#svt x reader

[woncheolisms]

next to you. (choi seungcheol x reader)

summary: you think you’re good at keeping your crush on your roommate hidden. you can handle it. but then you wake up to him in bed next to you, arms wrapped around you, and you have no idea how to deal with your suppressed feelings anymore.

word count: 10.8k

warnings: college au, seungcheol is a playboy and the frat kind, reader is a nerd and an introvert, roommate!seungcheol, roommate!jeonghan, angst, fluff, doremiz as bffs, smut, nsfw, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, possessive tendencies and jealousy.

Early mornings in your apartment are quaint.

You weren’t a morning person for most of your life, but college hath changed you, or whatever. Now you are up in the morning like clockwork, even without an alarm, and even on weekends. It’s a little annoying, especially when you plan to have a lazy Saturday, so you would rather wake up much later. But there’s nothing you can do to fight the biological clock inside you. It is what it is.

Everything is dead silent as you open your door and putter into the kitchen. You’re sure both your roommates are neck deep in slumber, since it was Friday night last night. That always means a party on campus, so the next morning usually entails not waking up until well into the day and with a terrible hangover. It’s only 9am right now. You’re sure they won’t be up until at least noon.

You don’t make a lot of noise as you get the machine ready for a nice cup of coffee. All three of you had gone in on it so you could get the expensive, fancy kind. Jeonghan had called it an investment, and you had wholeheartedly agreed. Seungcheol grumbled about it a little but gave his part of the money anyway. He kept claiming he wasn’t that big on coffee, but ever since you bought it, he has had a cup every morning without fail, something Jeonghan will never stop teasing him on.

The aroma is warm and rich in your nose as it slowly infiltrates the kitchen. You contemplate if you want breakfast now with your coffee or later, and decide to grab an apple. You’re just staring at it, wondering if the brown spot on it is something you can ignore or if you should discard the whole thing, when you hear light pattering on the floors outside.

You expect Jeonghan’s slumped, languid figure to slink into the kitchen, groaning about how tired he is, or maybe Seungcheol with his head of short, spiked hair all over the place and that perpetual pout that undercuts his years of effort building impressive muscle. But it’s neither of them. It’s someone you don’t know.

She blinks owlishly at you, hair tangled on her head and wearing a bright bodycon dress, holding a pair of heels in her hand. Her mascara is smudged, but under the distressed look, you can tell that she is amazingly pretty.

“Hi.” She chirps. It’s soft and almost melodic. You manage to smile back. The air is painfully awkward, so she shifts and takes a hesitant step back.

“I should just go.” She says sheepishly, and before you can say anything (not that you were planning to), she disappears from the doorway of the kitchen. After a few seconds, you hear the front door click shut. You swallow hard, but the knot formed in your throat doesn’t go away.

Friday nights don’t just mean waking up at noon with terrible hangovers. They also mean a girl trying to tiptoe out of Seungcheol’s room. And always a stranger. Never the same one twice.

You sigh and turn back to the coffee machine, which lets out a beep. You quickly take the pot to fill your cup, deciding against adding milk and just taking a sip of the dark mixture. You wince when it slides down your throat, but it’s hot enough and bitter enough that the knot in your throat loosens. You stare at your cup, the swirling liquid, and try your best to not think about your recent interaction.

There’s no point in it. Seungcheol is just….. like that. Someone so unbelievably different that you can’t fathom how you even ended up in the same orbit.

Well, you know exactly how. Yoon Jeonghan.

Jeonghan was in your first ever introductory class in college. He was seated right next to you, and after knowing you for the duration of just one lecture, he asked if you were looking for a place off campus, and then offered you his in the same breath. Apparently he and his roommate were desperate, and they really needed a third cohabitant in order to make rent. You just turned out to be the one who was looking for a place to stay, so you ended up saying yes, because Jeonghan gave you great vibes.

Seungcheol did too, when you met him.

You were immediately taken by him. He was loud and a little rough around the edges, but so endlessly kind. Seungcheol doesn’t look it, but he’s very in-tune with people’s emotions as well as his own. He knows what he wants out of life, he has endless confidence in himself. He’s charismatic, magnetic, and it only helps that he is beyond attractive. Tall, built like a brick house (something he is very proud of), soft dark hair and that charming smile accentuated by a dimple on his right cheek.

That fuckass dimple.

You knew you liked him. It was immediate. You were excited just at the thought of sharing space with him. And so you moved in, giddy at the thought of having your own place for the first time in your life, and sharing it with two guys who looked like seemingly amazing people.

And they truly are. It’s just that you were naïve to think Seungcheol’s appeal didn’t extend to everyone else like it did to you.

He’s like a lighthouse, attracting everyone to him like lost travelers. His friend circle is huge, from the gym dudes like Mingyu and Jihoon he works out with, to the party freaks like Soonyoung and Joshua he spends weekends with. He’s not in a frat, but he moves among a lot of similar people. Then there’s their friends, just an endless network that won’t stop expanding. This means meet-ups and parties every weekend, and that means there’s a girl in his room every two or three weekends.

You can’t even fault him. If someone looks like that, it would be criminal if they didn’t get regular action.

You and Seungcheol are fundamentally different people. You have friends too, but fewer, and more tight-knit. You are a homebody above anything else, and if it wasn’t for your friend Seungkwan, who is the most extroverted person you know outside of Seungcheol, you would never even leave your house. But Seungkwan’s definition of going out is much different to Seungcheol’s. So while Seungcheol likes the gym, pregaming, bowling and frat parties, you have scheduled cooking classes, basket weaving workshops, and arcade tournaments that Hansol drags you to once every month.

You’re poles apart. And you’re content with that. You can float in his periphery, and that’s enough for you. He’s miles out of your league anyway. So you’re happy just being an admirer.

“It’s pathetic.” Hansol often mumbles, voice devoid of any real venom. He sounds disinterested if anything.

“Thanks.” You shoot back. Seungkwan looks at Hansol, offended on your behalf.

“I think it’s cute.” He defends you. You grin at him and pinch his cheek. He swats your hand away, making you laugh.

“How bad can it really be if you just tell him?” Chan pipes up, his head down as he concentrates on pouring his wax into the mold slowly, trying not to spill it. You genuinely think his candle will smell the best out of your group, since he’s the only one truly concentrating. You’re too focused on telling them about the girl in your kitchen this morning.

Hansol snorts, tapping his mold on the table like your instructor told you to. His is a strange, muddy brown color. It smells like shit, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You and Seungkwan did drag him to this candle making class on a weekend when he could just be sleeping all day, so he could make the worst candle known to man and you will still hype him up.

“She doesn’t have the balls.” He mumbles. You look at him with a gaping mouth.

“Hey!”

Hansol raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you? You won’t tell him you like him. Ever. I’m not wrong.”

You scowl, feeling deeply offended. He isn’t wrong, and you all know it, because Seungkwan isn’t defending you this time. He just gives you a wince, indicating he agrees with Hansol. Dammit, you’re cornered.

“Your candle smells like shit.” You shoot back.

That distracts him, and he starts doubting and fretting over his candle, leaning down to sniff it over and over. The rest of the workshop is spent trying to salvage Hansol’s attempt, so you don’t get back to the topic you were previously discussing.

Good.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both on the couch by the time you come back in the late afternoon. They both look bleary-eyed and half dead, hair still damp on their heads from showering, eating takeout and watching TV. They greet you brightly when you come in, and you slump onto the couch next to them.

“What did you bring us?” Jeonghan asks. You always bring your crafts home, including today. You made three candles, one for each of you, and you’re excited as you take them out of your tote, hand them over, describing the scents you used.

“I made lavender and vanilla for you.” You hand Jeonghan his. He hums and nods in satisfaction as he sniffs, smiling big.

“Oh I need to light this immediately.” He pipes up, quickly standing to trudge into the kitchen. You grin.

“And me?” Seungcheol smiles at you, still leaned back on the couch so he can rest his head on the cushion. You can tell his head is still hurting a little.

“Your favorite.” You smile. “Cherry.”

Seungcheol looks excited as you hand it over. He eyes the dark color for a little bit before bringing it to his nose, sniffing. You watch his eyelashes flutter.

“Oh.” You see his lips tug up in realisation. “It smells like my cologne.”

“Yeah. The other note is sandalwood.” You feel the sides of your face heat up. “You…. you like those scents a lot.”

You immediately feel like you’ve revealed too much when Seungcheol’s eyes soften. He watches you for a few seconds, sniffing again.

“I love it.” He says, turning it over in his hand. It looks comically small in his hold. “It’s perfect.”

You nod jerkily and fidget a little, trying not to think about how fast your heart is racing, or how gentle this moment feels. Intimate, almost, sitting so close to him that your knee almost touches his thigh, his hair half falling into his eyes, the eyes he still has trained on you, the candle you put care into held delicately in his hand.

Jeonghan walks back into the living room with his lit candle, talking about how much trouble he had finding a lighter. The air around you breaks, and you stand up, mumbling something about how you’re tired already, so you’re going to head to bed. It’s only afternoon, and the excuse is bullshit, but you know you can’t be close to Seungcheol much longer without your heart hurting. You don’t feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your back as you leave, and you have no clue about the knowing way Jeonghan looks at his friend.

…………………………

Weekdays are filled with classes. So you have no time to relax.

You think it’s a fundamental flaw in you that you are taking so many classes, but your overachieving tendencies won’t let you back down from even one of them. Some days, it leaves you annoyed and frustrated, but often, those same classes serve as a blessing in disguise, because they preoccupy you so much that you don’t have to worry about any other problem in your life.

By the end of the week, you’re so exhausted that you just want to glue yourself to your bed, vowing not to move for the entire weekend. Of course, Seungkwan always plans something and inevitably drags you out of your humble abode, but you will take what time you have, unwinding and letting your brain shut down after a long and tiring five days. You fall asleep in the middle of your Modern Family marathon, managing to get only halfway through the season before you’re shutting your laptop, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, you’re knocked out, and you don’t move until well into the next morning.

You wake up because you’re burning hot. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your back. In fact, your back is so warm that it’s uncomfortable. Your face pinches in annoyance, and you shift a little. At your movement, something tightens around your waist.

Your eyes pop open.

Morning light filters in through the curtains on your windows, setting the room up in a soft glow. You’re on your side, staring at the far off wall of your bedroom. There is weight draped over your waist, a warm touch splayed over your stomach. When you shift again, just slightly, the touch twitches and moves.

A hand.

You almost scream, but then you feel the soft hit of air on the back of your neck, periodic and deep. Like someone exhaling. You breathe in, the smell of cherry and sandalwood in your nose. You would recognise that anywhere. Even barely half conscious, you know who that scent belongs to.

Your entire backside, your torso, your ass, the back of your thighs, are pressed tightly to Seungcheol’s front, his arm a heavy weight draped around you so that he hand grips your stomach gently. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his exhales on your skin. You’ve gone so stiff you can barely feel your body, but you’re hyperaware of every part of you that touches him. You lay there in shock, contemplating.

What the hell is he doing? How did he end up in your room? How did he end up spooning you?

You have no answers, but you do know you need to get out of here. You brace yourself, using your leg in contact with the mattress to push until your body disconnects with Seungcheol’s a little. You freeze when he groans, a low sound that cracks under the weight of sleep, and you barely hold in a gasp when he tugs harshly with the arm around you, making you lurch back so he is once again pressed into you. He curls tighter around you, like his body is melting into yours, and your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, just nestled between your ass cheeks, his erection straining against the jeans he probably wore to whatever party he attended last night.

Mortification hits your veins like ice. You’re rock still in his arms, not even able to process what the fuck is happening to you. You feel his hand move a little, squeezing subconsciously, his fingers sinking into the plush of your stomach. Your face flames, and you can’t take it anymore. You grip his wrist tight and tug hard, loosening his grip, and immediately lunging out of bed. Your feet barely hit the floor before you’re already making a beeline out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You don’t look back once. You definitely used enough force to wake him, but maybe he was so drunk before he passed out that he didn’t get roused by your movements.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, the horrified look on your face, your wide eyes, and the fact that your heart is beating so fast that it’s making you breath heavily. You lean against the sink, your legs shifting, and you realise you’re wet, nearly soaking through your shorts.

Your hands tremble as you wash them, staring at nothing. You remember how warm Seungcheol was, almost unbearably so, how good it was to feel him against you, the solid frame of him, caging you in like you were meant to be in his arms. His hand, digging into your flesh like it was his, and his bulge, so prominent and urgent, pressing into your ass, inches away from where you need him the most.

You’re so fucked.

You don’t think twice before jumping into the shower, letting the water pour over your head even though it’s not hair wash day. You don’t even wait for the hot water to come in, just standing beneath the stream as it slowly warms up. The initial shock of cold does wonders, calms your racing heart and smothers the heat in the bottom of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath.

It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. He was probably so drunk he didn’t even realise where he ended up crashing. Your room is the first one on the left, his is the first one on the right. It’s an easy mistake, especially if someone is wasted. It seems like the best explanation, way more plausible than him actually sliding into your bed intentionally, a notion that just sounds absurd in your head.

You don’t know what to do.

You stay in the shower for so long that the pads of your fingers prune and the water turns cold again. You slip your pajamas back onto your wet body, because you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you, and finally, you brace yourself and return to your room, taking a deep inhale before opening the door. The bed is empty. He’s gone.

It’s relieving, because you were in no way prepared to see him. When you look at the clock, you realise it’s almost midday. So you pick up your phone and text Seungkwan, asking what his plans for the day are.

Seungkwan is honestly confused, because you almost never initiate meet-ups yourself, but he doesn’t turn you down. Him and Chan are both free, so you decide to meet up for a simple lunch. Hansol opts out, since his sister is in the city for the weekend. You’re grateful you have someone, because keeping this inside is feeling more and more impossible. As soon as you sit down, you blurt out everything that happened in the morning.

Seungkwan is beside himself, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, horror struck. He gasps at every detail, but groans disapprovingly when you talk about Seungcheol’s hard-on against your ass.

“You could’ve left that detail out.” He mutters.

“But it’s important!” You insist. “Kwannie, I’m a mess. What do I do? How can I even look him in the eye after this?”

Chan huffs, looking a lot calmer than Seungkwan. “Don’t do anything. Look, you’re right. It was probably a mistake. And if he remembers it at all, he will be pretty embarrassed. So just don’t talk about it at all. Don’t bring it up. Be normal.”

Right. That’s solid advice. Be normal.

But it’s hard to do that, not when you can’t stop thinking about it. The sizzle of his touch is something you’re reminded of when you lay in your bed that night, staring up at your ceiling and remembering how it felt to have his breath hit your skin, so close that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And when the heat becomes too much, when your mind goes awry and shuts down, your hand slides into your shorts.

It’s too much. You can’t face him when your brain and your actions are so depraved.

When Hansol finds out what happened, he says what he always does, that this is a problem of your own making.

“You chose this.” He says on Monday, when you finally meet him and tell him everything. “You live with him. It’s unavoidable that something weirdly uncomfortable would happen when you’re in close quarters with someone. And you can’t avoid him. You will see him every day.”

To you, it was always a net positive that you got to see Seungcheol every day, any unrequited feelings aside. Your hidden crush on him was trumped by the fact that he was so endlessly charming to you, your little puppy crush urged on by seeing him, being around him, basking in his presence. But now, that very thing is coming back to bite you in the ass.

You go a whopping three days without coming face to face with him. But then, your sneaking finally fails you. He catches you before classes on Wednesday, cornering you in the kitchen when you’re there to fill up your water bottle.

“I’m really sorry about that night.” He sounds sheepish, embarrassed. You remember Chan’s words, shaking your head in the best way you can think of to placate him.

“It’s fine! You were drunk, you probably don’t even remember that you did it. Honest mistake, right?”

Seungcheol smiles a little, his eyes trained carefully on you.

“Right.” He mutters.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and you want to blame it on his embarrassment. You feel uncomfortable, and you wonder if it has to do with what happened between you, or if he’s just being a little weird today.

“I should go.” You mumble. “Just had to fill this up.”

You hold up your water bottle for him to see. His eyes finally leave you to focus on it, and he raises a thick eyebrow.

“That’s new.” He points to the handle. You have a small Sanrio keychain hanging from it. You’re surprised he noticed, but you nod excitedly.

“Hansol’s sister came to see him for the weekend. She got all of us little trinkets.”

Seungcheol hums. “She knows your favorite Sanrio character? That’s cute.”

You smile and nod again, more enthusiastically. “I’m sure Hansol told her….”

A thought enters your head. You tilt your head to the side in thought. “How did you know?”

Seungcheol blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, sweetheart. It’s plastered all over your room.

Right. Your room. The room he was in because he slept with you in your bed. Your stomach twists and you swallow hard. He looked around your room? When? After waking up? While you were showering? The thought of Seungcheol being in your private space, saying all your little interests laid out everywhere makes your heart flutter. You’re very private about your space, both him and Jeonghan know this. You don’t think either of them have been in your room since they first helped you move in.

You watch Seungcheol from where your back is against the counter. He watches you. You remember that night as the air around you two holds its breath. He was so close, closer than anyone had been in a long, long time. But you bet it was normal for him, this physical intimacy. After all, he’s had a steady rotation of girls in his room for as long as you’ve known him.

Right. This is Choi Seungcheol. Popular, attractive Choi Seungcheol. Wildly out of your league Choi Seungcheol.

“I’m gonna….” You gesture to the door. There’s a knot in your throat, and you don’t think you can speak. Seungcheol blinks and nods, steps away so you can walk past him. Your fingers shake as you tug your shoes on and escape quickly through the front door.

You walk to campus alone, already in agreement with Seungkwan that you will meet him there. You’re grateful for it, because you can go through your jumble of thoughts silently, so you can try to address this deep, uneasy feeling right in the center of your chest. It’s a strange mix of dread and longing that leaves you with a strange emptiness inside, like a sinking hollow. You think, for the first time since you moved in, that maybe being around Choi Seungcheol wasn’t the best idea. Maybe this will ultimately be your unraveling.

The hollow feeling settles like a weight. You walk to class slowly.

You still arrive ten minutes early, but you don’t have to worry about distracting yourself, because Seungkwan is practically buzzing in his seat. You raise a curious eyebrow as you sit next to him, and he immediately turns to you, like he was waiting for you to show up.

“There’s a party.” He says. “In the frat Seokmin is a part of.”

You blink. “Your biology lab partner Seokmin?”

Seungkwan nods. His grin is so wide you’re surprised his face hasn’t split.

“I didn’t know he was in a frat.” You mumble, pulling your laptop out and setting it on your desk.

“Well, he is.” Seungkwan answers impatiently. “Anyway, he and I just finished wrapping up the end of semester project. And I guess he’s super happy about it, because he said we should stop by the frat this Friday night for some party they’re having.”

You eye Seungkwan, giving him an incredulous look.

“You? At a frat party?” Seungkwan really isn’t the type. But then you pause. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”

Now Seungkwan has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I was hoping you would go with me.”

“No.”

Seungkwan immediately starts pleading, like he was expecting exactly this. Which wouldn’t be surprising. You despise parties. You had gone to a few at the very beginning of freshman year since you were so curious about college parties, and every single one of them without fail were horrific experiences. This was before you met Seungkwan and the guys. The people you were friends with at the time always got shitfaced, leaving you to pick up after them and get them home at the end of the night. The drinks there were usually awful unless you were bringing your own. And everyone was horny out of their minds, just chatting so they could hook up. All of this is turned up to a hundred when the party is at a frat, which this particular one will be.

“Ask Hansol.”

“He already said no.”

“Chan, then.”

“You know he’s not good with crowds. Listen,” he looks at you so earnestly it makes your heart squeeze, “I know you don’t like parties. But please, we have to do this. I’ve never been to one ever. First and last time, I promise. I’m just so curious.”

You hesitate. You understand where Seungkwan is coming from. You had the same curiosity as him way back then, and no matter how much you tell him that you already know it won’t be his cup of tea, he really needs to see it himself to swear off them like you. So you sigh painfully and nod, slightly placated by the fact that it makes Seungkwan cheer so loudly and hug you until you can’t breathe, promising he will treat you to lunch for the next two weeks.

Sounds like a good deal.

When you get back home that evening, Jeonghan is frying something on the stove. You seat yourself on the kitchen island, telling him about your day, because he’s always kind enough to ask.

“Oh, by the way.” You tack on. “I’m going to a party this Friday.”

That makes Jeonghan pause, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “A party? You?”

You sigh. “I know. Seungkwan was invited and he’s never been to one before so he kinda talked me into it. It’s at Sigma Tau Nu.”

Jeonghan looks even more shocked. He lets out a laugh. “A frat party.”

You nod.

He whistles low, turning back to his sizzling pan. “Seungcheol’s not gonna be happy.”

That makes you pause. You scowl at Jeonghan’s back. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around again. “Nothing.”

“No, tell me. Why won’t Seungcheol be happy?”

Before Jeonghan can answer, another voice speaks up.

“I won’t be happy about what?”

You stiffen, turning to the kitchen doorway. You didn’t hear the front door at all. Seungcheol is covered in sweat, still in his gym clothes, face a little flushed. His gym bag hangs over his shoulder. You swallow tightly, looking away so you won’t stare. Jeonghan, however, has no qualms about speaking.

“She’s going to Sigma Tau Nu on Friday.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “What?”

You fidget. “Seungkwan was invited.”

“So?”

You can’t help but frown. “So, he’s my friend. I’m going with him.”

“Like hell you are.”

Your jaw drops. Jeonghan barks out a laugh. You want to strangle him, but you’re too shocked at how Seungcheol’s voice has hardened. In fact, his blatant and sharp refusal has only managed to irritate you.

“Why not?” You sound petulant.

Seungcheol is walking to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “Because that place is a cesspool.”

“You go there every weekend.” Your voice is accusatory. Something in Seungcheol’s face flickers.

“That’s different.”

The irritation in you is swelling now into more of an anger. You don’t appreciate his tone, or whatever superiority complex he has that makes him think it’s okay for him to go but not you.

“So you can go but I can’t?” Your voice is louder than before. Even Jeonghan pauses, turning to look at you both cautiously. “Why? I’m not good enough for your parties?”

Seungcheol’s face hardens, and you almost back down. He has never, ever, looked at you like that before. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it about?”

He huffs, annoyed. “I’m just saying. Sigma Tau Nu…. the guys there…. they aren’t good.”

“You’re a guy there.”

His face drops. It’s such a slight shift, but immediate, and his expression turns a muted and stoney smooth. His grip on his bottle tightens until the plastic crinkles a little, but his face is almost forlorn.

“I know.”

You don’t know what to say.

Seungcheol sighs, as if to break the heavy silence, hiking the bag he has on his shoulder a bit further up before walking past you to leave.

“Just don’t go, okay?”

