as your stomach flipped.

As he- as he what?

Oh god.

You were going to-

Before you could even comprehend what he was meaning, Whitaker’s strong arms wrapped around you, moving you like you weighed nothing.

Your ass was finally at the edge of the bed, and you reclined slightly on instinct.

Your heart rate sped up as a prickle of anticipation hit you.

What the fuck was Jack doing?

You had a good idea as your legs dangled off the bed.

Your heart started to pound harder, almost in time with your core as Jack moved back towards you.

You felt Whitaker watching the two of you closely, his own eyes wide.

You were now at the edge of the hospital bed, your legs dangling off the end, and as Jack looked at you, you knew exactly what he had in mind.

And then he licked his lips.

Oh god.

Could you die from a look alone?

Then, his hands came up to grip the waistband of your scrubs.

He hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” You cried. You were so desperate for him, your core was positively soaked.

You rested on your elbows, your chin on your chest.

“Are you- are you sure? Are you sure you want this? Want…me?” His tone held a twinge of self conscious and your heart faltered.

He’d been so confident before. So strong and in charge, seeing him nervous made you feel all the more for him.

His strong fingers were warm as they settled between your hips and your scrubs, but they were frozen as they waited for your answer.

“Jack.” You sighed, reaching up to brush a hand over his cheek. He leaned into the touch, and you could have sworn his fingers shook.

He looked up at you, waiting for your response.

The moment and the look he gave you was just so loving it made your heart melt.

“If you don’t rip my pants off and let me come, I might actually kill you.” You said tenderly.

Jack barked out a loud laugh at that, and with that, the soft moment was over, and the heat was back.

He yanked your pants down, taking your underwear with them in one go.

You were suddenly bare to him, the air hitting your heated flesh.

Your whole body was covered in goosebumps, and your breathing stuttered as he met your gaze, and slowly dropped to his knees before you. He used his strong hands to spread your thighs wide, nudging your knees apart. You were spread so wide-

A sudden wave of self consciousness hit you. No one had ever-

No one had ever seen you this exposed, this vulnerable.

Sure, Jack had seen you before, but not like this. Not spread out before him like his own personal feast.

Your knees twitched closer together, but Jack stopped you with a firm hand on your knee.

“Beautiful.” He breathed, staring up at you. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. And another. He placed a kiss on a freckle, on a stretch mark, on a dimple.

Your body heated as a fresh flood of wetness formed in your core.

He was the perfect height for his face to line up exactly where you both wanted it, and you shuddered as you felt his warm breath over your bare sex.

You needed him so desperately. So desperately you needed him more than anything you’d ever needed before. More than air.

He was half an inch from where you needed him most, from where you ached for him, when you sat up on your elbows, gripping his hair in a hand.

A thought had just occurred to you. Something you couldn’t just ignore.

He stopped instantly, his eyes slowly meeting yours.

“You want to stop?” He asked, his voice gravely.

You ignored him.

You bit your lip, suddenly shy. “What about- what about you?” You asked, looking to where you knew his own arousal had to be positively killing him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. This night's all about you two.” He glanced over at Whitaker.

“No.” You said firmly.

“What?” Jack’s head reared back in your grip.

“No. I won’t accept that. If you can decide when I come, then I feel like it’s only fair if I get to do the same for you.” You tried to make your tone as even as you could.

“What?” Jack sputtered.

“You heard the woman.” Whitaker said from beside you, watching everything in rapt fascination.

Jack turned his betrayed gaze to him.

“Don’t like it when you have to play by your own rules huh?” You asked in your most bratty tone.

Jack grumbled a non committal answer.

You sat up slightly, resting on your elbows again.

“You can…finish…whatever you were going to finish with me, on one condition.” You announced.

“God, you and your conditions.” Jack rolled his eyes.

You gripped his hair tighter in your fist, pulling the strands hard enough to hurt. He only groaned. You filed that tidbit away for later.

“Jack.”

“And what’s that one condition, sweetheart?” Jack grumbled, eyes on you.

And oh god, the sight of him kneeling between your thighs, looking up at you like that- you could have came on the sight alone. But you didn’t, holding out on your condition.

“I don’t come alone.” You murmured quietly, but Jack heard you.

His eyes widened to saucers.

“Wait- what?” Whitaker asked suddenly.

“I said, if I come, you come too, Jack.” You said, meaningfully staring down at Jack.

“You want me to…” Jack’s words trailed off.

“Jack yourself off.” You said, grinning at your pun.

Jack huffed a laugh at your dumb joke, and the breathy sound landed right between your legs. You shivered.