You and Jeonghan are left standing in the kitchen after he’s gone, just staring at each other in the silence.

………………………………

“Seungcheol can fuck off.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you apply finishing touches to yourself. But Seungkwan is not discouraged by your silence, continuing to rant on from where he’s sitting on your bed.

“No, seriously. Where does he get off telling you what to do?”

You sigh and shake your hair out, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just looking out for me.”

That earns a scoff from your friend. “As if. More like he’s looking out for himself. He doesn’t want you to see what a sleazy, pervy bastard he is and how many girls he indulges when he goes out. Wants you to think he’s a good person.”

“He is a good person.” You turn to scowl at him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. You keep going.

“Let it go, Kwannie. We’re going anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”

It really doesn’t, because you’re all dolled up already and ready to go. You’re in a plain black dress, nothing too fancy, thin straps and a flared out skirt. It’s from your freshman year, and to your dismay, it’s a little tighter on you at the bodice, but nothing that doesn’t fit, so you’re rolling with it. Seungkwan also made it a point to tell you twice that you look hot, so you’re taking that as a good indication.

“Ready?” He prompts, you nod.

“Remember our agreement. One hour. You get a feel of the place. Then we leave.”

He nods enthusiastically. You can’t help but smile.

The place is packed. You feel dread already when you and Seungkwan climb out of your cab, but your friend looks alarmingly apprehensive, enough for you to suck up your own negative feelings. You’re already here, might as well try and make this as enjoyable for Seungkwan as possible.

“Come on.” You take his arm, walking up the front steps and in through the open door. The music is so loud, the lights are dim enough that you’re worried about something spilling on your dress accidentally. Seungkwan has a death grip on your hand, and you try to navigate to the kitchen.

“Boo Seungkwan!” The voice is booming, so loud and bright, and it immediately catches both your and Seungkwan’s attention. From the relief on his face, you know instantly that this is Seokmin. He’s grinning wide, and draping an arm around his shoulder is another man with spiky blond hair and sharp eyes. They introduce themselves, Seokmin and his frat brother Soonyoung, and you do the same. Soonyoung watches you closely.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” He shouts over the music, leaning closer to you to speak. You think you would have heard him just fine even without it, but you suspect he is doing it on purpose to get close to you. This may not be your thing, but you’re not an idiot.

“I don't usually come to parties.” You reply, trying to be polite. Somewhere behind your back, Seokmin is putting drinks into plastic cups. You can see the exact path Soonyoung’s eyes take as they drag down your body, lingering on your chest. You almost want to sigh.

“Want a tour?” He offers. “I’ll show you around.”

You want to say no, but a tour would mean you and Seungkwan can see everything quickly and leave. So you nod and turn around, linking an arm with Seungkwan to pull him along. He’s got a cup in his hand, already half empty, and you want to groan. Drunk Seungkwan is almost impossible to deal with.

Soonyoung doesn’t seem perturbed. He just nods and gestures for you two to follow along. You make it through the seas of people in the huge house as he points and shouts names. You don’t even understand half of them, but you’re not particularly interested. Seokmin is trailing behind all of you, and when Seungkwan’s cup empties, he exchanges it for a new one. You wince. Seungkwan is a notorious lightweight. You play drinking games all the time, and he’s always the first one to tap out, leaning heavily on Hansol as he gets dragged out of your apartment. With the way his cheeks are flushing at a concerning rate, you know he’s getting to that point already.

Soonyoung occasionally grips your arm to steer you in the right direction. Seungkwan’s hold on you keeps increasing as you navigate through the house. Then, you’re in the living room, and your eyes find the large, sprawling couch pushing against the far wall, particularly, the man lounging on the corner of it.

He has a cup in his hand, arm thrown around a girl pressed to his side. On the arm of the couch next to him is a guy you vaguely recognise as his gym buddy. You watch him bring the cup to his lips and throw it back in one big gulp, shaking it at his friend when it’s empty, who just snorts and pours more in it from the bottle of clear liquid he’s holding.

His head turns to look at his glass, but his eyes meet yours instead. You see the exact moment he recognises you.

You feel it again, that hollow feeling in your chest, mixed with something else this time. You almost don’t recognise him. His hair is tousled, carelessly swept, his top is sleeveless and tight, silver chain hanging from his neck, pants baggy, legs sprawled without a care in the world. Your eyes are still on each other when the girl on his side leans in and whispers something in his ear, following it up with running her tongue up the side of his neck.

Bile rises in your throat. You look away.

Seungkwan has downed his glass, again, and Soonyoung is gesturing for you to follow him to some other part of the house. But the music is changing into something faster, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen with a gasp as he recognises it.

“This is the first song I know!” He exclaims. You want to snort at how excited he is. “Can we dance?”

Oh no. You open your mouth to protest, but Soonyoung nods enthusiastically and points to the dance floor not far off from where you are. You can feel Seungcheol’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head as Seungkwan tugs you along with him. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow, because at that moment, he’s bombarded by another group of people. You’re left with Seungkwan only, which you prefer.

Except, Seungkwan is drunk, and pulling you close so you can sway together. You snort and indulge him, fully aware of how touchy he gets with alcohol in his system. He’s singing along to the song, hands on your waist, bobbing back and forth, side to side. You grin, laughing. You genuinely didn’t imagine yourself having a good time at this place, but being here with your friend is a little fun, though you would only begrudgingly admit that.

The song picks up, getting wilder, and you let yourself go to the music with Seungkwan. He’s laughing and grinning, turning you around so his back is against you. Bad idea, because as soon as you open your eyes, they meet heated, dark ones from across the room.

Seungcheol is watching, and he doesn’t look happy.

The girl by his side is now on her phone, tapping away. He’s not interested, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a long gulp while his stare is trained on you. Your heart pounds. You feel Seungkwan’s hands on your hips, your waist. There’s a voice in your head, and you listen to it, eyes fully on Seungcheol as you reach an arm up and behind you, running it through your friend’s hair.

Seungcheol’s face pinches. His lip curls in an ugly snarl. It catches you so off guard that you immediately turn back to Seungkwan, your heart pounding.

“I need air.” You shout over the music. “It’s too hot here.”

Seungkwan nods and points to the back of the house, past the staircase. You contemplate leaving your friend there. He’s having a good time, and you can let him dance a little before you start insisting that you should leave. Sliding glass doors take you into the patio overlooking the backyard. You take a deep breath.

The patio is less crowded, though there’s still people milling around. There’s a couple a few feet to your right, making out against the wall. You make a face and walk away from them. The cool air is working, clearing your head just a little. You wonder if there’s something in the hot, humid air inside that clouded your judgement, that made you look Seungcheol straight in the eye as you let your drunk friend sway you side to side. What did you want to achieve? Did you want to get a reaction out of him? Why? He doesn’t care about you that way, so what was the point?

Part of you is still annoyed at him because of the semi-argument in the kitchen. The other part is just…. sad.

“You came.”

You close your eyes. You were hoping he would leave you alone for the night.

“I did.” You reply.

Seungcheol stops right next to you, a little closer than you would like. You can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays.

“Don’t worry, Seungkwan and I are just going to have one more drink and leave. I won’t….. disturb you much longer.”

He says your name, a tone of defeat in his voice. Your stomach twists. You turn to him, and for a brief second, your eyes meet his. He has that same look in them, that quiet desolation he had when he was with you in the kitchen. The heat from before, the simmering annoyance, has gone.

“Seungcheol.” Your throat tightens. Your chest is so hollow. “Just make sure to crash in your own bed this time. Okay?”

You turn and walk back into the house.

……………………………………

You don’t know the longest time you’ve gone without speaking to Seungcheol. You’ve never had any reason to count. You do now, and it has been seven days.

Seungkwan thanked you profusely for going with him to the party, vowed never to go again (that made you laugh), then bought you lunch for four days straight before you felt bad and just started paying for your own. You don’t think his experience was worth two weeks of comped meals, but you have a feeling he knows you’re bummed about something, so he keeps offering to pay.

You don’t even know why you’re bummed. You just are. And Seungkwan isn’t the only one who has noticed.

Jeonghan has been walking on eggshells with you too, watching you intently when you’re having a meal together, taking note of the fact that you leave to lock yourself in your room as soon as it becomes close to the time Seungcheol is due back home. It’s easy to avoid him because he himself makes no effort to talk to you either. It should make you glad, since it means you can dance around whatever this suffocating feeling between you two is. But it doesn’t. All you feel is more hollow, more crushed.

Something has changed between you, definitely for the worse. You regret going to that party every single day.

To Jeonghan’s credit, he never asks. You wonder if Seungcheol told him, but then you ask yourself what exactly there is to tell. Literally nothing happened. You don’t even know what to call that little stint on the dance floor, or the heavy way his eyes traveled over you. As for the girl he was with, you’re just upset because the man you have been pining for your whole life has a roster of romantic prospects outside of you. For so long, you had only known about it, like it was some far away entity, but seeing it with your own eyes, some unknown girl sprawled half on top of him, it broke something in you that you don’t know how to move on from. So while you grapple with your own mess of feelings, you just know you need to stay far, far away from him.

But seven days after your self-imposed Seungcheol ban, your roommate has apparently had enough, and he decides to break it. You hear a knock on your door and hum, expecting it to be Jeonghan asking about dinner or something. But instead, a head of thick brown hair pops in through your door.

“Can I come in?”

You're shocked for a good few seconds, before nodding and gesturing to him to do so. Seungcheol lumbers in, hesitating for a second before opting to sit on the chair in front of your desk, turning it around to face you. You’re still frozen in place, crosslegged on your bed, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

You blink. “You didn’t do anything. What are you sorry for?”

He lets out a laugh, but it’s bitter and mirthless. “For everything. For all of it. For telling you not to go to that party. For going there myself and letting you see me like that. For even being like that….”

“Seungcheol.” You protest. “You didn’t do anything-”

“I did.” He cuts you off. “You don’t know it, but I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my drunk, stupid mind thought it was a good idea to end up in your room that night. That I somehow genuinely believed that I could wake up next to you and you would be mine.”

Your heart pounds. Blood roars in your ears.

“I remember all of it.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. “How I felt that night. How badly I just wanted to be with you. No drink was helping, no one…..” He laughs again, shakes his head as if admonishing himself.

“You know what my drunken plan originally was? I wanted to wake you up and finally just tell you how much I love you. But I was so drunk and exhausted that by the time I got to you I just ended up passing out on your bed.”

“And then the next morning. I was awake the second you first moved. And I didn’t want to let go. Call it brain fog, I don’t know. I hoped I could lie there forever and just…… hold you.”

You only break your eye contact from Seungcheol when your vision swims, getting wetter and more blurred.

“This isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes.

“I’m not joking.”

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your frantic thoughts. Never, never in your life did you expect this. You remember that morning again, how Seungcheol’s hand tightened on you, how your ass pressed hard against his-

“You were awake.” It isn’t really a question.

“I was.”

When your eyes meet his again, it’s different. Something sizzles, sharp and anticipatory, like the air around you is afraid to move. But Seungcheol isn’t. He stands up and walks closer to where you are sitting, one knee planting on the mattress, until he’s right in front of you. His eyes are like melting pots of brown, and the intensity in them takes your breath away.

“You felt it, right?” He whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You turn me on so much.”

You can’t move even if you try. It feels like something has severed the connection between your brain and body. When Seungcheol leans in, you don’t resist. Your eyelids flutter when you feel his breath on the side of your neck, just like that morning. His lips brush just so over your skin.

“Cheol….”

He hums, shifts just a smidge, and his lips plant a chaste kiss under your ear. But you don’t say anything more. You don’t know if you can. You’re overwhelmed, both physically and mentally, and the smell of the cherry and sandalwood in his cologne is making your mind foggy.

“Let me show you.” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you, just like I wanted to that night, just like I dreamed of for so long.”

You’re human, after all. And you’re weak for him. You’ve always been weak for him, and that’s why you’ve let all of it happen. Him in your bed, you at his party. So you turn your head and let your lips brush over his. You can almost feel his shaky sigh just before he closes the distance between you.

It’s rushed from the start, like he’s desperate. You feel the same, hands reaching up to cup his face, your heart squeezing when you realise that this is finally happening. You’re kissing Seungcheol, the guy you’ve been deeply enamoured with for as long as you’ve known him. The guy you never, ever thought you would have in this way, but still imagined it in the depths of the night when there was no one but you and your fingers. He was here now, on the same bed that you thought filthy things about him in, kissing you like he needs to steal the air from your lungs. He tilts his head, lips sliding over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his. He nibbles softly and it makes you moan.

The sound does something to him, because he curses brokenly and reaches for you. Strong hands grip your waist and tug, pulling you closer. Your legs scramble to find purchase, settling on either side of his as he pulls you into his lap. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wet, and you can feel something flutter right in the base of your stomach. Your panties are already damp, but from what you can feel, he’s straining through his sweatpants too. You whine into him.

“Cheol…”

He groans, hands digging into your flesh. They slide under your shirt to run over your bare skin. You instinctively arch into him.

“Love it when you call me that.” He rasps. “Only you do. Only you.”

So you say it again, whisper it into his mouth while his tongue is in yours, and you can feel how his force increases, how he unravels just a little bit more. His hands under your shirt get more frantic, and finally he pushes up, peeling it off your body. You let him, but when the cold air hits your skin, you realise you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck.” He curses softly, eyeing your half naked body. You feel your skin heat under his gaze, squirming a little.

“Beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

No, I’m not. Your mind immediately supplies. Because it’s true. You can’t help but think of all the girls he’s had like this, in his lap while he runs his tongue down the column of their throats, nipping here and there. He probably feels you stiffen, because he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his expression cautious.

“What’s wrong?”

You swallow tightly and shake your head, leaning forward to kiss him again. But he pulls his head back before you can, watching you closely.

“Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”

Your heart squeezes. You try to arrange your thoughts and look for words. You feel Seungcheol’s hands run up and down your back and sides comfortingly.

“I just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You finally say, because you don’t want to tell him how much doubt you have. How deeply ingrained it is within you that you can never be with someone like him. You’re almost halfway certain that even this, what is happening right now, is some extreme exhaustion-induced dream and you will wake up to a cold, empty bed, but you don’t want to think about that.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart between your own. His face is soft, open, like he’s coming to the slow realisation of what you mean. When he sighs, you feel his breath on your skin. He leans forward so his forehead is pressed to yours. You don’t dare break your stare, even if it makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“I would never do that to you.” He whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

Your breath hitches. Your hands on his shoulders tremble.

“I dream about you every night. I lay in my bed and I think of having you next to me. But I never did anything about it. You’ve always felt so far away. Like I can’t dare touch you or you will be tainted.”

Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as Seungcheol’s gaze dims into something like resignation.

“But seeing you at that party with Seungkwan, having you see me like that.” He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “I knew something had to change. And it had to come from me. Whatever illusion I had in my head about us being just roommates, and me being happy with that, it wasn’t working.”

His hold tightens on you with that last sentence, hands running over your bare back again. His fingertips slide under the waistband of your shorts, just an inch, teasing you. You arch into him.

Seungcheol’s eyes travel to your lips and stay there. The air around you feels like it’s charging up again.

“Saw your little friend draped all over you, and I couldn’t stand it. Why does he get to touch you but I can’t?”

Your lips brush again. Your arms wind around his shoulders. “You can.”

“Hm?”

You can feel your cheeks heat. “You can touch me.”

Something flickers in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Where, baby?”

Baby. A shiver runs down your spine. “Everywhere.”

Your lips meet again. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. You feel his hand cup the back of your head, guide your movements like he wants them to, and it goes straight to your core, tightening it. You know you’re soaking your shorts, and you realise belatedly that you’re not wearing underwear either. Embarrassment hits you fleetingly, but before you can think about it more, Seungcheol is pushing forward to lay you on the bed, your hair sprawling on the pillow. He doesn’t break the kiss even once, fitting his hips between your legs and grinding into your heat. You gasp and cry out.

“You make the prettiest sounds.” He groans. “So responsive. I haven’t even done anything yet. Haven’t even touched you the way I want to.”

But he has. He’s all over you, taking over your every sense, infiltrating you until you can feel him thrumming in the hollows of your bones. You arch into him when he nips at your neck again, teeth digging in teasingly. If he leaves marks, so be it. You will wear them proudly. How long have you spent fantasising about having his lips on you? And here he is now, trailing kisses down until he reaches your chest. His tongue peeks out, smooths over your left nipple so that it is laved in his spit. He blows air on it, making you gasp. You wouldn’t see his smirk if it weren’t for the fact that a dimple cleaves through his right cheek. He pops your nipple in his mouth and sucks.

Seungcheol works you over while you whine and moan. Your hands meet his hair, running through the short ones on the back of his head before burying your fingers into it and tugging. He hums into your skin, and you can feel the vibration. It makes you clench desperately, making your hips buck.

“Cheol, please…”

He pops off your nipple after one last hard suck. You’re already taking in big, heaving breaths, like you’re losing your senses. You feel his tongue run up your sternum.

“What do you want, baby?”

You squirm, buck up again so that it brushes over his crotch. He chuckles.

“Impatient little thing. All you have to do is ask nicely.”

You blink through wet eyes, meeting his half-lidded, heated gaze. “I did. I said please.”

He groans. “Say it again, then.”

You make sure you’re looking him right in the eye as you buck up again. “Please.”

Seungcheol’s fingers hook in your shorts and he tugs them down. His face twists when he realises you’re not wearing underwear. He curses long and low, pushing your legs open to peer down at the mess between them.

“Dirty girl.” He moans. “No panties?”

You shake your head. “I don’t wear them to bed.”

His eyes widen as he thinks back.

“That night….”

You know exactly what he is referring to. The night he spent in your room, spooning you. You shake your head.

“Fucking hell.” His lips crash into yours, near feral as he devours you. You whimper and let him, hooking one leg over his waist.

“Could’ve fucked you back then, right? Just pushed your shorts aside and put my cock in you. Bet you would’ve loved that.”

You would, in your deep, dark fantasies. The thought of just being used by him is so hot that it lights your nerves on fire. You tug his shirt, having had enough, and he immediately obliges, pulling it off. Your mouth waters as you eyes the large expanses of smooth skin stretched over his muscles. You’ve never seen Seungcheol shirtless around the house, he’s very careful about it. The most you have seen is his arms through those tight tanks he loves so much. You run your hands over him as he goes back to licking and nipping at your neck, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants so he can take them and his boxers off in one go.

His cock springs up and hits his navel. He’s thick, so much that it makes you suck it a long breath. All the blood that has rushed to it has left it aching hard and throbbing, shiny at the head with precum. You’re just wondering how you can even take it all the way in when he slides down your body once again, this time going further than your breasts, until he’s settling between your open legs. Your face flames, fighting the urge to close your thighs when he stares at you like that, licking over his bottom lip.

He runs his fingers down your soft, heated folds, one on each side in a V-shape. He spreads his index and middle fingers, opening you up.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He mumbles, leaning down to barely dance his tongue through your slit. Your legs jerk at the feeling. He’s holding you open, which makes his touch hit deeper, in more sensitive places. You sigh when he flattens his tongue over you finally, licking a thick stripe. His hands position themselves on your inner thighs, keeping you open and his head shifts side to side, running his lips and tongue over every part of you.

He’s amazing at this.

He’s eating you out like he’s starving for it, eyelids fluttering, nearly rolling up, and just the sight of Seungcheol like this, face progressively getting more and more flushed and he leans down and sticks his tongue as far as it can go inside your cunt, has you shaking and crying, your high approaching embarrassingly fast. You want to sob, tell him to stop, that it’s too much all at once, but it feels so unbelievably good that you won’t dare, locking your legs over his broad shoulders, hands fisting the sheets as you wail and cum with no warning. His hold on you is iron strong, holding you in place and not stopping the rapid flicks of his tongue until tears slide down your face and you push his head away. He parts from you with a loud, filthy slurp, licking his lips. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as you while you’re shaking from your orgasm.

He uses his index and middle finger to wipe the lower half of his face, his chin, the line of his jaw. Then he shifts forward to kneel between your trembling legs again. He taps the two slicked up fingers on your mouth.

“Open up, baby.”

You do, lapping your tongue over the digits as they slide into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He watches heatedly as you suck on his fingers.

“Jesus.” He breathes. “Why’d I stay away from you for so long?”

He pulls them out when they’re slick with your spit, reaching down and immediately prodding at your entrance. You sigh and buck up. He smirks, a sexy sight that you barely have time to process before he’s sliding both fingers inside you at once. You gasp and arch, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. He’s already curling his fingers, slowly pumping them in and out.

“God.” You whimper, instinctively reaching down to grab his arm. He doesn’t mind, letting you hold it as he fingers you. You feel his muscles shift with every movement under your palms. As he works you open, he occupies his mouth with your neck and shoulder again, nipping and kissing. You realise Seungcheol is a little bit of a biter, not that you’re complaining.

You’re barely down from your last orgasm, so this one takes an even shorter time to build up. You moan with every ram of his fingers into you, he’s murmuring little encouragements and praises into your skin. His voice is rougher, breathier, and it acts as the catalyst that hurtles you over the edge again. This orgasm is just as intense, if not more, leaving your limbs boneless and your head empty. Your breaths come out chopped and heavy as he slows down, needling out the last remnants of your high.

“Gorgeous.” He hums. “I could do that for hours. Just make you fall apart over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

Your insides twist. Seungcheol shuffles until he’s seated fully between your legs again. He watches your cunt flutter and twitch, already used and abused. You watch him wrap a large hand around his thick girth, jerking himself harshly a few times. He slaps his shaft over your slit. You gasp and jerk. His eyes shoot up to you and he smirks teasingly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”

You vehemently shake your head. “N-no. Want your cock.”

He hums, running the swollen, leaking head through your folds. He rubs it back and forth over your clit. You whimper.

“Sure about that?”

You nod and buck your hips up. It catches against your opening, making you gasp. “Please, Cheol.”

That does it for him, because he’s lining himself up and leaning down over you, pressing his forehead to yours before pushing forward. Your jaw goes slack as he carves his way in through your gummy walls, inch by inch, until you feel his pelvis meet yours.

“God, you’re still tight as hell.” He grits. “After taking my fingers like that too. Why didn’t you loosen up, baby? Wanted to stay nice and snug for me?”

His words are filthy, and never something you ever imagined coming from his mouth, in his delicious, raspy voice. You don’t say anything, brain wiped clean as he chooses that moment to start thrusting. It feels divine, he’s so thick that he stretches and hits all your spots without even angling his hips any which way. His tip nudges your cervix just slightly with every thrust, a fluttering sensation ensuing in your stomach. Everything is so much, so intense, that it’s hard to even breathe. Your eyelids fight to close, but you keep them open, because no way in hell would you miss the sight before you right now.

The muscles in Seungcheol’s arms flex and shift, hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that shines under the lights of your bedroom. His torso undulates, precise and well aimed thrusts that hit just the right spots. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, face pinched in arousal and focus. His hair sticks to his temples, the rest is messed up because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. The apples of his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink that makes him look sensual, his eyelashes curling over his skin when he closes his eyes.

You wish you could burn this image in your mind forever.

He’s watching you just like you’re watching him, and you see the exact moment his face softens.

“Look at you.” He coos. “So pretty. So sexy like this. I imagined this, you know? When you had Seungkwan all over you, I imagined you under me.”

You whimper. The train of thought of last week’s party somehow riles him up again. His thrusts get harder, your skin stinging slightly with every ram of his hips into yours.

“And then there was fucking Soonyoung-” Seungcheol punches out. “Eyeing you like a piece of meat. If he got his hands on you, I would break every bone in his body.”

You mewl and shake your head vigorously. You can barely speak, but you’re desperate for him to know. “There’s no one, Cheolie. Only you. I only want you.”

You claw at his shoulders, tugging him down when you’re unable to resist, planting a searing kiss on his mouth. He groans into you.

“That’s right. Mine. My girl, my body, my cunt. All this is mine.”

You feel his hand sneak between your bodies so he can toy with your clit. It makes you cry out, already so sensitive from being toyed with.

“I’m not cumming until I feel your pussy milk it out of me.” He grunts, thrusts getting sloppier, and you keen. He’s determined to get you there one more time, and with how wound up you are, you know you will give it to him.

He cums at the same time as you, your walls contracting around his sloppy final thrusts. Your sweaty bodies writhe together, pressing into each other and on the bed, his hands digging into your hips and thighs while you rake your nails down his back. Finally, he buries himself deep and stills.

You sigh as tension slowly drains from your body. Seungcheol takes a moment before pulling out, flopping down next to you with a grunt and running a hand through his sweaty hair. You watch him and he eyes you back, a small smile crossing his face. He grips your arm and tugs, maneuvering you so you’re on your side, his front against your back. You giggle. It’s the same position, except this time, you’re both naked.

Silence descends over both of you, your eyelids heavy with slowly encroaching sleep. You’re roused when you hear Seungcheol softly speak.

“I meant it, you know?” He mumbles. “That I’m in love with you. Been in love with you for a while now.”

You can’t help your giddy smile. You rest your hand on the back of his and squeeze. “I have been too, for a while.”

You can feel his smile on the back of your neck. “Good.”

You fall asleep to his lips laying careful kisses on your shoulder.

🏷️: @picheolin-17 , @lovelylonelinesssvt , @scarlettveemin , @shad0wcast , @iluvhosh , @jimzk , @lucis-noctiana , @hannieweee , @xh01bri , @ilseamamuchoamingyu , @bleudandelion , @huihye , @markoplolo , @moondustmemories , @kaitieskidmore97 , @hocidust , @missaoki , @cheolwoo , @isaltedcarameows , @huiimoon , @tranquillitysoul , @weasleytwins-41 , @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @ateez-atiny380 , @piratekingateez2001 , @kpetts , @k4trinabluu , @sunnysidesins , @embrace-themagic , @escoupsue , @hxsxxk-180294 , @wxnderingthoughts , @meanieislife , @jiminie-08 , @w0nw0es , @lostinfakescenarios , @secret1234505 , @redemptions , @haoxiaoba , @junnhuisworld , @gojominn , @peachy-writings, @dreamingofpcy , @woozidreams , @booscafe , @tiffanylstrobel , @sannidokki , @evemds , @bramos91

[slut4kwon]

the bare minimum — k.mg

pairing: kim mingyu x fem! reader

synopsis: your dating history had been nothing but bad sex and even worse goodbyes. he showed you a patience and certainty that silenced every doubt, proving that you weren’t hard to love; you’d been loved by him all along.

wc: 10.5k

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, dom!mingyu, sub!reader, soft power play, heavy praise kink, multiple orgasms | best friends to lovers, swearing, fluff, aftercare.

authors note: i’ve been wanting to post a mingyu fic for ages now, and as i was going through some of my older fics, this one gave me insane mingyu energy and i had no other choice but to rewrite it for him! this is a rewrite of my fic ‘tears’, and yes, the plot is based on the sabrina carpenter song! i hope that you all enjoy this as much as i do, and as always, please feel free to let me know what you think! ♡

you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.

you’d been on dates.

enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.

enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.

enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.

you’d slept with some of them, too.

sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.

you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.

you just didn’t have it in you anymore.

the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.

so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.

you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.

you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.

maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.

being alone didn’t scare you.

what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.

every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.

it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.

you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.

tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.

your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.

you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.

until it buzzed again. then again. and again.

you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.

mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.

“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.

“you sound like shit,” mingyu replied, warm and easy.

you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”

fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.

“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.

“mm,” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”

a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”

you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”

“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.

your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you for a moment. “he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”

despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”

the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.

“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”

“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.

“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.

his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”

the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.

his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.

“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight, though. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”

“mm,” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.

his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.

“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.

“because you picked up,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.

you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”

there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.

“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”

your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you are such an asshole.”

“tell me i’m wrong,” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.

you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.

“yeah. that’s what i thought,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“and correct,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.

you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”

“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.

“gyu—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.

“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”

“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”

“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”

you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”

his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”

you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”

“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”

“that was emotional,” you defended.

“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”

“you’re actually unbearable,” you muttered.

“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”

you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”

his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”

he ended the call before you could get another word in.

you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.

your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.

eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.

you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.

the soft outline of mingyu’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.

you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.

you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.

the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.

piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.

none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.

you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.

you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.

you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.

you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.

it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.

the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

“yo,” mingyu called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”

you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said flatly. “i told you not to come.”

“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”

he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.

it was just shoes. nothing more.

except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked them halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.

the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.

you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.

with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”

“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.

he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”

he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.

“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”

“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.

he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”

“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”

“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”

“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”

he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.

there was no hesitation. no second thought.

only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.

if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.

yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.

he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.

without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.

he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly as he pulled it free in one smooth motion.

you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.

the water slid over his veins as if it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.

every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and each flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention towards you instead.

before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.

he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.

he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.

it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.

yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt the dampness pool against the cotton of your shorts.

you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt, but there was no denying it.

your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than just leaving it.

your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, his muscles shifting with every pull.

it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.

he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.

when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.

the fabric of his sweats pulled tightly across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.

a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.

a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.

there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.

too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.

you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.

the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.

most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.

with mingyu, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.

something in you gave way the longer you watched him.

it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.

suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.

you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.

the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.

by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.

“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”

you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.

he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”

“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.

he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”

your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”

“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”

your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.

he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.

the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.

you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.

“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”

you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.

he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.

you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “soonyoung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”

your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”

“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”

“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.

“seungkwan even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.

your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.

“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.

“it gets worse,” he assured, “seokmin told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.

your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s actually insane.”

mingyu’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.

you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.

the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.

even if he didn’t, it still left you warm and restless, your shorts clinging tighter as your pulse tripping over itself.

you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.

without any warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.

you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.

every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.

your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”

“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.

“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”

he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate it when it does.”

your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”

“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”

you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.

your shorts clung even tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.

by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes still hadn’t left him once.

his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.

“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.

“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”

you shifted slightly, tugging your knees in closer as the words spilled out before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”

he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”

“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, trying to find the words. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”

he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”

“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”

he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”

“it’s not nothing, gyu!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”

he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.

at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”

he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”

“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”

his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”

“shut up,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

“no fucking way,” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone? the boys have to hear this—”

your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”

his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”

you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. no. absolutely not—”

he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.

he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.

“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.

“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”

his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.

you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”

he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”

you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.

“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.

he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”

“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”

his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.

“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”

“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.

he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.

you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”

he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.

your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.

the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. silence settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.

you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.

he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.

the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.

your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.

your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.

the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.

the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.

every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed directly against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.

his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.

a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.

the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension snapped.

you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.

he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.

his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.

the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.

the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.

his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.

every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.

his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.

his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slowly over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.

his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.

the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.

“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”

your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.

you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.

“gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”

his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.

“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”

the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.

his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.

your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.

he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around him.

your back met the mattress before you even realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without once breaking the kiss.

he hovered above you, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”

“still with you,” you whispered.

he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.

he caught the details no one else ever did; every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.

his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.

he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.

the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.

“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”

your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.

his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.

his mouth traced you in reverence, each touch tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.

his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.

he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.

he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.

your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.

his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.

you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.

he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.

your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.

your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.

“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”

you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”

his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”

you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”

he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”

you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”

his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”

he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.

his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.

his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them a little further apart, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.

you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled himself lower, kissing along your jaw.

“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck.

your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.

“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”

his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.

his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.

he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.

he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped towards him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.

he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.

“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.

his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.

the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.

every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.

his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.

his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.

“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”

his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.

your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.

“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly even touched you.”

your voice broke apart on his name. “gyu—”

he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”

the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.

“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”

his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.

“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”

instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.

“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”

“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.

he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.

“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”

your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.

“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.

his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.

“oh, baby,” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.

he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”

you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.

“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”

his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.

the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.

his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.

he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.

he gently lifted your leg, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.

each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.

your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.

“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”

your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.

he didn’t let you finish it.

his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.

the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.

your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.

“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.

he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.

the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.

your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.

he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.

heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.

you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.

“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—gyu.”

he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.

he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.

your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”

another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.

pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”

your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.

his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.

“gyu—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.

he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”

your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.

when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.

your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.

your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.

each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.

by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.

his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”

a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “gyu, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”

his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.

“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”

he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”

his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.

what began tender turned restless in seconds.

his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.

his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.

it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.

a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.

you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.

“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”

“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.

you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.

he huffed a laugh, his eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.

“shut up,” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.

your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.

heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”

“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”

a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.

your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.

“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.

as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.

before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.

“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”

you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”

his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.

“gyu—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.

“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”

he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.

a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.

“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”

he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.

his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.

“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”

your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, gyu—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.

his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”

your thighs quivered, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”

he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”

he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.

the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.

after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.

“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.

your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, gyu, don’t—”

he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.

“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”

your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.

“gyu—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.

he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.

“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”

your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.

the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.

he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”

he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “gyu—w-why…what are you—”

“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”

desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips back onto the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.

you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.

he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.

his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.

“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.

your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.

his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.

your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”

the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.

he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.

“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.

“gyu—” his name slipped from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”

his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.

“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”

your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.

“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”

your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—gyu, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”

“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.

“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “mingyu, i—fuck—i can’t—”

his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”

you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “gyu—”

“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”

your third release tore through you, carrying his first with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.

he stilled for a moment, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.

there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.

when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice.

he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.

his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs; each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.

“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”

your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

he lingered a second longer, his thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.

he bent down to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.

the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.

by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.

the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted.

at first it was just silence, but eventually, that silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.

you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.

sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.

a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. the excuse about an early morning.

sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.

your heart sank.

what if this was that moment?

what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?

what if you’d just ruined everything?

before the thoughts could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.

“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.

you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you.

his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, and a warm cloth in the other.

your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”

you tried to smile, but it wavered.

“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you already woke all of the neighbors up.”

a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.

he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”

his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.

you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.

no one had ever done this for you before.

the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.

but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.

“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”

he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.

he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.

as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.

he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.

“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.

you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.

you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”

your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”

you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”

the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.

“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”

you froze, but he continued nonetheless.

“you don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”

“you never said anything,” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.

his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away. “never felt like my place.”

“gyu…” you whispered.

he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.

“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.

“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face for any clues on what he could be referring to.

his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.

“how easy you are to love.”

you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d completely forgotten how to work.

“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”

your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, completely undone by the gentleness in his voice.

“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”

he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose them.”

you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”

“i meant what i said, you know,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years. “and i know my feelings aren’t one sided, either, ms. choreplay.”

tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole, kim mingyu.”

“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”

he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “my god, you’re always so full of yourself.”

his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”

taglist: @gggtabi @mayakahlo @crvshedpetals @teardoong @kyrasworldd @authorscurse @jajabro @moonqz @vynn30 @letstakeabowimoutthedoor @ilovegdragon123 @jiyongsbaby88 @serenadeonacanoe @strhwa @seungsjo @rayslilbubble @loveesiren @h0lographicsun @breakmeoff @xxxicddbr88 @my-neurodivergent-world @evasmlp @arwen-u @junnhuisworld @weasleytwins-41 @evemds

[haologram]

ribs ⌁ k.mg [m]

— synopsis: kim mingyu is a dear friend. a dear friend that spends nights in your arms, said nights set aflame with the tick tick tick of your gas stove when he makes you dinner, and searing kisses when he lays you down in your bed. yes, kim mingyu is a dear friend...and you wish he were more. – genre: friends with benefits to lovers au; fluff, angst, some suggestive/smutty content. — pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader – word count: 11.8k — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warnings: they're stupid. literally so fucking stupid. fighting, mentions of infidelity, jealousy & insecurities. mildly sexual themes and content: brief p in v scene, there's a titty in his mouth, etc. kissing, pet names (babe/baby, sweetheart, honey, etc.) — what to listen to: ribs - lorde ; starbright - dabin, trella ; people watching - conan gray ; hard part's over - hoang, page ; like real people do - hozier ; fineshrine - purity ring. – author's note: thank you to @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr for these daisy dividers! that being said, this is not proofread, but it was beta'd by my dear @starlightkyeom. another fic for thee gyuldaengie ever, @gyuswhore because i posted late and i just love you that dang much. dedicated to em (again!) i love you. ♡

KIM MINGYU COULD VERY WELL BE THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE. 

Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love. 

Sometimes, you think he’s made for you. Like Eve was made for Adam, by the rib. Sometimes you feel an ache in your left side, and you wonder if it’s the lack of Mingyu’s lingering presence – only to see him a week later, shown up to your front door with a beautiful bouquet and a bottle of wine. 

Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful. 

But just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, can never admit that he something more to you than you care to acknowledge beyond just that – something more. 

And just as easily as those flowers of yours were picked, they were tossed. Once they died, they served no value. You’d watch the petals fall onto your desk for a while, dried and crisp; before inevitably swiping them into the trash can and dumping the dirty water into the sink. The vase waited, empty (like you,) to be refilled once Mingyu swung by for his bi-monthly fix. 

It wasn’t always like this. 

You used to save some of the petals, some of the flowers themselves. Press them in wax paper between heavy books and forget about them until you read the books again. You’d toy with the dried petals, before they eventually became littered around your apartment – in the form of coasters, framed on the walls, even a pair of earrings you once made at a crafts class. 

Because in the beginning, in the very beginning – Mingyu was just your friend. 

He was your very nice, very attentive friend that brought you gorgeous bouquets from his florist friend’s shop, always picked out by Mingyu himself – down to the colorful paper wrapping and satin bow. You’d rarely see him more than once or twice a month as it was, because Mingyu is a very busy man – so the flowers were always accompanied with an apologetic smile and a quick kiss to your cheek. You’d make dinner together, or he’d cook for the two of you; his presence warm and inviting even in your own home.  

He’d serve you a glass of wine or three, plate your dinner like you’re at a nice restaurant and hand you extra silverware in case one of you fell victim to his butterfingers – and he knew your apartment like the back of his hand. He knew you like the back of his hand. 

Then, you kissed. 

One time. By complete and utter accident. 

You had moved into his typical cheek kiss in greeting, the both of you springing away almost immediately when you felt each other’s lips. You both spewed apologies like geysers, talking over one another before you both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“No more kisses, got it. Could’ve said something earlier, you know.” He joked, but finally greeted you with a warm hug paired with a mumbled it’s so nice to see you that made your stomach flutter for the first time ever. You were wide eyed as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his body, in the soft feeling of his cashmere sweater that you’d given him for his birthday many moons ago. 

Unfortunately, the attempt to make dinner together was awkward. You were both anxiously trying to keep things level, trying to crack jokes and talk about your lives outside of each other when you just sighed; your hands on your hips as you glanced at him in your pink apron that was much too small. 

And he kissed you – this time, with purpose. He held your face gently between his hands, your own fisting the stupidly expensive cashmere sweater that left you without eggs and bread that month.  

Dinner wasn’t homemade, after all. He’d turned the stove off in your frenzy to pull his belt off, his hands holding you flush to him as he led you both to your bedroom – where he’d shown you exactly why his ex-girlfriend can’t leave him alone, and why your ex-boyfriend constantly felt inferior to him. He made it clear he wanted you, even if it was just for the night – and he wasn’t about to fuck up the only potential chance he’d gotten. 

You both fell asleep before either of you could say anything about the missed dinner, and the morning after was full of shy stares and a silent agreement – after you asked him if he’d even wanted to be your friend, if this was his plan all along. He admitted honestly that he’d never anticipated something like this and he never secretly wanted you, either – that he’d been your friend because he loves you, because you’re sweet and funny, because you’re you. 

Twice a month. Dinner. Sex. Repeat. Just to get the taste of each other off your tongues, to fill the void of feeling someone next to you while you’re sleeping. 

Eventually, you realized that things between you and Mingyu had grown to be just that – a fix. A bi-monthly, sometimes tri-monthly, fix; where he came to your apartment and still yielded those beautiful flowers. He’d gotten more into making dinner on his own, and you’d choose somethnig to watch – and you’d spend an hour or so filling each other in about your time apart over the warm meal and some stupid movie, if not Gilmore Girls. 

Until one of you leans in for the first kiss of the tumble, and the illusion of romance shatters at your fingertips. 

Not because Mingyu isn’t romantic; if anything, the guy could drown you in romance. In soft touches, in mood lighting, in catering to your every need while still meeting his own with little intereference. He’s kind and gentle, with an edge that makes your skin prickle when he works you over with his tongue between your thighs after peeling your clothes off with needy hands. He’s a bitch when his teeth nip at the skin of your thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move; and you can feel the way he smiles against you as he brings you to the first orgasm of the night. 

He’s yours when he kisses you like you mean everything to him, when he holds your knees to your chest while you cry on his cock. He’s yours when he holds you close, massaging your hips and kissing the expanse of your bare shoulders. 

And you are his. 

You are absolutely, irrevocably his when he slips inside you for the second time that night – his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder at how sensitive he is but he loves the way you feel. Shuddered whimpers will fill the room, murmurs of missing you when he’s gone as he nibbles on your earlobe; he leaves a mess between your thighs, snugly wrapped in your walls as you both drift to sleep. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Maybe it’s not all that romantic. 

Maybe it’s just...sex. Casual sex that convinces you it’s more the moment you press your lips to his because you’re so certain Heaven is a place on Earth – and it’s in Kim Mingyu’s arms. 

That’s where it all ends, anyway. He’s gone in the morning without much conversation; you’ll shower together like real couples do and he’s started keeping a few changes of clothes in your apartment. You’ll brush you teeth together like real couples do; he’ll even rub lotion on your back before kissing the back of your neck and asking if you want breakfast. If you say no, he leaves. 

If you say yes...he’ll make breakfast, an entire spread. He’ll make coffee, and he’ll sit right next to you in the cute breakfast nook that sold you on your apartment three years ago – right after you’d broken up with that ex-boyfriend that never liked Mingyu. For who he was, what he stood for or what he could provide...you weren’t all that sure. 

But you don’t really care, either. 

Mingyu helped decorate your apartment. He helped you make it yours and even slept on the floor of your bedroom with you when you were too scared to be alone on the first night. He didn’t complain about his very obviously sore neck the next morning, only giving you a quick hug goodbye as he left to his apartment six blocks away for a shower – and returning within two hours to help you paint your bathroom. 

They say that friends to lovers is the best way to go. Friends that know each other’s coffee orders by heart, turning into lovers that deliver said coffee with a kiss on the lips. Friends that help each other pick an outfit for a night out, becoming lovers who take said outfit off at the end of the night with their lips running down each other’s shoulders and other unnamed places. 

Lovers, who mean it more than words can explain, and the warmth of a fire could never rival the true heat behind it – the three little words that linger on your tongue. 

That stupid, stupid I love you. 

But you are you, and Mingyu is...well, he’s Mingyu. 

You’re not sure what you are. You’re certainly not friends, but you’re not lovers...you’re just Y/N and Mingyu, in limbo. No label, no questions and consequently, no answers. 

And you want an answer. You want to know what it’s like for him to hold you closer when you move away to slip out of your bed in the morning. You want to know what it’s like for him to flip you onto your back and kiss you despite the morning breath, what it’s like to be Mingyu’s, eternally, and never have a way out. 

But...you are you. 

And you know better. 

IT’S WEDNESDAY NIGHT WHEN YOUR PHONE PINGS ACROSS APARTMENT. 

You move out of the kitchen, making your way to it and grabbing it off the coffee table before flopping onto your couch. 

NEW! (3) Messages From: Mingyu ♡  [4:21 PM] hey, y/n  [4:21 PM] just a quick question, are you free this friday?  [4:21 PM] no pressure 💘 

You’re aptly draped across the couch for a distressed sigh as you read the messages. You throw your arm over your eyes, your heart beating just a little faster – there's a pot of stew heating up on the stove, and the whole house smells delicious as you close your eyes, knowing exactly how this could go. 

He’ll show up at your doorstep, ten minutes before he said he’d be there. He’ll be wearing one of his nice shirts – maybe it’ll be that baby blue one that you love – maybe it’ll be the dark red that he always tucks neatly into slacks. Maybe he’ll be dressed down, something you don’t to see all that often – sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, but he’ll still be carrying that stupidly large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of your favorite wine. He’ll kiss you hello again, but it won’t be on your cheek – no, he’ll kiss your lips. 

He’ll kiss your lips and hold your waist gently, pulling you into him. He’ll nip at your lower lip, inching his way into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before setting the flowers down on the foyer table and pulling away. He’ll say it’s nice to see you, that he missed you, that he wants to hear about your day before kissing you breathless. 

Because he’s Mingyu. 

“And I’ll fall for it every damn time,” you sigh, staring at the screen. Your fingers move quickly, typing a singular ‘sure’, only to see his read receipt pop up before you can even sit up. Like he’s waiting for you to answer – sat at his desk, the one that’s shoved in the corner of his office and way too cramped for a guy his size. The one that’s piled high with confidential documents, that he eats his lunch at that he packs himself early in the mornings. 

The one he’s sent you a few suggestive pieces of media from, the image of his silver watch moving up and down your screen still burned into your mind. 

NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡  [4:26 PM] hm, don’t know if i liked the way you answered that.  [4:26 PM] are you okay? 

Are you? 

You don’t get much of a chance to reply before he’s calling you. You quickly decline it, texting back with the excuse that you’re in the shower. 

NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡  [4:27 PM] you’re literally laying on your couch. you don’t shower until six.  [4:28 PM] this is your ‘lazy girl’ time, you’ve told me. i know. 