“Come on, Jack. Prove how well you can multitask.” You goaded.

Jack grinned then, a devilish grin that you knew meant only trouble.

“That, I can do.” He held up one hand, waving it at you as it dipped below the bed.

Oh my god. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

He was really going to just-

His groan of pleasure cut off all thoughts.

The sound ignited your blood, and you involuntarily scooted closer to the edge of the bed.

You saw his shoulder move as he pumped himself once again, groaning lowly. You knew he was fisting his cock, pumping as he watched you with heavy lids.

You couldn’t even fathom what you were seeing, the sight was so sinful.

Jack Abbot, night shift attending, pumping himself as he kneeled between your spread, bare thighs.

You were going to die.

You were going to have an actual heart attack.

Or at least you thought you were.

And then he put his mouth on you.

Your head reared back as your grip on his hair loosed. You cried out as his lips closed over your swollen clit and sucked. Hard.

He wasted no time in using his free hand to spread your thighs even further apart. Then that free hand slipped higher, sliding into the tight heat of your core. You were drenched. Absolutely soaked.

His thick finger slid straight into you with zero resistance, and you moaned.

“God, baby, you are so wet. Is this all for me?”

Your answering groan made him laugh.

His skilled tongue began to lap at your clit, using a mixture of small pointed licks and hot, wet drags of his tongue. You were writhing madly, desperate for more, desperate for less.

“Oh yeah. This is definitely all for me.” He groaned.

You spared a glance down, seeing the mass of soft silver curls between your spread thighs, absolutely devouring you. You noticed Jack’s shoulder twitching with his own efforts as he continued to touch himself.

You couldn’t stop your cry as you once again felt your release gathering.

You would have been embarrassed at how fast you felt your release beckoning if you weren’t so lost with desire.

Your hips bucked and writhed against Jack’s face as his mouth and tongue drove you crazy.

You felt him groaning against you, against the most sensitive part of you, and it reverberated all the way up your body.

Your breaths became sharper and faster as Jack pumped that thick finger, curling slightly, and you could have sworn you saw stars.

Your cries became louder, becoming almost a whimper. You were so close. So close.

Jack groaned louder into you, his own pleasured sounds drowned out by the sound of him lapping at you. He was like a man starved.

And you loved every second of it.

You needed more- just a little bit more-

You didn’t even think, you just reached for Whitaker’s nearby hand. He was more than eager for you to take it, and you placed it over one of your breasts. He immediately got your idea, and squeezed at the tender flesh of your breast. Your nipple was rock hard, and Whitaker found the hard bud, pinching it over your clothes.

You cried out, louder and higher pitched than before.

“Please-“

It was too much-

Too much-

Too much-

You couldn’t take it.

You couldn’t-

You looked at Whitaker, his intense blue gaze on you as you writhed and bucked.

“I need-“

“Come on, Reid. You can do it. Just let go.” Whitaker encouraged.

You groaned, arching up into his palm as he continued to squeeze and kneed at your breast.

“I’m right here with you. Just let go.”

Your core pounded as Jack continued to stroke your inner walls with his fingers, pumping and grinding as his mouth feasted on your clit.

And as Jack moaned loudly into you, his shoulder working overtime, Whitaker’s hand squeezed, and you let go.

A wave of white washed over your vision as you cried out, moaning loudly. Your hand was fisted in Jack’s hair, forcing his face to stay right where it was as you grinded against his mouth, his nose, his chin. Jack was more than willing to allow this, not once slowing his movements as his own moans turned to a frenzied pitch.

Then his moans turned to more of a contented jumble of groans as he found his own release.

Your own orgasm released in waves of shimmering pleasure, and your ragged sighs filled the room. The sound was positively filthy.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as the two men guided you through your orgasm, drawing it out.

You couldn’t think-

Couldn’t speak-

All you knew was Jack’s mouth, Whitaker’s hand.

As the sweet burn of oversensitivity began to flare between your legs, you pushed Jack’s head back, and Whitaker eased his hand off your breast.

Jack made his way back onto the bed, lying on his side and facing you. His face was smothered in your wetness, and your cheeks heated. His nose, chin and mouth were shiny and dripping wet. He’d really given it his all.

And for once, your head wasn’t spinning with thoughts of doctors, or symptoms, or diagnoses. Of workplace boundaries, of workplace ethics, of your future, of your career, or of your father.

No.

You couldn’t seem to even form a coherent thought.

You couldn’t even remember your own name.

But for some strange reason, the only names you could remember were those of the two men beside you.