“Curse your memory, Kim Mingyu,” you grumble, fumbling around to call him on Facetime. He picks up on the second ring, putting his AirPod in – but he’s not dressed the way he usually is after work. Or rather, during: he’s still got thirty minutes to his workday. 

But you’re not complaining at the sleeveless white shirt, feeling your cheeks hot as he raises a brow at you through the screen. 

“What are you doing?” You prop yourself up on a throw pillow, only for Mingyu to flip the camera and show the inside of your favorite grocery store, “what are you doing there? It’s Wednesday, you should be at work.” 

“And you should tell me what’s got you so pouty.” He says pointedly, propping you up in the cart as he grabbed a bag for tomatoes. You’re silent as you watch him pick them out carefully, gentle fingers you miss wrapped around your throat squeezing the fruit softly. You blink as the thought leaves your mind, your mouth dry as you shake it off while he ties the plastic bag expertly. 

“So? What’s got you so iffy?”  “Nothing.”  “You’re a horrible liar.” 

Mingyu gives you a stern look as he hunches over the cart, pursing his lips as his eyes dart around the store for the next item to take him. Maybe peppers. Maybe a tub of soybean paste. 

Maybe someone else to fill his bed, his heart. His stomach, with delicious meals he never lets you cook for him anymore because, in his words – you're tired. You work so hard and you’ve had a long day, sweetheart. Just sit on the island and keep me company. 

“Need an answer sooner rather than later, sweetheart.” His voice is gentle as he grabs your attention again, only making you scoff as you wave him off with your hand. 

“Seriously, I’m fine.”  “I dunno. First, you give me a one-word answer. Never in our six-year friendship have you responded to me that way, even when you’re in a bad mood.” 

You tongue your cheek as he stops the cart in the snack aisle, your eyes floating immediately to the cinnamon biscuits right next to his head. He reaches for them, tossing the box into his cart without a second thought before reading the ingredients on a box of almond cookies, “next, you lie to me. A bold-faced lie, and to my face, at that.” 

“I lied to your phone screen, dramatic ass.” You mutter, watching the way his fingers drum against the yellow box. He’s wearing the ring you’d given him for Christmas last year, the white gold snug on his thumb as he hums. He puts the box back, grabbing another with a click of his tongue. 

“That I pay the bill on, mind you. So, you’re wasting time and money instead of just telling me what your deal is.” 

“There is no deal, Mingyu. I’m not BOGO.” You snort, shifting on your couch and resting your arm under your head. He looks at the phone, tossing the cookies into his cart, “I should be glad, BOGO of you would kill me. You’re more like buy one, get one half off.” 

“I think I’m more of a buy-two, get one free.”  “That’s even worse. One of you is more than enough. And that’s coming from me, someone who gets all of you regularly and happily, at that.” 

“‘All of me’ is a technicality.” You roll your eyes, only watching the tips of his ears turn pink as he analyzes yet another box. Crackers this time, cheddar ones. Not your favorite, and infinitely inferior to the Parmesan ones. 

“Be realistic, there’s no one but me. You’re just for me.” He murmurs, but the microphone catches it anyway. You tongue your cheek as he puts the box back, instead grabbing the Parmesan ones and throwing them in the cart. Your cheeks heat slightly as he nibbles on his lip, likely deep in thought as he looks over his cart. 

“Even if that’s true, you could still be nice to me.” 

“I’m so nice to you! I make you dinner, I buy you flowers, and I check in with you regularly. I get you gifts, I fixed your leaky faucet, and I rewired your entire gaming system after you moved into your apartment and didn’t want to figure it out. I’m the nicest guy ever, especially to you.” He huffs, and you let out a chuckle that makes his lips twitch. He masks it by sucking his teeth, and you shrug with an amused look on your face. 

“You cook me dinner because you want to, you buy me flowers because you feel guilty and you check in with me because your job keeps you from actually seeing me more than once or twice a month. You get me gifts to make up for the fact that you’re not around as often, you fixed my leaky faucet because I practically begged you to, and you rewired my gaming system because you and Wonwoo wanted to play GTA for six hours.” You point your finger at him, watching the way he nods before picking up his phone. The camera pauses, the sound of Left Right by XG playing in the store the only sound coming from his end. 

NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡  [5:10 PM] i also go down on you because i want to, and i fuck you because i want to. but i don’t hear you complaining about that, hm? 

“Because I want it, too.” You ignore the heart surging on your cheeks as you watch the message bubble pop up again.  

NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡  [5:11 PM] then be nice to me before i stop doing that for us, pillow princess. 

“I am not a pillow princess! You just never let me do anything!” 

The camera unpauses, showing Mingyu rolling his eyes and feigning disinterest before he sets the phone back down, “tell me what’s up or I’m coming over impromptu. I won’t give you time to tidy up, either.” 

“You wouldn’t do that; you probably have a nice steak in your basket. You wanna go home and cook it and text me all about how I’m missing out because I live six blocks away and won’t walk to your place because those heels I wear make me too tired.” You snicker, watching the way he mimics you and moves his hand in a talking motion. You only laugh harder, “Mingyu!” 

“Little louder, sweetheart. The neigbors know my name, anyway.”  “Kim Mingyu, I am a lady.” 

“A loud one,” he snorts, sucking his teeth as he makes his way down the liquor aisle. “Are you free on Friday or not? Enthusiastically free, happy-to-see-your-Mingyu free. Not that sure shit, have some respect.” 

“My Mingyu?” You smirk, but it’s a front. Your stomach is fluttering like crazy and you watch the way he bites back his smile to raise a brow at you. 

“You know any other Mingyus?”  “Park Mingyu from the finance team that has had the hots for me since before you moved to the city.” 

“He doesn’t count, he’s in finance. You’d get bored in two days.” He rolls his eyes again, “yes or no, sweetheart? My schedule fills up fast and I’m actively trying to get you in.” 

“More like you’re trying to get in me.”  “That too, but all I’m hearing right now is that you hate me. That’s not all I have you around for, you know.” 

You roll your eyes, sighing. He’s raking his eyes over you through the camera, grabbing a bottle of wine off the shelf as if it’s muscle memory. The label reads EISA Cabernet – your favorite. Particularly, when he makes you a thick steak with scalloped potatoes and asparagus that almost guarantees you fuck him within an inch of his life. 

And he never complains. 

“What’s wrong with you?”   “Nothing, Gyu. I promise.” 

He crosses his arms, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Then don’t.”  “You hate me.”  “Sometimes, when you make my steak too rare or you pull out.” 

“Haha, so funny.” He sticks his tongue out at you, and you can tell by the signs on the ceiling that he’s moving to the checkout line. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s up with you?” 

“What do you want me to say, Mingyu? That I’m in distress? That I’m having a bad day?” You joke, before pouting exaggeratedly, “oh, please, Mingyu. I’ve had such a long, lonely day. Come over, I need you.” 

“Stop that.” He huffs, crossing his arms as he leans on the cart. You laugh again, running your hand through your hair as you feel his eyes trailing you. You raise a brow as his eyes stop on your chest, and you dramatically cover the bit of cleavage your V-neck sweater shows. He scoffs, tonguing his cheek as he gets a register, carefully parking the cart. “Tilt the camera to your face, I don’t need strangers seeing your whole chest.” 

“It’s not even my chest, dipshit. It’s my necklace at best.”  “Necklace I gave you.”  “Never pegged you to be a jealous, possessive man, Mr. Kim.” 

“You don’t know a lot of things about me,” he shrugs, and you stick your tongue out at him as he scans his things. He shakes his head as you watch him, your eyes shamelessly trained on his arms as he moves about, before he snaps his fingers in front of the camera, “must you eye fuck me like that?” 

“Listen, friends can admire one another’s beauty. That’s part of it.”  “Sure, sweetheart. Friends also tell each other what’s bothering them, but I guess we’re not all that of friends, hm?” 

The double entendre makes you scoff as he swipes his card, his receipt printing loudly as he makes faces at you. You don’t speak as he takes the receipt and tucks it into his pocket, listening to him sweetly thank the aunties at the exit as he leaves with his cart. He whistles, “so? What’s wrong with you?” 

You don’t reply, simply turning onto your belly and resting your cheek against the heel of your palm. You prop your phone up against the armrest of your couch, making a show of pulling your sweater down enough that it shows the white lace of your bra. 

“Tease.” He chides as he pops the trunk, “come on, tell me. Because you’re gonna piss me off and then we’re both in a mood.” 

“I’m really fine, Gyu. I’m tired, I’m gonna eat some leftovers...maybe watch a movie. It's just one of those days, you know?” You shrug, “it’s not like anything is particularly wrong. I just feel weird, and that’s okay.” 

You’re lying through your teeth, but he doesn’t look all that convince anyway as you hear the timer in your kitchen start going off. You give him a quick smile, “my food’s ready, so I gotta go but I’ll see you on Friday, Gyu. I promise I’m excited to see you.” 

“Well, you’d still need the context of what’s happening on Friday, but sure.” He shrugs, “just...are you sure you’re okay? I can cancel. I’ll work around you, honey, just let me know.” 

You smile inwardly, pushing off the couch and taking your phone with you into the kitchen. You prop it up against your toaster as you reach for a bowl on your tiptoes, “I would say no if I didn’t want to see you, Mingyu.” 

“I know, but—” 

“Mingyu, baby, please.” You set the bowl down, putting your hands on your hips. He’s in his car now, pulling his seatbelt on as he balances you on the steering wheel. He’s pouting, “expect that impromptu visit anyway.” 

“You never follow through with those, so I will not be cleaning my apartment tonight and I will be in my PJs by nine.” You respond, crossing your arms on your chest as you watch him roll his shoulders back – the fabric of his shirt taut against his chest. He catches you staring at him, his ears tinging pink once more as you smile cheekily, “I’ll see you on Friday. Drive safe, okay?” 

“I will. I’ll see you later, baby.” 

The call ends before he can see you process the petname. Your cheeks are hot as you stare at your home screen, a picture of you that Mingyu took at a burger joint after you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. You had a smear of ketchup on your cheek and Mingyu’s fingers pinching the other – he'd taken you out because you had been the one to break things off after yet another jealous fit about you being friends with Mingyu. 

When you think about it, he ended up being right – just six months after the breakup, you’d slept with Mingyu for the first time.  

Jaehyun had always been iffy about Mingyu, but you didn’t understand it then, or ever. The two of you had been dating for six months when he met Mingyu, your friend of two years at that point. They met at your birthday party, and Mingyu had been incredibly sweet – he'd greeted him with a firm handshake, complimented his shirt and watch, and asked what he was drinking. Jaehyun had stiffened slightly, likely at the way Mingyu towered over him; but his face soured when Mingyu greeted you next, the way he always had. 

With that damn cheek kiss. 

His aftershave was particularly minty that night, and it made something in your stomach lurch but you ignored it. Jaehyun was quiet that entire night, even later when you were both in bed together and he was on top of you – he murmured it, effectively killing your buzz and starting a fight. 

“I don’t like that Mingyu guy.” 

Your relationship was no more than two years of weird jealousy afterwards. Jaehyun, however, was worse than you were in the weird terms and conditions of dating these days – he still followed his ex-girlfriends on social media and frequently engaged with their posts (you didn’t care.) He still talked to his most recent ex-girlfriend's mother, who he claimed said that he was like a son to her (again, you didn’t give a shit.) 

It seemed to bother Jaehyun that you did not care what he was doing with his ‘friends’ of the opposite sex. He seemed annoyed that you could frequently hang out with your friends without caring about what he thought – posing in photobooths for pictures with your life-long friends Kwon Soonyoung and Lee Seokmin, getting dinner with your old coworker (and BFF-by-proxy) Hansol Chwe, taking shots with said BFF Boo Seungkwan at your favorite bar to celebrate his birthday... 

Posting pictures of you and Mingyu at a farmer’s market the autumn before the breakup, trying spiked apple cider and pumpkin soup that you ended up bringing home for him to try. 

Jaehyun didn’t like that you had friends he didn’t like. He didnt like that you had male friends period, but you simply did not care and especially not when he went on and on about Mingyu like he had a crush on him. You listened to his jealous rants about Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol silently, merely peering up at him through your lashes and sipping whatever drink was closest. However, he really amped it up when he met Mingyu – and went as far as saying he was sure Mingyu wanted to sleep with you. 

Only for you to find out in two weeks time that Mingyu had been across town that same night, breaking up with his girlfriend for saying the exact same thing about you. 

She was so sure you wanted Mingyu. 

And the truth was, you’d never thought about it – ever. You’d met Mingyu in grad school, through Seokmin – and your first memory of one another was at a horrible group interview for an internship that neither of you got. You stayed in touch following the months after graduation, only getting closer as Mingyu moved to your city a year after and needed friends to hang out with. 

You were almost always one of those friends. If you couldn’t make it, he still made it a point to swing by your place and bring you something from wherever it was that he’d gone. Sometimes it was a thick slice of chocolate cake, sometimes it was an entire baked potato that he’d ordered to-go so you’d have something for lunch the next day. Sometimes it was just a handful of butter mints he’d stolen from the register attendant along with a colorful toothpick. 

Mingyu is just like that. Sweet and caring and he is a good man. A Good Man, even, with capital letters and capital claim on your heart. 

You sigh, turning your phone off and leaving it on the counter as you limply serve yourself your dinner. The stew isn’t as filling as it would’ve been had Mingyu made it, but you don’t let your mind linger on him too much as you eat on your couch and watch a YouTube video dissecting Pretty Little Liars. 

Because thinking about Mingyu is bad for your heart. You can’t close your eyes when you do it, either – or his body flashes in your mind, the sounds he makes when he’s got your hands pinned to the mattress, the way he calls you baby between kisses that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You can’t close your eyes without remembering the smell of his aftershave filling your nostrils, his fingers tugging at your clothes or the way he coos when you beg him to touch you anywhere. 

Or...it’s worse, and you remember how good a boyfriend he would be. How good of a husband he would be – always having a spare change of shoes for you in his trunk for those times you’d go out to dinner or to hang out. Always offering his jacket, always holding your hand when you cross the street, always pulling you close when someone thinks it’s okay to get too comfortable with you. How he smooths a hand over your hair out of nervous habit as you worm through farmer’s markets and malls, how he’s easily thrown you over his shoulder several times when you’re throwing an embarrassing fit at a pub or a bar. 

When he kisses you slowly, in his car that smells like him and you before you both get down. How he thumbs at your earrings when you’re sitting next to him at a restaurant or the movies, and his arm is draped over your shoulders. How he speaks to you softly and listens to you intently – actively interested in everything you have to say and what it means to you. 

How he cares. 

It has to be torture, being involved with Kim Mingyu the way you are. 

But is it torture, at hands so gentle? Lips so soft, words so sweet, a heart so full? 

You don’t think so. 

9:32 PM. 

You’d finished dinner hours ago, and your television was quietly playing some random Spotify playlist. The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars is filling your ears as you trill your lips dramatically and scroll on your work laptop, finalizing a presentation while sprawled across your couch.  

Against your better judgment, you’d cleaned your apartment haphazardly and you took a long shower – but like any girl awaiting potential company, you put on yet another sweater and a skirt (that you dug out of the back of your closet; one that you’d caught Mingyu staring at you in ages ago.) Your pajamas laid neatly folded on your pillowcase, and you told yourself you’d get in bed by 9:45. 

It’s unlikely that Mingyu will come by. You checked his location ten minutes ago, and he was at his apartment – likely cuddled up in his bed with all six of his pillows. Mingyu rarely leaves the house after eight on weekdays, anyway...unless he’s seeing you. 

The time barely ticks past 9:33 p.m. when you hear a soft knock at the door – making you jolt up so fast, you feel something pinch in your neck. You still – glimpsing at the time on your laptop before checking your phone for any potentially missed messages. Mingyu usually texts you if he’s actually coming over...so it can’t be him. 

No lights are on in your apartment but your stove one, so it only makes the atmosphere more tense. You stand up quietly and set your laptop down on your coffee table before hearing another knock – louder this time, the clink of metal on glass making you jump. 

“Y/N, open this damn door.”  

Mingyu’s voice on the other side makes all fear in your body dissipate in favor of annoyance, and you make your way over; unlocking the door quickly and huffing as you open it. He’s leaning coolly against the frame, holding a bouquet as usual – but you put your hands on your hips as you look up at him.  

You hate the way your cheeks grow hot at his soft smile. 

“It’s not Friday, Kim Mingyu.”  “I can still bring you flowers, baby.” 

“Blah, blah, blah.” You make a face at him, opening the door further to let him in and turning on your heel – only to feel his arm wrap around your waist and gently pull your back into his chest. He smells like that same aftershave, your skin prickling as you glance up at him. 

“Is that how you greet your guests?”  “You’re hardly a guest, Mingyu. Guests don’t know where my silverware is.” 

“Or that you keep lube in your nightstand.” He whispers, squeezing your hip as you swat at his arm. You scowl at him as he presses a kiss on your forehead, “I told you I was coming.” 

“It’s damn near ten at night.”  “So? I can just stay over.”  “You just wanna fuck me.” 

“Or I miss you, baby.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I miss you a lot, actually.” 

“Breaking news: Kim Mingyu admits he misses his dearest, smartest, prettiest friend ever. More at eleven.” You snort, letting him turn you around as he smiles. You let him fully wrap his arms around you, your nose filling with that damn aftershave as he smoothly picks you up; your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck as he kicks your door shut with a kiss to your cheek. 

“Kim Mingyu does,” he replies gently, and you feel shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek before kissing it again. Once, twice, three times. “I stopped by Chan’s, but he only had these and a few others. You like?” 

You can hardly see the flowers, and Mingyu seems to recognize that as he flicks on your dining room light. Warm yellow rays fill the area, your eyes blinking rapidly to adjust as you glance at the flowers between you. Large white daisies are mere centimeters from your face, and you stop yourself from smiling to raise a brow at him. 

“These are your birth flower.”  “You’re supposed to like everything about me, and that includes my birth flower.” 

You roll your eyes, thumbing at the petals as he presses another kiss to your jaw, “yeah, they’re cute. I like.” 

“Good, because I fucked up and also ordered another one for next week when I’m not going to see you, so you’ll be getting this twice but as delivery. I might get another just to apologize but that’s a quest for Later Mingyu.” He speaks against your cheek, pressing kiss after kiss on the warm skin, “missed you, missed you, missed you.” 

“You’re smothering me!” You whine, feeling him pepper the side of your face with kisses, “Mingyu!” 

“You complain I don’t see you enough, and you complain when I do. You’re never satisfied,” he jokes, carefully setting the flowers down on your dining room table to hold you closer. His hands are gripping your thighs, the material of your skirt straining against them as you press a kiss on the column of his throat, “thank you for the flowers.” 

He shivers, “you always say thank you. Don’t thank me for the bare minimum.” 

“I don’t get you flowers, Mingyu.”  “You should start. I like flowers and being smothered and impromptu visits with at my apartment with my dearest, smartest, prettiest girl, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes, ignoring the fluttering in your belly as you shake your head, “you’re impossible, Kim Mingyu.” 

“Yeah, well...you love me anyway.”  “That’s an incredible assumption.”  “Shut up.” 

“Make me.” You scoff, limply shoving his shoulder. He sucks his teeth, kicking his shoes off and clearly choosing to ignore your bait as he tightens his hold on your thighs, “what are you doing here, Mingyu? You’re not making dinner, and you clearly don’t have a plan in mind...so what do you want?” 

He raises a brow, “I want to see you. Ask about your day. Also, steal some of those almonds you have hidden in your nightstand, next to your lube.” 

“You just want me for what I can provide.”  “I want you for lots of things and lots of reasons, but what can you provide that I won’t willingly give you, anyway?” 

You can smell the mint on his breath, like he’d brushed his teeth before getting to your apartment. Your eyes trail him silently, taking in the soft fabric of his casual t-shirt against the inside of your knees. Your skirt is starting to ride up, snug against your midthighs as you click your tongue in defeat. 

“Exactly.” He says pointedly, squeezing your thigh as he flicks the dining room light off again, making you tighten your grip around him as he moves to turn on the lamp in your living room. He looks over your head at the television with an amused look, “are you sure you’re not sad or something? What’s with the ambiance?” 

“You insist something is wrong with me, but I promise you,” you lamely hit the side of your closed fist to his chest, “I am fine.” 

He gives you a knowing look in the moody lighting, before leaning down slightly. He glances at your lips, silently begging for a kiss only for you to roll your eyes and do the same. He smiles shamelessly, kissing you gently before looking around once more. 

“It’s so dark in here.”  “I was just finishing stuff for work.” 

“What have I told you about working off the clock? Stop working for free, they pay you shit as it is.” He squeezes your thighs for emphasis, and you suck in a quick breath involuntarily. You scrunch your nose as he grins, before smacking his shoulder gently. 

“You’re the last person who can tell me that, you’re a workaholic. I see you twice a damn month because you’re always holed up in that office.” You shove a finger in his chest, only for him to press another kiss to your lips as you pout, “Mingyu!” 

“You are so annoying, baby.” He murmurs, nipping at your lips like he might die if he doesn’t. “You can’t even appreciate that I took time out of my very busy schedule to come see you. And let’s not forget you love my job when it means you get to see me in a suit.” 

“I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity. What is so important about having dinner and jerking off for an hour that you think you’re doing me a favor?” 

“I do not jerk off for an hour.” He scoffs, "I merely think about you for forty minutes and then I—” 

“Enough. The point is that you do it. Like a loser. You’ll get carpal tunnel, you know.” You say with a sniff, your lips twitching as he laughs. He makes his way to your couch, sitting on the chaise at the end of it. He leans back into the cushions, smoothly adjusting you on his lap as he stuffs a throw pillow under his head to look at you. “Tell me why you’re here, Mingyu.” 

“If you need a reason, it’s that I genuinely missed you. If that wasn’t already obvious.” He speaks sincerely, raking his fingers gently through your hair and earning a shiver. He tugs at it lightly, smirking as you let out a quipped whine before smacking his hip, “I just wanted to see you.” 

“You’re holding me hostage against you, Mingyu.”  “Because you’ll sit a mile away unless I do. It’s like you avoid me.” 

“I don’t avoid you, idiot. You just radiate so much heat that it makes me wanna die, I hate sweating.” You remind him, lowering yourself so you’re chest-to-chest with him, but propping yourself on your elbows to still hover over him. He plucks at the hem of your sweater, dipping his fingertips beneath the fabric; cool against your hip as he tilts his head, “that is true.” 

“I know.”  “Can you hurry up and say you missed me, too? I’m starting to feel a disconnect.” 

You purse your lips as you hold back your laughter, his pouted lips making you cover your mouth as you swallow your cackle. 

“I did, I missed you.” You admit wholeheartedly, shrugging your shoulders as he tugs at the necklace he gave you, “of course I missed my Mingyu.” 

“Not Park Mingyu from finance, right?” He sulks, tucking his chin to his chest as you chuckle, pinching his cheek between your knuckles carefully. 

“Not Park Mingyu from finance, no. Don’t you know? I’d be bored in two days.” 

“Exactly,” he huffs, wrapping his fingers gingerly around your throat, “can I stay? Or do you want me to leave?” 

“It’s always nice when you stay over. However, you’re late for dinner and lack of punctuality does knock ten points off for Kim Mingyu. Still in first place, but you’re pushing it.” 

“I’m sorry,” he nods, squeezing the sides of your neck gently before his lips plant a soft kiss on your forehead, “should we go to your room?” 

“That’s incredibly suggestive, Mr. Kim.”  “It’s only suggestive if you make it suggestive, baby.”  “You calling me baby only cements my point.” 

“Okay, maybe. But you could have some mercy on me.” He mumbles, pressing another kiss to your nose. You raise a brow, “are you sure you’re not the one who has a problem? You’ve been in my face since you got here, I’m literally on top of you. The world won’t end if you’re not touching me, you know.” 

“I’m just used to having you close.” He shrugs, “I missed you.” 

“Mingyu, you’ve said that so much that the words don’t even sound real anymore. You’ve been here for ten minutes and you’ve said it six times.” 

“So? Is there a problem?” He mumbles against your lips, your breath hitching as he bridges the gap. His hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into the fabric of your skirt as he sits up carefully. Your hands palm at his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer, your skin littering with goosebumps as he slides his hands down your thighs. Your own shoot out to grab his wrists, pulling his hands away and pinning them to the couch before pulling away with a soft pant. He tries to kiss your jaw, his lips brushing your skin as you crane your neck away. 

“What on Earth has gotten into you? Did you finally give into those stupid honey packs that Soonyoung was talking about the last time we all hung out?” 

He scoffs, “absolutely not. You know I like this skirt, don’t play coy.” 

You snort, dropping his hands to cross your arms on your chest. His fingers trace tight circles into your left knee, before he glances at your sweater with an amused look. He leans back on one hand, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he raises a brow. 

“You knew I was coming.”  “No, I didn’t.”  “Then you were hoping I would, baby.” 

“Shut up. You’re supposed to be at home, and I should be in my bed right now.” You mutter, tonguing your cheek as you see your laptop turn off due to inactivity out of the corner of your eye. You glance back at him, his eyes trailing the slope of your neck as you clear your throat and run a hand through your hair, “how was your day?” 

“Funny you should ask. Kim Mingyu has had his first official bad day at the office.” He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line that makes you bite back a laugh. “People are entitled, and I usually get through it pretty well, but today was just off the damn charts. I was late to work this morning, and I had to push back a presentation because I fucking lost my thumb drive because I left it at home. An intern tried to tell me my numbers were wrong, when I checked the math not once, but three separate times. We got into a nasty argument, also something new for me.” 

He shrugs, “I sent her home early and I left an hour after lunch. Bought groceries, made dinner...life goes on but today was actually such shit. So...it’s nice to see you.” 

“I think you forgot ‘tried to flirt with Y/N’ somewhere in there. I think during the whole ‘brought groceries’ part.” You let your cheeks warm as you tilt your head at him, only to earn a devilish smile paired with a one-armed shrug as he taps your knee with his knuckle. 

“I didn’t try to do anything.” He leans back on his elbow, sucking his teeth as you raise a brow at him, “I was merely stating facts. I’m nice to you, and you’re a pillow princess. One plus one has always been two, baby.” 

“You are nice to me, that’s true. But you’re the one—”  “A lady like yourself mustn’t get her hands dirty for pleasure. That’s what I’m here for.” 

His eyes are pointed, and you conjure an annoyed look as you poke a finger into his side. He squeals, grabbing your wrists and pulling you down on top of him, “stop that. Tell me about your day.” 

“Nothing happened.” You shrug, pushing yourself up. Your hands are on either side of his head as you stick your tongue out at him, only for him to do the same and touch the tip of yours with his. You scrunch your nose as he snorts, before calling your bluff. 

“You’re lying.”  “Hm...I broke my favorite pair of earrings. I tripped going up the stairs when I came back from getting lunch at that bistro we like in downtown. Park Mingyu from Finance asked me to dinner. Nothing insane.” 

It’s not a lie. 

But it’s been a few weeks since it happened. It was a rare day in the office for you, and you’d been in and out of meetings all mornings – but he caught you just as you got in the elevator to meet Soonyoung for lunch. 

Park Mingyu wasn’t bad looking, and he was nice enough. He just...worked in finance, of all things, and had that same monotonous voice most finance men do. He didn’t slouch, but his tie was almost always haphazardly thrown on and you’d fixed it for him one time – but you figured one time was enough to get him hooked. 

Kim Mingyu is looking up at you through his lashes, his hands seemingly now lost on what to do as he pulls them off your waist. His eyes are darting all over your face – likely looking for a hint at you kidding. A quirk of your lip, a twitch of your brow, something – but the silence between you only gets thicker as his jaw grows slightly tense. 

“...did you give him an answer?”  “No. I said I’d think about it.” 

Mingyu scoffs. 

He actually scoffs, like how dare you have the audacity to tell someone else you’d think about giving them a positive answer to their dinner invitation? How dare you, when you know you’d likely not like your food? And then it’s awkward for weeks, before you get a paragraph to your work number about how Park Mingyu is such a nice guy – from Park Mingyu himself. 

The man beneath you runs a hand through his hair, and you sit up to allow him to do the same. He does, unzipping his sweater and shrugging it off before he tosses it over the side of your couch. 

You resist the urge to run your hands up his bare arms, cursing the way his shirt fits against his chest so snugly. 

“When did he ask you? During lunch? Did you go to the office today?”  “Two weeks ago.” 

You shift slightly in his lap, your cheeks hot as he stares at you. There’s a mix of emotions in his gaze – confusion, amusement...a bit of anger, you want to think. 

A bit of jealousy. 

“And you’re telling me this now?”  “I didn’t think I had to tell you. We’re not...dating.” 

The word comes out choked. You feel it; he hears it, and your legs tighten subconsciously around his thighs. He glances down at them, his eyes catching a faded bite on your inner thigh from two weeks ago; his thumb pushing the hem of your skirt up high enough to make it visible to your eyes, should you look down. 

“Are you gonna say yes?” His voice is level, but he’s not looking at you. In the low light, you can see the tightness in his jaw, the way he tongues his cheek before you feel his fingers tap your thigh, “are you?” 

Your throat feels dry as you steal a glimpse of the flowers on your dining table. 

“Y/N.” 

You let out a forced chuckle, “c’mon, you know me, Gyu. He’s in finance. I really would get bored in two days. A few hours, even.” 

He doesn’t seem convinced, “that’s not a no.” 

“What do you want me to say, Mingyu?” You run a hand down the front of your sweater nervously, bunching the fabric in your palm as he leans forward slightly. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, not managing to shake his focus like the action usually would. 

“That you’ll say no.” He says plainly, before scoffing as a smile of disbelief crosses his lips. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re entertaining the idea of it when we both know you’d never say yes unless something happened between us.” 

For a moment, you dislike Mingyu. Your eyes narrow as you look down at him, tracing his features as he clicks his tongue. 

“What is this ‘us’ you’re referring to?” You speak softly, but clearly – splaying your hands on your knees as you lean into his space. “What do you mean by ‘us,’ Mingyu? What does ‘us’ mean to you?” 

“You and I.”  “What about you and I?” 

His hand leaves your thigh, and he has the gall to roll his eyes as he runs it over his face. 

“You’d never say yes to Park, because you have me. You don’t need anyone else.”  “What makes you think I even need you?” 

“The fact that you melt in my hands the moment I walk through that door.” He’s in your face, his breath wafting against your lips as he maintains eye contact. “You forget the world exists when I’m with you, and it’s the only time I’ve ever seen you relax. You love having me around, and you love me. You don’t have to say it for me to know.” 

You want to pretend that he can’t feel the way you freeze on top of him. His eyes widen slightly as you swallow carefully, “love...is a stretch, Kim.” 

“We both know it’s not.”  “You’re insane.” 

“Then what does that make you, hm?” His hands are back on you, massaging the tension in your thighs that only makes your back rigid. A shiver snakes down your spine as his thumb brushes the cotton of your underwear, “what does that make you, baby?” 

“I hate it when you call me that,” you blurt, and he has an unimpressed look on his face when you double down, “I hate it, Mingyu.” 

“Yet, you pout when I call you Y/N.”  “Well, just call me Y/N anyway.” 

You huff, moving to get up but he holds you in place – his grip firm as he pulls you into him. Your chest hits his as you avoid his gaze, your arms stiff between your bodies as you give up on getting off him. 

“Still wanna tell me nothing’s wrong?” He mumbles, his eyes soft as he wraps his arms around your waist. You don’t reply, tonguing your cheek as you feel the stupid burn in your throat as you focus your line of sight on the flowers he put on the table. 

Cute. Soft. Delicate. 

An extension of him. 

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you speak quietly, “what are we doing?”  

He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, “I don’t know. I thought I’d have an answer by now.” 

“You don’t know,” you repeat, “because you didn’t want to ask me or because you thought I’d ask first?” 

“Both.”  “Coward.” 

The word is bitter as it leaves your mouth, but you can’t move. You don’t want to move – the fear of him slipping through your fingers overpowering as your hands grip his shoulders like he’s going to disappear. He leans into your touch, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his lips brush against your skin as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his shampoo making you melt into his embrace. 

“Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is muffled against your neck, “please. Please.” 

“I don’t know if you are, Mingyu.” You can’t recognize the sound of your own voice, thick and uncertain. His grip on you tightens, and you feel a shaky breath against your neck as you pull back, trying to meet his eyes. He stares at the necklace around the base of your throat, the seashell-shaped locket glinting in the light.  

“I can be. I want to be.” He’s barely speaking above a whisper as his fingertip taps the locket, hooking around the chain and giving a careful tug. “Do you know why I gave this to you?” 

You glance down at it, “because you were in Bali and it was on sale?” 

He snorts, the air around the two of you settling evenly on your shoulders, “no. Well, I was in Bali, but no it wasn’t on sale and that’s not why I got it.” 

“All I’m getting is that you went to Bali without me.” 

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t be around you in all those pretty dresses you wear when it’s hot out.” He sighs, “seashells are a symbol of love.” 

“Doesn’t mean you’re in love with me.” 

He shrugs slightly, popping the shell open to reveal it empty, “it’s said that seashells are associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of love. That they represent the warmth and care and security of love, because they protect the pearl that grows inside that shell.”  

He clears his throat, closing the locket with a click.  

“The point of the locket was to put a picture of us in there, someday. It’s been six months since I gave this to you, and I think about it everyday.” He ducks his head like he’s afraid of the truth spilling from his mouth, but he can’t stop talking. “Sometimes, I think you were made for me, as stupid as that might sound. Like Eve was made for Adam, from his rib, or something like that.” 

You can feel your eyes burning as you watch him nibble on his lip, his hands restless as he moves them from around you to the hem of your skirt before gripping the cushion beneath you both. 

“I don’t know much about falling in love,” he admits, “but...I know that you saved all the flowers I gave you, bits of them, even before we started doing whatever we’re doing. A part of me wants to believe that you saved them because you wanted to keep me around, even if it was just the flowers I gave you...because I’ve kept all the receipts from Chan’s shop when I’ve bought them. I always liked giving you flowers because you like them, but after the first time we kissed...it felt romantic and I just wanted to make your life even just a little brighter and, ugh, I don’t know. Tell me I’m ruining this and I’ll shut up.” 

You blink at him silently, shaking your head before sliding your hands down his arms, “have I told you that you talk a lot?” 

“Many times.”  “Have I ever told you to stop?” 

You raise a brow as you find his hand, slotting your fingers with his and curling them around his palm. His rings dig into your skin but you don’t care, “continue, Mr. Kim.” 

“I hate when you call me that.”  “I don’t care.” 

“I know,” he rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink as you press your lips to them gingerly, “I’m not...it’s hard for me to make time for people. You’ve seen it, you know it’s true because I’ve only been able to get you in every couple weeks and trust me, it’s fucking torture. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder but I truly cannot fathom ever wanting to be away from you. It makes my chest hurt when I wake up after seeing you and I have to leave.” 

“You don’t have to.” You shrug, “leave, I mean. You can stay. Forever, if you wanted to.” 

His chuckle is almost humorless, “I’d never get anything done.” 

You nod silently, tracing circles into the back of his hand with your thumb before you glance up at him. You let go of his hand to cradle his cheek carefully, watching the way he leans into your touch. His arm wraps around your waist again, pulling you down with him as he lays back against the cushions once more. 

“So...I can be yours. If you want me to be. If you’ll have me, rather.”  

You don’t respond, chewing on your cheek while pinching his between your knuckles. A silence blankets over you both, even as he brushes a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. You scrunch it, before resting your head on his chest with a click of your tongue, feeling his hand push the hem of your shirt up – fingers drumming against the warm skin of your hip. 

“Earlier, you said I needed context for Friday. What’s that about?” 

“My parents are in town.” He blurts, and your eyes widen as you jerk away from him, “I wanted you to meet them.” 

You scan his face, your lips parting as you sit up. Your knees dig into his hips as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a chuckle of disbelief. 

“Surely they don’t know we’re in this entanglement.”  “...They think we’re together.” 

“Mingyu!” You choke on his name, earning a wince as you give his shoulder a slight shove. He pouts, grabbing your wrists and pulling you back on top of him, “why would you tell them that?! Why do they even know about me?!” 

“Because I love you.” His voice makes you still, his eyes serious as he bores them into you. A wavering uncertainty is laced in them, mixed with that same pure adoration that he always held in even a wayward glance your way. Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into your palm before he forces them open and interlaces your fingers. His thumbs trace circles on the back of your hands, nervously nibbling on his lip before he clears his throat. 

“I love you, and I’m a coward but I cannot imagine being without you. It makes my stomach hurt to think about it, it makes me nauseous when I think about someone else having you the way I do. Someone else bringing you flowers and making you dinner and kissing you stupid when they don’t deserve you to begin with is an atrocious thing to think about. I love you, and I want to be your emergency contact. I want to make you dinner and rub your feet and I want to put a shiny ring on your finger. I want to listen to you sing in the shower, I want you to tell me it’s not a duet when I join in and I want to make good on any and every promise I ever let fall into you. I love you, and I want you, only. For the rest of our lives.” 

Your nose burns as tears prick at your eyes, and you tear your hands from his to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes – coating them in said hot tears. Your voice is thick, “God, you suck.” 

“I just put my heart on a platter for you.”  “That’s exactly why you suck, because now I can’t tell Park Mingyu I’ll have dinner with him.” 

Your joke is ill received as he scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest as you wipe at your face haphazardly before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs rubbing his cheeks back and forth as he sulks, “I love you, Mingyu.” 

“Kim Mingyu.”  “I love you, Kim Mingyu.” 

He lets you kiss him, uncrossing his arms and pulling you close. His fingers dip beneath your sweater, squeezing your hips as he teases his tongue into your mouth – minty and gentle as your hands move to tug at his shirt. He stops you by abruptly sitting up, cupping your ass as he stands from the couch. Your legs wrap around his waist as his lips trail your jaw, nipping at your neck as he takes you to your bedroom, nudging the door closed with his foot. 

“Wanna prove it?”  

“Not a pillow princess, my ass.” Mingyu’s arm is tight around your waist, his hand holding your phone as your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Pretty girl gave up a minute in.” 

“I’m just used to a...certain lifestyle,” you whimper into his neck, before hearing the unmistakeable sound of a call dialing. You look over your shoulder wearily, watching Mingyu put the call on speaker. It picks up as he holds it to your face, pulling your head back gently by your hair, “tell him you’re having dinner with your in-laws.” 

“Hello?” 

“H-Hey, sorry for c-calling so late,” you stutter, your eyes squeezing shut as Mingyu’s hips rock up into you slowly. “A-are you busy?” 

“Never too busy for you. Are you alright? You sound...choppy.” 

Mingyu gives a hard thrust then, a whine tearing from your throat as you attempt to cough, “sorry, I’m g-good! I just w-wanted to let you know that I c-can't have dinner.” 

“Oh...can I ask why? I mean, I’ve been pretty nice to you for as long as I’ve known you. Could warrant a date night.” 

“She’s having dinner with her in-laws, bud. Tell him, baby.” Mingyu speaks clearly, an embarrassed moan falling from your lips as his grip on your waist tightens, “tell him.” 

“I’m having d-dinner with m-my in-laws...” You pant out, your lips brushing his neck as your hand blindly reached around to hang up on the Finance Guy rambling about how you led him on. Mingyu tosses your phone to the side as his hand snakes between you to cup one of your breasts in his hand, “you might have to quit.” 

You nod breathlessly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, “they pay me shit anyway.” 

“New position at my firm opened up.”  “God, shut up and fuck me.” 

He chuckles, flipping you onto your back smoothly and pressing a kiss to the side of your face. 

“Pillow. Princess.” 

“THREE YEARS IS A LONG TIME WITH NO RING, MINGYU.” 

Mrs. Kim’s eyes are pointed as her son tongues his cheek, and you bite back your smile as you tip your wine glass towards your lips. 

He had mentioned they’d say something along these lines – of course, he only mentioned more details of the ‘relationship’ they knew on the car ride there. Everything in the storyline was essentially the same, if you ignored that Mingyu admitted he’d fallen head over heels in love with you after the first time you slept together and the two of you had only been officially in a relationship for the last thirty-six hours.  

“Y/N just started a new job, Mom. It wouldn’t be wise to...take that step in this juncture of her career.” He’s spitballing, and his sister nearly spits her wine out across the table as Mr. Kim snorts. “It’s true! Babe, tell them!” 

You fail at holding in your laughter, your shoulders shaking as you nod, “I did just get a new job. But I agree, three years is a long time without a ring.” 

“Babe.”  “I’m just saying, you could put some pep in your step.” 

He sulks in his chair, barely sinking down two inches as everyone at the table bursts into fits of giggling, “I’m trying to take your life into consideration, too!” 

“Time is money, Mingyu.” You say, pinching his cheek between your knuckles. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of his cheek – leaving a stamp of your lipstick on the skin as the waiter returns with the check. Mrs. Kim smiles as you reach for it instinctively, the grin only growing wider as Mingyu snatches it out of your hand and shoves his card inside the booklet before you can even protest. 

“At least tell me he’s taking good care of you.” Mrs. Kim’s voice is soft as you all step out of the restaurant, and you feel your cheeks heat in the cool November air as you nod. 

“Mingyu is a good man,” you start, patting his arm. He beams with pride, before sticking his tongue out at his sister that makes a gagging face. You snicker, squeezing his bicep gently, “if it were up to him, I wouldn’t lift a finger.” 

“But it’s not.” He sighs dramatically, “she lets me make dinner and that’s it.” 

“Let is the wrong word. He barges into my apartment with groceries and I feel bad for the guy,” you feign a pout, earning a scoff from your boyfriend as his parents share a warm look, “but...I love him. What can I do, say no to a nice steak and a foot massage?” 

“Yes.” Minseo pipes up, before Mingyu scowls. You snort, checking the time on your watch before his parents lean in to hug him good night. You try to stand to the side, but his sister pulls you into the familial embrace.  

“We’ll catch up with you both in two weeks. Mingyu, get the girl a ring!” Mr. Kim gives your shoulder a soft pat, and Mrs. Kim slips something into Mingyu’s pocket. She tries to be discreet, but your eyes dart to her hand as she waves goodbye. You do the same, your face hot at the idea of marrying into such a loving family. 

Mingyu slides his hand in his pocket as you both walk to his car, his eyes widening as he pulls it back out. Two rings glimmer in the moonlight, ones you’d complimented on his mother’s hand at the beginning of dinner. 

“Little soon for marriage, huh?” He thumbs at the diamonds, and you chew on your lip as you look at them. Your eyes flicker to his, a sparkle of excitement as you see him already looking at you. You clear your throat, holding your left hand up, “well...we can just see if they fit.” 

“And if they do?”  “Then I guess we’re engaged, oh boyfriend of three-years.”  “I was nervous!” 

Your laughter rings out in the nearly empty parking lot, “well, I love you, anyway. Three years or two days, you said forever and that you’d make good on that.” 

“I did say that.” His hands are gentle against yours, trembling slightly as he slides both rings on. They fit snugly at the base of your finger, and you wiggle them with a little smile on your face. 

“We can just be ‘engaged’ for like, two years. No one suspects anything then, wedding planning takes ages.”  “Or we can get married in six months. I have contacts everywhere and that’s when you’ll have enough PTO accrued for a honeymoon.” 

“You’re crazy.” You scoff, “crazy and calculated, Kim Mingyu.” 

“Crazy in love with you, but sure.” He rolls his eyes, opening the passenger door for you. “Mrs. Kim Y/N, in six months. Pencil me in, babe.” 

“In your dreams.” 

Kim Mingyu is the love of your life. 

Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love. 

You know he’s made for you. Like Adam was made for Eve. He still shows up with a bouquet every week, but your kitchen is now shared and nicely stocked with your favorite bottles of wine. 

Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful. 

And just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, but you can finally admit that he is something more to you..perhaps, everything.  

Friend, lover, soulmate – all in one. A BOGO deal, you’d say, and he’d argue he’s at least a buy two, get one. 

But, no matter what – Mingyu knows exactly who he is in your life, and you in his. Glued together at the hip, working together (though you get to boss him around and he never thought he’d be into that, a thought penciled in for much, much later when you’re both working ‘overtime’ — read: his head between your thighs at your desk with your office door locked.) 

Friends, lovers, soulmates – married (six months in, just like he’d said) and in love, two idiots held safely in the other’s ribcage. 

Made for one another, by one another. 

HAOLOGRAM © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[joshujin]

🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked

anchored

The extremely wealthy man you're newly dating thinks you deserve nothing but the best for your birthday. You struggle to accept that.

WC: 4.8k TAGS: established (new) relationship, pwp CW: fem!reader, mingyu being really rich, reader being really not, i think that's it lol SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected piv, first time together, bondage, blindfolding, creampie, oral both receiving, face fucking A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAR @gyuswhore!!! em&em, you truly deserve the world. thank you for putting so much life and light into everything you do and everyone you encounter. i hope this little piece of mingyu makes the day feel a little more special. I LOVE YOU FOREVER! and of course, a huge thank you to @sailorsoons and @starlightkyeom for mobilizing the em lovers army! you are so obviously very loved, em&em hehe. and to everyone else who isn't tumblr user gyuswhore... go wish her a happy (belated) birthday rn. or else. 🫵🏼 (not edited don't look at me bye)

You lean against the railing and watch as Mingyu swims toward the boarding ladder of his yacht, the thick ropes of muscle in his back glistening in the dying sunlight and flexing with each pull of the water. He takes his time, a soft smile on his lips as he enjoys his last moments in the sea. You left him down there half an hour ago in favor of the sun deck, where you've been anxiously trying to figure out how much your birthday is costing him.

There’s the staff he has to pay to man the boat. The endless food and drinks said staff kept offering you earlier as you laid out in the sun, insisting you were fine. The white gold Bulgari necklace he presented you with upon boarding (and insisted you continue to wear in the water despite your fear of losing it because he can “just get you another one”). The yacht itself.

You aren't by any means poor, but you are so far out of this tax bracket, you can't even tell if estimating that all of this cost millions of dollars is a wild exaggeration or a cute guess that would make the man you're dating giggle. It makes your stomach twist.

Mingyu disappears behind the boat as he finally reaches the boarding ladder and you sigh, pushing yourself away from the railing and plopping back down on one of the lounge chairs miserably. You only started dating two months ago, and you knew he was considerably rich, but this is the first seriously extravagant display of his wealth you're experiencing. It's making you queasy.

You grew up knowing that on the rare times your family was at a restaurant, you weren't allowed to order a drink aside from water and that your meal would come from the appetizer section of the menu. “We have that at home” or “I can make that myself” were mantras of your mother's. The trash bag full of your older cousin's hand-me-downs was your version of the mall. Your friends all balked at the idea that you didn't have an allowance, a fact that kept you excluded from several social events as a teenager.

But you do incredibly well for yourself now. You graduated from school debt-free thanks to your scholarships and part-time jobs. And after a decade of experience, you're finally at a company that pays you well enough to have paid off your parents’ mortgage, bought yourself a new car, and most importantly, keeps all your savings accounts stuffed full. You considered yourself very well off. 

Until you met Kim Mingyu.

There was no way of knowing the stranger hitting on you in the ridiculously long line of the cafe by work came from old money. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt on a Tuesday morning for god's sake. In fact, when you agreed to a date with him, your dumb ass had the audacity to worry if he was jobless, maybe perusing the business district for a wealthy girlfriend to mooch off of.

You laugh humorlessly at the idea now. It's painfully clear who's mooching off of who in this relationship, and you've just barely come to that conclusion now. On your birthday. In the middle of the ocean.

“Hey, pretty.”

You crane your neck up to see Mingyu approaching your lounge chair, his hands in two fists around the towel draped over his shoulders—the towel that seemingly did nothing since he still has drops of water running down his golden brown skin, squeezing in between every line, curve, and corner. 

He bends down to plant a kiss on your lips, drops of water falling onto you as he does but you don’t mind. You can tell from the peck that it's meant to be a quick greeting, but he pauses just after his lips meet yours, and he lingers a little longer and kisses a little slower. His mouth opens against yours—tongue slides against yours—and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, still cold from the water. It feels like he's kissing you after having missed you for weeks.

“Hello to you too,” you mutter, a little dazed when he finally pulls away and grins boyishly. “How was your swim?”

“Oh, riveting,” he says dryly. “I love being abandoned by my girlfriend in the middle of the ocean.”

“Well, that's dramatic,” you scoff as he takes a seat on the lounge chair next to you. He situates himself on the edge so that he's still as close to you as possible, and he grabs your hand before leaning his elbows on his knees. “You seemed to be having a lot of fun.”

You actually wouldn't know. You were kind of dissociating as you watched him swim around. It was hard to be surrounded by this kind of extravagance and not feel lost.

“Mmm,” he hums thoughtfully, maintaining intimidatingly stable eye contact as he studies you. “Are you okay? You seem a little… I don't know. Tired, maybe? Bored?”

You shake your head quickly, a little panicked that Mingyu has the idea he spent all this money on you just for you to be bored. “No! No, that's not it. I am definitely not bored, baby. I'm having fun!”

He stares at you blankly like he knows that's not true. It's been such a short amount of time dating, but his read on you is hardly ever wrong. Mingyu doesn't say anything, obviously waiting for you to explain what it is as opposed to what it isn't.

You sigh. “I'm just… this is… a lot,” you admit. His eyebrows twitch into the tiniest of frowns and you rush to continue to avoid a miscommunication. “I love it! And I'm having fun! I'm just surprised is all. Like, I obviously knew you had money, but… I didn't know you had yacht money. Or Bulgari necklace money. Tiny welcome chocolates with 14K gold flakes money.”

He snorts, shaking his head at that. “Okay. I do have money for all that, yes. Does that… make you uncomfortable…?” he asks. 

To his credit, he passes as levelheaded, but you've gotten good at reading him yourself, and you see the way his eyes narrow a little like he's struggling to understand something. The way his lips turn down in the corners and his tongue pokes at his cheek anxiously.

“I'm just not used to someone spending like this on me,” you say instead of directly answering the question. You don't know what you are. “I could work until I'm 100 years old and never be able to afford to buy you these kinds of gifts. I—”

“I don't expect these kinds of gifts. I don't expect any gifts.”

“Sure, but—”

“Baby,” he starts, suddenly standing. 

He forces you to scooch over on your own chaise so that he can lay next to you, and you oblige even though there's really nowhere for you to go. The two of you barely fit, but after he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tight to his chest, you're comfortable knowing you won't fall off the edge. 

“I did this because I want you to feel special on your birthday, okay?” he assures you, the worry on his face dissipating immediately when he realizes what the issue is. “I never expect anything back when I spend money on you.” He pauses to think before adding: “Except maybe a kiss or two.”

You roll your eyes but can't stop the smile that grows on your face.

“I don't need gifts. I can buy myself anything I want. The only thing in the world that I want—actually, desperately need—that I can't buy is you and your time and your attention and your l—” He stops to clear his throat, and your heart skips a beat. Neither of you have said I love you, and you want to believe love was the word he wanted to say next. Because it's true. He has your love. You just haven't found the courage to say it. “You being around is more than enough, okay? Besides, I plan to have you around for a long time. You should probably get used to spending my money haphazardly.”

“Mingyu!” you slap his abs, resting your hand there and smiling at the way his muscles feel under you. 

“What?” he laughs, shrugging. “I'm serious. Let's not dwell on what we can and can't give each other. What's mine is yours.” He rubs your arm comfortingly and plants a kiss against the crown of your head. “This is all I want. I don't need anything else.”

You lift your head off Mingyu's chest and look him in the eye. He raises his eyebrows a little at the abrupt movement, but it's still plain to see he looks happy, calm, relaxed. Everything a man in love would look like, and you see that he's being sincere with you. 

“I'm sorry,” you sigh, making him frown. “I just let my insecurities get the best of me. I'm so grateful for all this, I really am. But I hope you know that I don't need any of this either. I agreed to go out with you fully thinking you were an unemployed loser looking for a sugar mama.” Mingyu huffs out a laugh of disbelief. “Your money is the least interesting thing about you.”

“Wow, an unemployed loser, huh?” he repeats, still laughing. “Was it the flip flops?”

“I mean… yeah?”

He barks out his laughter then and it's contagious, making you grin. When it subsides into a happy sigh, you decide it's a sound you'd like to hear forever. You want to stop wasting time.

“Mingyu, I love you,” you say quietly.

His smile falls right off his face and his eyes widen. You'd be worried if his arms didn't press you even tighter to his still wet body. After several moments of silence, you're about to reassure him he doesn't have to say anything back, but before you can, his hands are circling around your arms and yanking you up the chaise to meet his lips. 

Mingyu kisses you more voraciously than he ever has, lips and tongue moving desperately like he wants to swallow the three words himself. It sends a dull ache straight to your core, and you fight the urge to grind your bikini clad cunt right against his thigh. His large hand comes up to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing it while his fingers sink into your hair. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clinging to them desperately like you might disintegrate if you don't.

“Mingyu,” you sigh as he breaks away and starts trailing kisses down your neck. “Mingyu, I—”

“I love you,” he says, his voice hazy with desire. 

He repeats it over and over again with each press of his lips against your skin. You put enough space between the two of you to stop his flurry of kisses. You look down at him, and you're knocked breathless at the reverence he watches you with. You have absolutely no doubt in the world that Kim Mingyu loves you.

You smile and surge forward to kiss him once, twice, three times before giggling like a kid. “I love you,” you say again. 

He laughs too, his hands coming to your back and rubbing up and down slowly. It's how you realize you're practically on top of him now, the only part of you still on the chaise being one leg. 

Your smile slowly slips off your face and you crawl up his body until you're straddling him on the lounge chair. You both have been patient with one another, not pushing sex before the other was ready, but it feels like a day for firsts. Mingyu must think the same because he sits up, arms wrapping around your middle as he tilts his chin to look up at you with big, shiny eyes.

You keep a hand on his shoulder, bring your other to his face, and without breaking eye contact, you wordlessly roll your hips into his. His next breath is a sharp inhale through his nose as you watch his pupils dilate. You feel your lips curve up into a smile as he begins to harden underneath you, straining against his wet shorts in mere moments. 

“Um, I—are…” he blinks several times as you continue to grind against him, and when he clearly can’t find the words he’s looking for, his hands clamp down on your waist to stop your movement. “Are you—”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Were you going to ask if I wanted to finally have sex?”

He snorts. “No.” You look at him flatly. “Okay, yes.”

“Still yes then.”

He reaches up to brush your hair away from your face, and he pulls you down by the nape of your neck to kiss you. You're a mess of lips, saliva, and hands—feeling everywhere you can touch while simultaneously keeping away from the one place you need each other. You break away in a gasp when he slips his hand under the back of your bikini and squeezes your ass hard. 

You tilt your head back as he kisses down the middle of your throat, and to your horror, you find an employee coming up the stairs of the sun deck with a platter of champagne.

“Oh shit!” you shriek as you scramble off Mingyu’s lap, settling for awkwardly sitting between his calves at the foot of the chaise. 

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you’ve run out of time to warn him. He must hear the footsteps as the yacht staff member approaches, though, because he quickly crosses his legs and very conspicuously cups his hands over his crotch. If the staff member notices, they’re well-trained to ignore it. 

“The champagne you requested from the swim deck, Mr. Kim,” the young man announces, lowering the platter so that you both can easily take your own flutes. Neither of you waste a moment grabbing one. 

When the employee doesn’t depart, you realize he’s waiting for you both to take a sip and make sure it’s to your liking. You go to toast Mingyu quickly, but he stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” he says, hand on your wrist from where he’s keeping you from toasting him and getting rid of the staff. “Happy birthday. I hope it’s the most amazing one yet, and I can’t wait to spend so many more with you.” He’s almost shy when he smiles and finishes with: “I love you.”

“Oh, Mingyu,” you pout before smiling widely and leaning forward to kiss him, almost completely forgetting about your bystander. “I love you too. Thank you for everything. Cheers.” 

You clink glasses, and you sigh in relief when the employee takes that as his moment to exit. He sets the ice bucket and bottle of champagne down on the table nearest to your chaise before he smiles brightly at you both. 

“Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“No!” Mingyu says too loudly and too quickly. You choke on your first sip of champagne. “I mean,” he lowers his voice considerably, “no, Chad. Just… we’re good. Please let the staff know to leave us alone for the rest of the night. Thanks.”

“Of course,” he responds without missing a beat, smiling brightly before making his exit. You watch him disappear down the stairs as you rub your chest, your coughs finally subsiding. 

“Have you fucked girls on your yacht before?”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to take his champagne down the wrong tube. “What?”

“Why does ‘leave me alone for the rest of the night’ seem like normal protocol?” you ask, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you watch him struggle with the question.

“I have not fucked girls on my yacht before,” he denies it petulantly. He clears his throat. “But a ton of people do all kinds of questionable things on boats.” You make a mental note to ask him for stories later. “Yacht staff are all trained to be… discreet. So.”

“So Chad knows we’re fucking tonight.”

Mingyu smirks into his glass, taking several gulps until it’s completely empty. You raise your eyebrows at him. “If he doesn’t, he definitely will in a few minutes.” Your cheeks warm at the implication and he nods at your flute. “Hurry up and finish that. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

You gasp, tears slipping out of your eyes and past your blindfold as you struggle against the ropes Mingyu tied around your wrists. They’re tied to the headboard of the bed in his stateroom, rendering you absolutely helpless as his tongue massages your clit, his hand already two fingers deep inside you and beckoning an orgasm closer. 

“Mingyu,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs open even though there’s nowhere they could possibly go anyway. Your boyfriend’s grasp on each thigh is pressing them down and open mercilessly, determined to keep you from interrupting his meal. 

“What is it, baby?” he asks, licking quick stripes up your slit between every few words. “Too much for you? We can stop.”

“No!” you shout quickly, whining when you hear his breathy laughter follow. “It’s not funny. I’m… I…” Your words devolve into a mess of moans as he decides he’d rather eat than talk. His fingers work against the spongy spot inside you, his mouth closing over your clit as he starts to lick and suck with more fervor than before. “Oh god. Please!”

“Please what?” he asks against you, the vibrations of his voice reverberating through your cunt. 

You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For the last half hour now, Mingyu has been pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with just his mouth alone. There’s nothing else you could possibly ask for, but still, all you know how to say is “please.”

You gasp, hips bucking as your orgasm shoots through your entire body, causing you to shudder and writhe almost uncontrollably at the overstimulation. You don’t have much space to move, though, with your hands restricted like this. 

“Gyu!” you shriek, shamelessly grinding up and into his mouth. His fingers pump in and out of you quickly, your pussy giving no resistance anymore now that he’s made a mess out of you. “Oh my god.”

“I think you’re ready,” he says, smiling against you. 

More tears escape as you cry in what you think is relief. He told you there would be a lot of foreplay. He warned you that he was big and that he didn’t want to hurt you—that the only way he felt comfortable doing this was once you were thoroughly prepared. You just didn’t realize it meant having his head between your legs for so long, you’d lost feeling in both feet and gone cross-eyed with pleasure. 

Before he leaves his residency, he lowers his chin and stiffens his tongue, shoving it into you as far as it’ll go, his entire face pressed against you. The sensation elongates the orgasm enough that you’re sure it’s started a whole new one as Mingyu licks you clean from the inside out. When he’s done, he kisses your clit before moving around on the bed. 

“Hi,” he whispers, voice suddenly right next to your ear. You struggle to catch your breath as his hands run up your sides. 

“Hi,” you respond pathetically. 

“Don’t cry, darling,” he tells you, voice soft and gravely. You wish you could see how he looked right now. You wish you could know if he looked just as fucked up and fucked out as you felt. If his face matched his voice. “I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I?”

“Too good,” you breathe, not sure you can say more than two words at a time. 

He snickers as his fingers slip under your bikini top, the last piece of clothing you have on before he has you completely naked. He massages your breast under the fabric, thumb running over your nipple several times. He presses his lips against your sternum, his weight resting against you as he does, and you realize he’s catching his breath too. You can feel his heartbeat against your stomach, going almost as fast as you think yours is. He continues kneading your tit like it’s his own personal stress ball for several minutes, leaving kisses across your skin absentmindedly. 

“I think you were made for me,” he mutters after a while.

“I hope you were made for me,” you respond when you think you’ve finally relaxed enough to have coherent thoughts again. “Because what do you mean you own a yacht and want to eat pussy for the better part of an hour? You’re literally my dream man.”

His hand pauses against you as he laughs into your chest, shaking the bed as he does. You smile at the sound. 

“Mingyu?” 

“Mmm.”

“Can you remove my blindfold?” you ask quietly. “I want to see your face.”

He removes his hand from your chest, placing the bikini back where it was as if you aren’t already entirely naked from the waist down. He moves up the bed and his fingers work at the knot he made behind your head, undoing it quickly. You blink a few times as you adjust to the already dimmed light of the room. 

“Hi.”

He looks so blissful. His eyes are half-lidded like he just woke up, and his mouth is curved up into the slightest, laziest, most content smile. He looks down at you like he truly believes his own words—like he truly believes you were made for him. 

Your wrists don’t let you far enough up to kiss him, but he knows exactly what you want and he gives it to you. You taste yourself on him, and the thought that Mingyu loves it enough to go at it for so long makes you impossibly wetter. 

“Are you ready?” he asks when he pulls away to kick off his shorts and shove them somewhere toward the foot of the bed. You look down at what you’re dealing with, and you realize Mingyu definitely knew best when he said you needed to be patient. You nod. 

“Mhm.”

“I’m going to untie you, okay?” he asks gently even though he roughly shoves your top up your chest, your tits bouncing out. He groans, burying his face between them before taking a nipple in his mouth. 

You arch into his body, exhaling softly at the warm feeling. He releases you with a pop and quickly rips the top completely off, throwing it over his shoulder before  caging you in with his legs and crawling up the bed to work on the ropes on your wrist. His dick rests against your stomach as he works, thick and heavy and staring you in the face. Your mouth waters. 

“Hurry, Gyu,” you whisper. He laughs softly. 

“Impatient.”

You bite back a retort because at that moment, the ropes give way and your wrists are freed. Without thinking twice, you have both hands wrapped around Mingyu’s dick immediately, eliciting a gasp from him. You shimmy down on the bed, one hand pulling at his waist. 

“What are you doing?” he asks as he tries to keep his balance at your incessant pulling. 

“I think it’s your turn” is all you say, releasing him once you’re low enough on the bed. His huge fucking cock hangs in front of you—intimidating and scary and glorious. You lean back and prop yourself on your elbows before looking up at him. 

He peers down at you with a confused look on his face. All you do in response is open your mouth wide. His eyes practically bulge out of his head when he realizes what you want him to do. 

“Are you sure?!” he asks in disbelief. “I’m—I—you—”

“Fuck my mouth, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, taking himself in his hold and pumping a few times before gently laying his swollen tip on your tongue. He curses under his breath. 

“Let me know if it becomes too much, okay?” he reminds you. You don’t bother responding as you take more of his length in. “Holy shit. Fuck!”

It doesn’t take more than three thrusts until tears are collecting in the corner of your eyes, but you don’t care. Because you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter than Mingyu on top of you, fucking your mouth with his eyes squeezed shut like he’s begging a god out there to keep him from coming on the spot. You bring one hand up to his balls, massaging gently and the sounds it pulls out of him are downright heavenly. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Oh my god.”

You’re a mess of precum, drool, and tears, but you remind yourself to enjoy the burn in your shoulders from propping yourself up like this, the ache of Mingyu’s cock abusing the back of your throat, and the sting where his hand has become a fist in your hair because it could last your entire life and you think it would still be over too soon—being able to see how good you can make him feel. 

His thrusts slow to a gradual stop and he takes his cock out of your mouth, sitting back on the heel of his feet as he catches his breath, staring at you like you invented blowjobs just for him. You smile at him as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before plopping back down on the bed, your shoulders screaming in relief. 

He situates himself back between your legs, and without breaking eye contact, he lifts one up and over his shoulder. He kisses your calf, then your knee, and then he pushes forward until your thigh is pressed up against your shoulder and you feel his tip at your hole. 

Wordlessly, he pushes in gently, and even with all the orgasms you had, you gasp at the way he stretches you open. He groans, head hanging as he watches himself slowly, slowly, slowly disappear inside you. He breathes evenly and deliberately like his control relies solely on him staying as calm as possible. You don’t quite have the same composure, fists tight around his bedsheets as you whine and whimper underneath him. 

“Shhh,” he breathes, another kiss ghosting the inside of your knee. “You’re doing so well, baby.” You moan at the praise. “Doing so fucking well for me.”

“Gyu,” you gasp when you feel him bottom out. If his hands weren’t planted firmly on either side of your head, you’re sure he would’ve completely collapsed on you as he exhales a heavy breath, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto your stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you know he’s sure he won’t come immediately. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay, baby.”

“Good,” he breathes, nodding as he leans forward and pecks your lips. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you.”

“I’m going to move now, okay?” 

You fight to keep from giggling at how endearing he is, even during sex. “Okay.”

His first few thrusts are so shallow, you’re not sure he’s even pulling out at all. The only reason you know he is is that each thrust back in makes the delicious ache in your stomach grow. It isn’t until you slip your leg off Mingyu’s shoulder and lock your ankles together behind him and pull him in closer that he starts to really pick up his pace, increasingly intense until he’s slamming into you with a frenetic energy you feel like you can choke on. 

Being fucked by Mingyu is unlike being fucked by anyone else. It’s in the way he watches you closely, searching for any signs you’re no longer enjoying or in pain. The way he keeps whispering how much he loves you—like saying it for the first time tonight broke a dam wide open and he can no longer keep the three words in. The way he blushes each time you reach up to pull him down and kiss him. The way his body starts to thrash and tremble the closer he gets to his orgasm. It’s the way he fills you up with his cum so thoroughly and completely, you know there’s no way you can ever be anybody else’s but his. It’s in the way he holds you for so long after, you fall asleep in his arms and only wake up when he’s carrying you into the restroom to help you clean up. 

At the end of the night, Mingyu wraps you up in his blankets and himself as the yacht docks at the marina, zero desire to leave even though you’re back at land. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers one last time.

“Best birthday ever.”

PERMANENT TAG LIST: @chicken-fifi @markoplolo @nahyuckism @soonwongyu @thestraybunny @bramos91 @chariseiswriting @whos-kkira @minorwithchampagneproblems @midnight986 @combinatoright-blog @min-has-trusttissues @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @lovelynx @fayhaflyyy @metaphorandmoonlight @sapphireserpens @hopecutie @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @jaja-salute @randojeon @starlight-constellation @scoupssy @seoghwaswifeuuuu @hongyinujiang @twixxpie @j3nnch3ls3a @yearnoclock @kzqlys @severeanxietyissues

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt. 

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips. 

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you. 

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?” 

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.

yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.

[cherryberrycheol]

Quality Over Quantity | Choi Seungcheol | 🔞

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: You have one rule: don't catch feelings. But a sunday morning with Choi Seungcheol starts to feel dangerously soft, and when the miscommunication that follows sends you both spiralling—you back into your roster, him into someone else's arms—you're forced to confront the fact that no amount of revenge fucking can fill the ache he left behind.

Word count: 29.1k

Genres/warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort (?), smut/pwp (with some plot actually, wow!), university au, frat boy!seungcheol x camgirl!reader, fwb2l, idiots in love, jealousy and possessive behavior, miscommunication and assumptions, perceived emotional cheating, non-monogamous arrangements (temporary), use of sex as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, public love confession (livestreamed), possessiveness as a love language, mentions of slut-shaming and social isolation, minor blood (biting, scratching), multiple sexual partners (on-page, say hi to mingyu, hoshi and woozi), soft domestic moments, found family (wonwoo & minghao), some alchohol consumption (once); oh, probably some bullshit psychology major representation i'm sorry we sacrificed logic (in other aspects too) in this fic for smut's sake; if i missed anything lmk

Smut warnings: Minors DNI, explicit sex work (solo and partnered cam performances), livestreamed sex, oral sex (f and m rec), deepthroating and facefucking, throatfucking to the point of tears, messy oral (spit, drool, gagging), vag sex, rough sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink (talk of filling up, cum inside), multiple orgasms, overstim, clit stimulation, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration (vaginal & anal, 2 partners), threesome (mmf), tit-fucking, cum on face and chest, cum eating, spitting as lubricant, degradation (name-calling: slut, cocksucker, etc.), praise kink, daddy kink/roleplay (performative, fan-driven), possessiveness during sex, size kink (implied), impact play (light face-slapping with cock), scratching and biting (drawing blood), pain play (minor), manhandling and being moved into positions, sex on camera with an audience, clothed sex (panties pulled aside), morning sex, semi-public sex (against a door at a party), soft aftercare, showering together, soft and tender sex after reconciliation, use of alcohol (drunk at a party, but all sex is enthusiastically consensual); if anything is missing lmk, i tried to make it more detailed than usual

A/N: i have seriously nothing to add here. maybe because as i prepare this post for queue i'm super fucking exhausted. i am happy to have finally written and posted something. i hope you guys enjoy it. i also thank all of my moots who i've been terrorising with tiny snippers while writing this. a special thanks to my writing wife @pochaccoups you saw the whole thing before it saw the world, including my absurd title joke lol. ly <3 as always, enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. and i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫

If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.

Masterlist.

The bass of another noise song thrums through the floorboards, up through the soles of your shoes, and resonates deep in your chest where the alcohol has already made a warm little home for itself. The frat house is in a state of its standard party disaster—red solo cups scattered across every available surface, bodies pressed together in the living room that's been converted into a makeshift dance floor, the sharp mix of spilled beer and cologne and sweat weaving through the air in various equally sickening combinations. Somewhere in the back, someone's started a celebratory chant that keeps getting louder and then dissolving into laughter before it can really take off.

You're not paying attention to any of it, you're occupied with something else. With someone else.

Mingyu's lap is warm beneath you, his thighs solid and familiar, one of his big hands splayed across the small of your back while the other rests on the meat of your hip, fingers dimpling the soft flesh there. His mouth is hot and eager against yours, tasting like the cheap beer he's been nursing for the past hour, and you let yourself melt into it because Mingyu kisses the way he fucks—enthusiastic, a little sloppy and breathtakingly effective. His tongue slides against yours and you make a soft sound into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp hair, still wet from the post-game shower.

"You were so good out there," you murmur against his lips, pulling back just far enough to speak, your breath fanning across his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and he chases your lips with that increasingly more horny desperation, immediately cutting you off before you manage to finish what you were saying. "Watched you the whole time. That tackle in the second half? You looked so hot and strong. Had me clenching in the stands." Distantly, you think that if you weren't a little drunk you'd cringe at your own words right now but since you're slightly intoxicated saying something like this feels easy and right.

He groans, low and wrecked, his grip on your hip tightening. "You can't just say shit like that."

"I can," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. "I can say whatever I want. You know why?"

"Why?" His voice is strained.

"Because in about twenty minutes, you're gonna find us somewhere private, and you're gonna bend me over, and I'm gonna let you fuck me so hard you forget your own name." You nip at his earlobe, soothing the sting with a flick of your tongue. "That's your reward for winning. You earned it, big boy."

Mingyu makes a sound that's halfway between a whimper and a growl, both hands now gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him, and you can feel him getting hard beneath you, the thick line of his cock pressing up against your clothed cunt. You roll your hips just to hear him curse, and he does, a strangled oh fuck that makes you grin.

This is easy. This is comfortable. Mingyu's been on your roster since the middle of your second year, and he's never once made it complicated. He's gorgeous and he knows it, tall and broad with a swimmer's build that's been beefed up by rugby, and he fucks with the kind of athletic stamina that leaves you bow-legged and stupid. But he also knows the rules. He doesn't get jealous, doesn't get territorial, doesn't look at you like he's thinking about keeping you.

Unlike—

"There you are."

The voice cuts through the bass and the noise and the fog of arousal like a blade through silk. Deep. Rough at the edges. Punctuated by that quiet authority of his that makes your spine straighten instinctively, your body responding before your brain can catch up.

You know that voice. You know it in your bones, in the wet heat already starting to pool between your thighs in Pavlovian response, in the way your heart kicks against your ribs like it's trying to break free.

Mingyu's hands loosen on your ass. Not because he's scared—Mingyu's not scared of anyone, even if it's his team captain—but because he knows the rules too. The unspoken ones. He knows what that voice means when it's directed at you.

You turn your head.

Seungcheol is standing in the doorway of the living room, and he's already changed out of his rugby kit into gray sweatpants and a team bomber jacket that does practically nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are or how built he is in general. If anything it only accentuates the fact. His hair is still damp, pushed back off his forehead, and there's a flush high on his cheeks—from the game, from the adrenaline, from the victory still singing in his blood. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, as if he's been looking for you and came straight here the second he could.

His eyes find yours and something in them flickers. Something dark and hungry and possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing in response.

"Cheol," you say, and your voice comes out steady and a little bored, just like you intended, despite feeling anything but bored in this moment. "Hell of a game."

He doesn't acknowledge the words. His gaze drops to where you're sitting in Mingyu's lap, to Mingyu's hands on your hips, to the way your lip gloss is smeared from kissing someone who isn't him. His jaw tightens. The muscle there jumps.

"Up," he says. Not to Mingyu. To you.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm a little busy."

"You're done being busy." He takes a step into the room, and people move out of his way without seeming to realize they're doing it. He has that effect. "Come here."

Mingyu sighs behind you, but it's more resigned than annoyed. "Just go," he murmurs, giving your hip a soft pat. "You know how he gets." You turn to look at the guy and there's a small teasing smirk on his face.

"I don't belong to him," you say, and you're not sure if you're reminding Mingyu or yourself.

"Could've fooled me," Mingyu mutters, but there's no bitterness to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentlemanly despite everything, and helps you slide off his lap. "Rain check?"

"Of course," you tell him with an easy smile.

Then Seungcheol's hand is wrapping around your wrist—not hard, he never grabs you hard enough to hurt or scare, but firm enough that you know you're not getting away—and he's pulling you through the crowd, past the dancers and the drinkers and the people who pretend not to sneak glances, up the stairs, down the hall, into one of the bedrooms that's mercifully unoccupied.

The door clicks shut behind you. The music muffles to a dull throb and your ears ring a little with the newfound silence.

And then you're being pressed up against the door, Seungcheol's body a wall of heat against your back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of your neck. His hands find your waist, your hips, your stomach, like he's reacquainting himself with the geography of your body even though it's only been three days since the last time he had you.

"Could smell you throughout the whole house," he rasps against your ear, and the words send a bolt of pure lightning straight to your clit. "That perfume you wear. The one like cherry and rum. Knew you were here before I even saw you."

"Good nose," you attempt something sassy, but your voice is already going breathy, your body already starting to soften and yield the way it only ever does for him. You briefly register your hips pushing backwards, into him. And you don't care to stop yourself from it.

"Good nothing." His teeth graze your earlobe, nipping. "I just know you. You know what else I know?" You hum in response, playing along as if intrigued. "I know the way you smell when you're worked up. And you were worked up, weren't you? Sitting on Mingyu's lap like a pretty little slut, grinding on him, getting him hard."

"He earned it," you say, and it's supposed to come out defiant but lands a lot closer to needy because you are a sucker for degradation when it comes from him. Always so sweet, it makes you feel fuzzy even when you just think about it.

Seungcheol's laugh is dark and low, rumbling through his chest and into your back. "Oh, did he?"

"He won the game."

"And what about me?" His hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, and stops just beneath the swell of your breasts. "I was on that field too. I scored two tries. I bled for that win." His lips brush the shell of your ear. "What do I get?"

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Depends on what you want."

"You know what I want." His hand moves higher, finally cupping your breast through your top, his thumb finding your nipple even through layers of fabric and pressing down just hard enough to make your breath catch. "I want your mouth. Want to fuck that pretty throat until you're crying, until you can't talk, until the only thing you remember how to do is swallow."

Your knees buckle. He catches you easily, arm banding around your waist, and you can feel him—all of him—pressed against your ass. The thick, heavy line of his cock is already hard, already straining against his sweatpants, and you can feel the heat of it through both layers of fabric like a brand.

"Fuck,” you breathe.

"Yeah," he agrees, and spins you around to face him.

God, he's beautiful. It hits you every time, this stupid, gut-punch of a realization that you never quite get used to despite the fact that your roster is full of gorgeous men. No one hits like that. His eyes are dark and liquid, those big brown eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheekbones, and they're looking at you like you're something precious and something filthy all at once. His lips are parted, plump and pink and slightly wet, and when he smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth quirking up—his dimple appears like a secret.

"Missed you," he says, softer now, and it makes your chest ache.

"It's been three days."

"Three days too long." He cups your face in both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and tilts your head up. "You been good?"

You know what he's asking. You know what he means. And a part of you wants to lie, wants to tell him that you've been a perfect little angel, that you haven't let anyone else touch you, that you're his, just his, only his.

But that's not the game you play. That's not the arrangement you have with him or anyone else for that matter.

"Been busy," you say instead, and watch his eyes darken. It brings you its own special kind of masochistic satisfaction.

"Busy," he repeats, flat.

"Jihoon on Thursday. Soonyoung yesterday morning." You hold his gaze, defiant and terrified in equal measure. "They're on the roster too, Cheol. Remember?"

Something flickers in his expression—something that looks a lot like hurt and a lot like jealousy—but it's gone as fast as it appears, replaced by that dark, possessive heat that makes your cunt drip.

"Then I better remind you why I'm at the top of that list," he says, and drops to his knees.

You don't have time to process the sight of him there, on his knees for you, looking up at you with those burning eyes—because his hands are already rucking up your skirt, pushing it up around your waist, and his mouth is pressing hot and open-mouthed against the damp cotton of your panties.

"Cheol—"

"Shh." His breath is warm through the fabric. "Let me take care of you first. Let me taste you. Then I'm gonna fuck your throat until you forget Soonyoung's name and everyone else's except mine."

His tongue presses flat against your clothed cunt, and you moan, head thumping back against the door. Your hips cant against his face, frustrated that there's some sort of barrier between his mouth and you.

This is how it always goes with him, how it's been going since the end of your second year, when you finally collided with him at a party not unlike this one, when you'd already built some reputation and he'd already heard the rumours. Neither of you had been prepared for the way your bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces.

Before that night, you'd known of him, obviously. Everyone knew the rugby team, and Seungcheol was the captain—loud and commanding on the field, quieter off it, with a cute laugh that didn't match his build and a dimpled smile that made you want to do stupid things. You'd seen him around campus, exchanged pleasantries, maybe flirted a little the way you flirted with everyone. But you'd never hooked up with him, partly because your paths didn't cross that way and partly because something in your gut had whispered to wait.

Waiting had been the right call. By the time you finally got your hands on each other, the tension had been stretched so tight it snapped like a rubber band, and you'd spent three hours in his dorm room doing things that still made even you blush when you thought about them too hard. And there weren't many things left that could make you blush anymore.

The difference was that Seungcheol hadn't been satisfied with one night. He'd come back for more. And more. And more. Unlike all your other hookups who followed your lead and showed up or engaged with you only on your demand.

So, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being just another name on your roster and started being something else. Something you allowed in your content, something you kept allowing more than you allowed anyone else.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans against you, pulling your panties to the side and swiping his tongue through your folds. The sensation is electric and sweet, and your hips buck against his face without your permission. "Taste so fucking good. Always taste so good."

"Cheol, please—"

"Hmm?" He looks up at you, chin glistening with your wetness, and the sight is so obscene it makes your brain short-circuit. "Use your words, baby."

"Please—fuck, your mouth—"

"My mouth what?" He's teasing now, the bastard, pressing soft little kisses to your inner thigh, your mons, everywhere except where you need him. "Tell me."

"Eat me out," you breathe, dignity abandoned. "Please, Cheol, please eat my pussy, I need your tongue, need you to make me come—"

"Good girl." And then his mouth is on you, tongue plunging into your hole and nose pressing against your clit, and you gasp.

He eats pussy like he's starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger. His tongue is thick and clever, alternating between fucking into your tight opening and flattening against your clit, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open and steady, pressing you against his face like he wants to crawl inside you.

You're babbling, you realize in a brief blink of clarity. Strings of praise and profanity falling from your lips between whimpers and mewls. "So good, so good, your tongue is so fucking good, Cheol, right there, please don't stop, please—"

Seungcheol doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train—sudden and utterly beyond your control, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head and your fingers fist in his hair and you come with a broken cry that gets swallowed by the bass still thumping through the house.

He works you through it, gentler now, laving at your oversensitive clit until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away. Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at you with eyes that are practically black as he licks your juices clean off of it.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his feet.

"One?" You're still catching your breath, still trembling with aftershocks, and he's looking at you like he hasn't even started. In your haze you've totally forgotten what he said he wanted you to do for him.

"One." He cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, tugging it down until your mouth obediently falls open. "Now it's my turn. On your knees, baby. Show me you still know how to worship this cock."

You sink to your knees before he finishes that sentence.

The carpet is scratchy against your skin, but you barely pay attention. Which is fixed on the way he's pulling down his sweatpants, freeing his cock, and there it is—a solid length of thick, flushed, leaking cock, curving slightly upward, the head an angry purple-red that looks almost painful. His balls hang heavy beneath, swaying as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum down the shaft.

"You remember this?" he asks, and his voice has gone gravel-rough. Half a step forward and Seungcheol is slapping the thick meat of his cock against your face. They are soft, almost gentle slaps that make you lean in and try to nuzzle, brain going offline on his musky scent. "Remember how it feels? How it stretches your throat? How it makes you choke?"

"Yes," you whisper, and feel your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. Your eyes are glued to his cock and you barely restrain yourself from trying to follow it and catch with your mouth. "Yes, I remember."

"Then show me."

You don't make him wait. You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip, as gentle and reverent as ever, tasting the salt-bitter tang of his precum. His breath hitches. You do it again, and again, pressing soft kisses up and down his shaft, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair at the base, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and that unique musk that you have no other description for than just him, and it makes your head spin the more you focus on it. You can probably get off on that alone.

"Stop teasing," he grits out, but his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle, so gentle. Even though you wouldn't mind if he just grabbed your head to steady it and started face fucking you in earnest.

You look up at him through your lashes, make sure he's watching, and then you open your mouth and take him in.

The first inch is easy. The second makes your jaw stretch. By the third, you're breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, letting muscle memory take over. You've done this enough times—with him, with others—that your body knows what to do even when your brain has gone hazy and dumb with want.

"Fuck," he breathes, and his hips jerk forward just a little, just enough to push another inch past your lips. "That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."

You hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, tracing and massaging the thick vein that runs from base to tip, and your hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They're heavy, full, and you can't help but imagine how much cum he's got stored up in just three days he hasn't seen you, how much he's going to pump down your throat.

It makes you moan again—the image you drew in your head—and you almost want to whimper and whine but you have a mouth full of cock and instead you just take him deeper, desperate to swallow him whole, to get more of him the only way you know how.

"Been thinking about this all game," he tells you, voice strained. "Couldn't focus during the second half. Kept looking for you in the stands. Kept thinking about your mouth."

You pull back until just the tip rests on your tongue, breath heavy, and then you sink down again, taking him even further this time, until he nudges the back of your throat and your gag reflex flutters. You push past it, breathe through it, and then you're swallowing around him and his cock is buried to the hilt and your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, cushioned with the bush of hairs there.

"Oh, fuck—" His hips buck, involuntary, and you choke but don't pull away. "Sorry, sorry, baby, you just—you feel so fucking good, I can't—"

You reach up and grab his hand, guide it to the back of your head, and press down.

He gets the message.

His grip tightens in your hair, and then he's fucking your throat in earnest, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's just shy of brutal. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds your own mouth is making—the slurping, the gagging, the choking, the slick slide of his cock through your spit-slick lips—and it's filthy, it's degrading, it's the most liberating thing you've ever experienced. To be reduced to this. No thoughts, no responsibilities, just sucking fat delicious cock.

"Look at you," he grunts, staring down at you with something like awe. "Taking all of it. Taking my dick like you were made for it. No one— no one sucks cock like you do. No one. Fucking— made for this. My perfect little cocksucker."

Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and your mascara is probably ruined, and your throat is going to be raw tomorrow, and you don't care. You don't care about anything except the substantial weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, the way his breathing is getting ragged and uneven.

"Gonna cum," he warns, and tries to pull back. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You grab his hips and pull him closer, taking him so deep your throat constricts around him, and he breaks.

The first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat, hot, thick and bitter, and you swallow on reflex, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking through tears. The second fills your mouth, and the third, and he's groaning like he's dying, like you're killing him, like you're giving him something no one else ever has. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, pumping more and more cum into your waiting mouth, and you take it all, swallow it all, until he's finally, finally still.

He pulls out slowly, and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Your throat feels used, bruised, incredible. Your jaw aches. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and cum, and you've never felt more beautiful. You'd go for another round all over again this very minute if you could.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes, and then he's hauling you to your feet and kissing you, deep and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's trying to taste himself on your tongue. "You're insane. You're fucking perfect. I'm not done with you yet."

"I know," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked, barely a hoarse whisper. "You said something about my tits?"

His responding grin is sharp and hungry. "Take off your top."

You do. Your bra follows, and then your bare breasts are swinging free, heavy and round with puffy inverted nipples that are already aching tight from arousal. Seungcheol stares at them like a man possessed, and then his hands are on you, cupping the weight of them, thumbs circling your nipples until they pop out and he can pinch them between his fingers.

"Love your tits," he murmurs, bending to take one in his mouth and suck on it. His tongue is hot and wet, laving at the sensitive bud, and you moan, arching into him. "Love how big they are. Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how pretty your nipples are." He says that in the brief pauses he takes, alternating between the two breasts.

"Cheol—"

"Lie down on the bed." He pulls back, giving your nipple one last lick. "On your back. I want to watch them move while I fuck them."

You scramble to obey, positioning yourself on the edge of the mattress, and he follows, straddling your ribcage. His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your spit, and he strokes it back to full stiffness while he looks down at you.

"Hold them together for me."

You cup your breasts in both hands, pressing them together to create a deep, soft channel. He groans at the sight, and then he's slotting his cock between them, the head peeking out from the top of your cleavage.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, and starts to thrust.

The slide is slick from your spit and his cum, and he picks up a rhythm quickly, hips rocking as he fucks the valley of your breasts. His cock drags against your sternum, the head brushing your chin with every thrust, and you tilt your head down to lick at it each time it appears.

"Yeah, that's it," he pants. "Tongue out. Want you to taste me every time."

You obey, sticking your tongue out so the tip of his cock drags across it with every stroke. The angle is awkward and your neck is going to ache later, but the look on his face is worth it—eyes glazed, mouth slack, a flush spreading down from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

"Gonna paint your tits," Seungcheol warns, pace quickening. "Gonna cover them in my cum. Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine."

The possessive growl in his voice makes you moan, and the vibration travels through your chest and into his cock. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he's coming again—ropes of white streaking across your breasts, your collarbones, the lower part of your face. He milks himself through it, groaning, until every last drop is dripping down your skin.

You drop your head back onto the mattress and you wipe your face with your fingers. Cleaning most of the mess only to lick it all from your fingers. Seungcheol collapses beside you on the bed, chest heaving, and for a moment the only sound is both of you gasping for air.

Then he turns his head to look at you, and his expression is soft, so soft, softer than it has any right to be. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

"Hey," he says.

“Hey,” you croak back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just—give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need." He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll get something to clean you up."

He disappears into the ensuite bathroom, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum cool on your skin where you didn't wipe it. Your throat is raw, your jaw aches, your cunt is still throbbing with renewed need. And your chest aches in a completely different way. Which has nothing to do with the physical.

You push the feeling down. You're good at that.

When he comes back, it's with a wad of rough brown paper towels, the cheap kind that feel like tree bark against your skin, but he's somewhat dampened them under the tap and his touch is so fucking gentle as he cleans you up that you barely notice the difference. "Sorry," he murmurs, swiping carefully across your chest, your chin and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaning. "No actual towels. Fucking animals." He says it with so much genuine irritation that you laugh, and he looks up at you with that dimple and that soft, soft gaze, and your heart does the little summersault again.

"I'll survive," you manage.

"You will." He tosses the paper towels into a bin by the desk, then stands there, half-dishevelled, looking at you with his sweats slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers where his t-shirt rode up, and that possessive heat still simmering in his eyes. "We should go back down. It's still early, and the boys'll give me shit if I hog you all night."

You raise an eyebrow, even as you're reaching for your discarded clothes. "Since when do you care about that?"

"Since I'm the captain." He shrugs, unrepentant. "Gotta show my face. But—" He steps close, fingers catching your wrist, pulling you up against his chest the second your shirt is back on. His mouth finds your temple, lips warm and soft. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're with me tonight. Okay?"

The words shouldn't affect you but you feel the smouldering warmth spill through your body, heating you up from within. If he told you to drop down and fawn and do a puppy pose you would. You swallow. "Okay."

"Good girl." He says it like praise, low and private even though no one else can hear you in this room, and it makes your stomach flip even as you roll your eyes.

You both finish making yourselves look somewhat presentable. He helps you smooth down your skirt, his knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in a way that's more intimate than half the things you've ever done with other people. Then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he's leading you out of the room and down the stairs back into the controlled disaster of the party.

The bass hits you again, still throbbing through the house, but it's mellowed a little as the night's gone on. It couldn't have been that long and yet people are drunker now, looser, the dance floor more of a tangle of bodies than it was before. The air is thick with beer and sweat and the faint sickly-sweet smell of someone's vape or multiple of them—it's hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn't pause. He threads through the crowd with the same quiet authority he has on the pitch, and like always people just sort of move for him, and because you're with him, they move for you too.

He heads straight for the back corner where the rugby team has claimed a cluster of battered couches and a low coffee table covered in cups and bottles. Mingyu's there, sprawled out with his long legs taking up way too much space, laughing at something Seokmin just said. Seokmin is leaning forward, beer in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the residual high of the win. Joshua's perched on the arm of the couch, drink held delicately between two fingers, smiling his serene, knowing smile and thinking about something else and distant, judging by the slightly absent look on his face. Chan is on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through his phone but looking up when he sees you approach.

"There they are!" Seokmin crows, arms spreading wide like he's welcoming royalty. "Captain! And his—" He catches Seungcheol's eye, and whatever word he was about to say dies on his tongue. "—guest. His very special guest."

Mingyu snorts, raising his cup in a lazy salute. "Took your time? We were taking bets on whether you'd come back down at all."

"Put your money away," Seungcheol says, easy but with an edge that says conversation over. He pulls you onto one of the couches—a worn leather thing that groans under both your weight—and situates you directly in his lap, his arm banding around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time. Like he has every right.

And maybe he does, because no one bats an eye. Mingyu just grins knowingly and takes a sip of his drink. Seokmin launches back into whatever story he was telling, something about a questionable call in the first half. Joshua offers you a faint, warm smile that you really don't want to read into so you don't. Chan goes back to his phone.

And because no one gives any big reactions you just let yourself relax into Seungcheol's chest. His thumb starts tracing slow circles on the jut of your hip, a steady, grounding rhythm. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your temple, your hair, the shell of your ear, murmuring things only you can hear.

"You okay?"

"Mhm."

"Warm enough? Want my bomber?"

"I'm fine, Cheol."

"Need water? You should drink some water."

"You're not my mum."

"Doesn't mean I can't take care of you." He says it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that you don't have a retort, only feel your heart clench painfully tight in your chest.

The conversation around you ebbs and flows. Seungcheol is fully present in it—laughing at Seokmin's jokes, debriefing a specific play with Mingyu that devolves into good-natured bickering because the two like to act like an old married couple, teasing Chan about his post-game ritual of eating an entire pizza by himself and then recalling that one time the youngest almost fought Seokmin when the latter accidentally took a slice. He's easygoing and he's exactly the kind of captain the boys respect because he leads with warmth, not fear. But he also knows where the line is. When one of the boys makes a joke that's a little too crude about a cheerleader, Seungcheol gives him a look—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his chin—and the teammate immediately backtracks, hands up. "Joking, joking. Sorry, Cheol!"

"Mm," Seungcheol says, and the conversation moves on.

Through all of it, his attention keeps circling back to you. His hand never stops moving—stroking your hip, your thigh, the small of your back. He keeps checking in, his lips brushing your ear as he asks, "Still good?" and "Need anything?" and, when you start to flag, "You want to get out of here?" The last one is said with genuine concern, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you.

You shake your head, but your body betrays you. You're slumping heavier against him, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The bass is starting to feel less like music and more like an indistinguishable noise causing a headache. The chatter of the team is still warm and funny, but you're not following it anymore. Your eyelids are heavy.

"You're falling asleep," Seungcheol murmurs, amused and tender all at once.

'''M not."

"You are." He shifts, adjusting you more securely against his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. "Alright. Time to go."

He says it to you, but the team hears it too. Seokmin starts to protest. "Already? It's not even—" but Seungcheol just glances at him, and the protest dies. Mingyu waves a lazy goodbye, a smirk on his lips. "See you, man. Take care of her."

"Don't drink too much on the weekends. I expect you all on the clock for Monday practice," Seungcheol says sternly, and it's not a throwaway. It's a legit threat. You've heard the boys complain in the past about him making them do various exercises till failure for punishments.

He stands, lifting you with him like you are weightless, and you barely have the energy to be embarrassed. Your legs are jelly, your mind foggy. You manage a vague wave to the group, and then Seungcheol is steering you out of the frat house, into the cool night air, one arm wrapped solidly around your waist.

He takes you home. His car smells like his cologne and an old air freshener shaped like a pine tree, and he keeps the radio low as he drives, his free hand resting on your thigh. At red lights, he glances over at you, and you're too tired to hide the way you're looking at him whenever your eyes are not too heavy to do so.

Your apartment is quiet when you stumble inside. You're barely upright, and Seungcheol doesn't ask if you want him to stay. He just does. He guides you to the bathroom, and there, under the harsh white light that takes some of that sleepiness away, he turns to you with a comically determined focus, considering the task at hand.

"Tell me what to do," he says, gesturing at your face. "Makeup. How do I not mess this up?"

Your chest clenches and if you were a little more drunk and a little less restrained, you'd definitely start bawling your eyes out.

Instead, you point him to the micellar water on the counter, the cotton pads in the drawer. He soaks a pad, and you sit on the closed toilet lid as he kneels in front of you—kneels, like it's nothing, like it's exactly where he wants to be—and carefully, wipes the ruined mascara from under your eyes, the smudged lipstick from the corners of your mouth. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and he's so fucking gentle and adorable it makes your throat tight and your lips twitch with a hint of a laugh.

"There," he says when he's done, sitting back on his heels and inspecting his work. "Good?"

"Yeah." Your voice is a rasp as you turn to examine his work in the mirror. "Good."

Seungcheol helps you undress next. He's done it before, but this time it feels different somehow—more intentional? You're not sure.

He unclasps your bra with practiced ease—and you let out a heavy sigh of relief,—presses a kiss to your collarbone before he strips down to his boxers, and you're both standing there in the dim light of your bedroom, skin to skin, nothing between you but the cool air and the warmth of your skin.

He pulls you into bed. You curl into him instantly, seeking warmth in the still-cold sheets, your head on his chest, his big strong arms wrapped around you. You're both still warm from the party, from each other, and the heat of his bare skin against yours is the most comforting thing you've ever felt.

Seungcheol's heartbeat is steady under your ear. His hand traces lazy shapes on your spine that make your eyes feel heavier with every curl and swirl.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

And you do. With a deep sigh, your heavy eyes close and you immediately drift off.

You wake up to sunlight and the weight of him. He's still curled around you, his body a wall of heat along your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face half-buried in your hair, warm breath fanning quietly against your scalp. It sends weak shivers along your spine the moment your brain focuses on this little detail. And there's something else already—of course there is—the thick press of his morning wood against the curve of your ass, insistent even through his boxers.

Sometimes you think that the two of you should actually be separated and never allowed to interact ever again. There's always a high risk of turning into two horny bunnies and never leaving the bed.

But the thought drifts away as easily as it came in and you shift, just a little, and Seungcheol groans, low and sleep-rough. "Mm. Baby?"

"Morning," you murmur, pressing back against him deliberately. His hips twitch in response, a reflexive grind that makes your cunt pulse with want. You're already getting wet, you realize. Already aching. There's really no preamble with him. There never is.

"Fuck," he breathes, more awake now. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. It isn't surprising anymore, considering how many times he's been down there by now. He rubs slow circles, and you gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. "So wet already. How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." You turn in his arms to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded but bright, the brown of them almost gold in the morning light. You kiss him, soft at first, lazy. Your hands are resting on his pecs, sliding lower to his stomach and then over to his soft sides. The kiss gets deeper, with your tongue sliding against his as his palms rest on the swell of your ass instead, squeezing you repeatedly like a stress ball, and you know you're bound to have light bruises after some especially passionate grabs. Then his hand glides to the front again, fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, and you whimper into his mouth.

"Want you on top," he says against your lips. "Want to watch you take what you need."

"Hmm, is that so?"

There's no world in which you say no to that. You push Seungcheol onto his back and straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. He's already shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock, and it's just as thick and flushed and perfect as it was last night. Even better now that you can see it in broad daylight. You lean forward and spit into your palm—just a quick, filthy little motion—and reach down between your legs to wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking him once, twice, smearing the spit and his own leaking precum down the length.

"Fuck," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "You're so hot. So fucking hot."

You shift your panties to the side—can't even be bothered to take them off—and position him at your entrance. The first push is slow, a delicious stretch that makes both of you moan. Your cunt swallows him inch by inch, fluttering and squeezing and adjusting to his girth, and by the time he's seated inside you to the root, you're trembling, your clit throbbing where it's pressed against his pubic bone.

"There you go," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight, massaging soothing circles into the soft flesh there. "Take your time, baby. Ride me however you want. Use me."

You start to move. It's slow at first, a leisurely grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle flex under your palms, and he stares up at you with his half-lidded doe eyes like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sunlight catches his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the pretty flush blooming on his cheeks, the way his plump lips part on every exhale.

"You feel so good," you whisper, and the words come out wrecked already. "So deep like this. Fill me up so perfect."

"Made for my cock," he agrees, and there's no arrogance in it, just awe. "This cunt was fucking made for me. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are, taking all of it."

You feel your face heat up in your cheeks and ears. Every time you think you're way beyond getting flustered upon receiving compliments there's Seungcheol with his seemingly personal mission of proving you wrong and successfully making you feel like the shy high school girl everyone made you to be.

You pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, and the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room—slick and obscene, your arousal dripping down around the base of his cock. He's so deep that every thrust punches a moan from your throat, and you're not quiet, you've never been quiet with him, especially not in the confines of your apartment. The bed frame creaks in rhythm with your movements. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Love your tits bouncing like that," he grunts, eyes entranced on your chest. "Love watching them move when you ride me. Fuck, you're a dream. A fucking dream."

You feel tingles run through your body and rush all into your cunt, making you clench on Seungcheol's dick with a pathetic mewl that escapes before you can stop it.

Seungcheol moans and before another would leaves his mouth you lean down to kiss him, and the change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you gasp into his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, messy and hungry, and he fucks up into you now, meeting your rhythm with sharp little thrusts that make your vision go white at the edges. One of his hands leaves your hip and snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, perfect circles.

"That's it," he pants against your lips. "Want you to come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me. Can you do that, baby? Can you come for me?"

You can. You are. The combination of his cock driving into you and his thumb on your clit and the way he's looking at you—like you're everything, like you're the only thing—sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl. Gonna fill you up now, okay? Gonna cum inside you. Want it?"

"Yes," you gasp, still trembling. "Please, Cheol, please fill me up—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's thrusting up into you in quick, desperate strokes, chasing his own release. You can feel him swelling, pulsing, and then he's coming, hot and thick, painting your walls with his cum. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—makes you moan again, clenching around him to milk every last drop.

He collapses back against the mattress, chest heaving, and you slump forward onto him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. You lie there for a long moment, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you, his seed slowly starting to leak out around it.

"Fuck," he finally says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Good morning to me."

You laugh, breathless and boneless, and he wraps his big arms around you and holds you tight.

The shower is a necessity after that. You stumble into the bathroom together, and he insists on washing your hair—sure fingers massaging shampoo into your scalp with a thoroughness that makes you want to melt. You return the favour, soaping up his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle, the bruises from the game that are already starting to purple on his ribs. You kiss every one of them. He pulls you under the spray and kisses you back until you're both completely out of breath and the water runs lukewarm.

Later, dressed in clean clothes that somehow smell like you and him all mixed together (no you don't have a drawer dedicated specifically to his stuff), you walk to the little cafe two blocks from your apartment. It's a Sunday, and the streets are quieter, the air crisp and clean. He holds your hand the whole way. His thumb strokes over your knuckles, and it's such a small thing, but it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to look closer at.

At the cafe, you get a table by the window. Seungcheol orders a black coffee and a sandwich from their breakfast menu; you get a sweet latte with a syrup and a croissant that flakes all over the table whenever you as much as pick it up from its plate. He steals bites of your pastry and makes exaggerated sounds of approval. You steal a sip of his coffee in retaliation and grimace at the bitterness, audibly judging him for his beverage choices. He laughs, and the sound of it is so bright, so easy, that you feel something loosen in your chest.

You don't think about Monday. You don't think about your roster, or your own rules, or the way this whole thing is supposed to work according to them. You don't let yourself focus on the fact that you've never let anyone stay the night like this, never let anyone wash your hair and clean your face and hold your hand on a Sunday morning like it's the most natural thing in the world. You will have the time to think about it later, to reprimand yourself for it. But it's not now.

You just sit there, across from Seungcheol, your ankle pressed against his under the table, and you let yourself have this.

One more morning. One more slow, golden morning where he looks at you with his shiny boba eyes like you're something rare like the eighth wonder of the world, and you let him, and the world doesn't end.

It can hurt later, you tell yourself. The hurt will come—it always does. But right now, he's smiling at you with a flake of croissant stuck to his lip, and you're reaching across the table to wipe it away, and he's catching your hand and pressing a kiss right to the centre of your palm, lips soft and smooth after you threatened him into using your lip balm, and none of the rest of it matters.

And that's enough. For now, it's enough.

Monday can wait.

Monday morning starts with a text from Seungcheol.

It arrives while you're still half-asleep, face-down in your pillow, one arm flung out across the cold expanse of mattress where he'd been lying thirty-something hours ago. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grope for it blindly, squinting at the screen through eyelids that feel like they've been glued shut.

hope you got home okay. forgot to text yesterday. still thinking bout that croissant.

There's a pause, then a second message: actually you. mostly you.

You stare at it for too long. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you type out you're such a dork before deleting it, then miss you already before deleting that too, your face heating against the pillow even though no one's around to witness it. Eventually you settle on the safest option, the one that doesn't betray the way your pulse has picked up just from seeing his name on your screen.

Your coffee choices are atrocious.

His response comes almost immediately: brutal. i'm wounded.

Dramatic.

ouch, another wound:(

You don't answer that. You put the phone down and press your face into the pillow and try very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at you at that cafe, sun catching the gold in his eyes, his ankle hooked around yours beneath the table like he couldn't stand even that small of a physical distance. You try not to think about the kiss he'd given you when you'd parted—soft and lingering in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you were something fragile and precious. "See you later," he'd said, and it hadn't sounded like a request. It had sounded like a promise.

You'd walked away from him with your heart pounding and your stomach in knots, and you'd spent all of Sunday afternoon telling yourself it was fine, it was nothing, it was just breakfast. People have breakfast. People who fuck each other regularly can absolutely have breakfast without it meaning anything.

Except you'd let him wash your hair. Except he'd held your hand the whole walk there and the whole walk back. Except you'd sat there with pastry flakes on your fingers and coffee on your breath and you'd felt a door crack open inside you, the one you'd spent years reinforcing to be locked permanently.

Monday can wait, you'd told yourself on Sunday evening, curled up in bed that still smelled like him. Monday can wait.

Monday, as it turns out, has other plans.

Your first class is Cognitive Psych at nine, and you barely make it on time, sliding into your usual seat near the back with your hair still damp from a rushed shower and your coffee clutched like a lifeline. The lecture hall is one of those big, tiered rooms with creaky seats and inadequate heating, and Professor Hitcher is already droning on about working memory models by the time you get your notebook out. You try to focus with all your might. But your brain keeps drifting back to Sunday morning—the warmth of Seungcheol's hand around yours, the way he'd laughed with his whole chest when you'd gotten powdered sugar on your nose, the way he'd wiped it off with the pad of his thumb and then licked the sugar off his own skin without breaking eye contact.

You're so lost in the memory that you almost miss the notification that pops up on your laptop screen. A Discord message, from the unofficial uni server you're in just like the rest of the university because everyone is hungry for juicy gossip.

so apparently someone saw that camgirl with choi seungcheol at that cafe yesterday morning?? like holding hands and everything??

Your stomach drops.

You close the notification and try to pretend you didn't see it, but the damage is already done. Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. By the time the lecture ends, you've got seven messages across three different platforms, all variations on the same theme: Is it true??? Are you and Seungcheol actually DATING???

You don't answer any of them. You shove your laptop into your bag and power-walk out of the lecture hall, head down, earbuds in, dodging the curious glances of the girls who sit two rows ahead of you and always whisper when you walk past.

It's not that you're surprised, exactly. Campus gossip moves at the speed of light, and you've always been a favourite topic. The girl who fucks like a man. The girl who doesn't catch feelings. The girl who's slept with half the rugby team and still walks around with her head held high like she hasn't noticed—or doesn't care—that most of the women on campus treat her like a contagion. You're a fascinating specimen to them. A cautionary tale and a fantasy and a threat all rolled into one.

You've heard the whispers before. You've perfected the art of ignoring them.

But this time it's different. This is Seungcheol, and that makes it feel personal in a way you can't afford it to be.

The quad is bustling when you cross it, students streaming between buildings in that mid-morning rush that always feels vaguely chaotic. You keep your head down, but you can still feel the looks—some curious, some hostile, some just... speculative. A girl from one of your classes catches your eye and immediately looks away, her mouth tightening. Two cheerleaders huddle near the fountain, and one of them elbows the other as you pass, her voice carrying just enough for you to catch: "...seriously, what does he see in her?"

Your jaw tightens. You don't break stride.

This is the part they never understand. The part you've stopped trying to explain. You didn't set out to be the campus villain, didn't wake up one day and decide to become the girl that other girls warned their boyfriends about. You just... refused to be ashamed. Refused to apologise for wanting what you wanted, for taking what was offered, for enjoying sex the way men have always been allowed to enjoy it without consequence. And somewhere along the way, that refusal had calcified into a reputation, and the reputation had calcified into a persona, and now you're the slut, the threat, the cautionary tale—and it's easier to lean into it than to fight it. Easier to pretend you don't care than to admit that sometimes the isolation gnaws at you like hunger.

You'd had friends, once. Back in first year, before everything. Girls who'd invited you to study groups and coffee dates and nights out, who'd shared their make up with you and borrowed your clothes and told you their secrets. But one by one, they'd drifted away. Sometimes it was gradual—a slow cooling, texts left on read, invitations that stopped coming. Sometimes it was abrupt: a boyfriend who'd looked at you a little too long, a rumour that he'd been seen talking to you at a party, an accusation you hadn't even known you were defending yourself against.

The thing is, you've never fucked a taken man. Never. It's a line you've drawn in permanent marker, a rule you've never even been tempted to break. But it doesn't matter. The possibility is enough. The idea of you is enough. You're the stress test for every relationship on campus, and most women decide it's easier to cut you out than to trust their partners not to fail or to blame them for failing.

So you'd built something else. Something stranger and lonelier and, in its own weird way, functional. A network of men who knew the rules and respected them, who didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. Your roster. It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. Safe.

Only two of them had ever slipped past those defences and become something else entirely.

You find Wonwoo and Minghao in the library exactly where they always are at this time on a Monday—the big table in the south corner, near the windows, with a clear sightline to the door that Wonwoo insists helps him concentrate and Minghao insists is just his control issues manifesting. Wonwoo is already buried in a book, his glasses perched on his nose and his posture so perfect it makes your spine ache in sympathy. Minghao is sprawled in the chair beside him, scrolling through his phone with the elegant disinterest that only he can pull off, his silver earrings catching the light every time he moves.

They look up in unison when you approach, and their expressions shift into something that makes you immediately suspicious. It is especially infuriating that Wonwoo haven't even lifted his eyes from the book.

"No," you say, dropping your bag onto the table and slumping into the chair across from them. "Whatever you're about to say, no."

"We haven't said anything," Minghao points out, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.

"You're making a face."

"I'm not making a face."

"You're absolutely making a face," Wonwoo confirms while still reading. "But to be fair, you're also making a face. It's the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a Seungcheol face."

"You definitely do," Minghao says, setting down his phone and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand. You scowl but his eyes are sharp and knowing, dark and amused in a way that makes you want to squirm. "It's very specific. Equal parts horny and emotionally constipated. You've been wearing it since you walked in."

"I hate you both."

"You love us," Wonwoo says, and finally closes his book, marking his page with one of those little sticky tabs he carries in his bag. "We're the only ones who'll study with you and not try to get in your pants."

"Jihoon studies with me."

"Jihoon studies with you and then gets in your pants."

"That's—" You pause, and your mouth twitches despite yourself. "Fair, actually."

Minghao laughs—his laugh is a low, elegant sound that rings soothingly in the space between you three—and leans back in his chair. The late afternoon sun slants through the window behind him, catching the sharp angles of his face, the delicate line of his collarbones where his shirt hangs open. He's beautiful, objectively speaking—all fine bone structure and dancer's grace—and you'd tried to sleep with him a few times, early on, before you'd figured out that he was looking for something different from what you were offering. It had been good, because sex with Minghao is always good, but it had also been... quiet. Tender in a way that made your skin itch. Afterwards, he'd looked at you with those perceptive eyes and said, "You don't actually want this from me, do you?" and you'd been so startled by the accuracy of it that you'd laughed and felt a heavy rock drop off your shoulders.

Wonwoo had been similar. A single night, a year and a half ago, after a party where you'd both drunk too much and talked too little. You'd woken up in his bed with a pounding headache and a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder, a glass of water pressed into your palm, and a soft voice saying, "We don't have to do this again. But I'd still like to be your friend, if you want that."

You'd cried in front of him. Right in his bed, tears leaking down your cheeks before you could stop them, because he'd offered friendship without conditions and you'd realised, in that moment, how desperately starved for it you were. That happened exactly around the period of time when all your girl friends peaked in massively withdrawing and the new ones already heard too much to take you in without prejudice.

They've been your people ever since. The only two who see past the persona to the person underneath. The only two who call you on your bullshit and save you a seat at the library and don't look at you like you're either a threat or a conquest.

Which is why you know, with a sinking certainty, that they're not going to let this Seungcheol thing go.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. "Sunday morning."

Your stomach tightens. "What about it?"

"Interesting choice of cafe," Wonwoo observes, his voice dry as old paper. "Very public. Very... date-appropriate."

"It wasn't a date."

"Right." Minghao nods sagely. "You just happened to be holding hands with Choi Seungcheol over croissants at ten in the morning on a Sunday. So platonic and casual."

"We were hungry." You can hear how defensive you sound, and you hate it. "We'd just—we'd been at the party the night before, we crashed at mine, and in the morning we were hungry. It's not a big deal."

"The party where he dragged you away from Mingyu like a caveman claiming his territory," Wonwoo says, still in that same mild, unbothered tone. "I saw that, by the way. Everyone saw that. Mingyu complained about it for ten minutes."

"Mingyu's fine."

"Mingyu's very fine," Minghao agrees. "But that's not really the point. The point is that you went from caveman-territory-claiming to hand-holding-breakfast in less than twelve hours, and you're sitting here telling us it's nothing."

"It is nothing." You grab your notebook out of your bag with more force than necessary, flipping it open to a random page. "It's just sex. It's always been just sex. Breakfast doesn't change that."

"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is softer now, less teasing. He's looking at you with something that might be concern, and that's so much worse than the mockery. "Because you let him stay the night. You let him take you to breakfast. You held his hand in public, where anyone could see. Those are not things you do with casual hookups. Those are things you do with someone you're—"

"Don't," you warn, your voice coming out louder sharper than you intended. "Don't say it."

Wonwoo and Minghao exchange a glance—one of those silent, loaded looks they've perfected over years of friendship—and you want to throw your highlighters at both of them.

"Look," Wonwoo says, gentler, more careful. "We're not trying to push. You know we're not. But we've been watching you circle this thing with Seungcheol for almost a year now, and you've never looked at anyone the way you look at him. Not even close."

You stare down at your notebook. Your pen has left a small ink blot on the corner of the page, bleeding outward.

"He's different," you admit in a whisper, and the words feel like pulling teeth raw. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. But he just... he gets under my skin. And I hate it. I hate how much I—" You cut yourself off abruptly, swallow hard. "I hate how much I think about him when he's not there. I hate that I keep breaking my own rules for him without even meaning to. I hate that the idea of him with someone else makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my own body."

There's a pause. The library hums around you—the distant click of keyboards, the rustle of pages turning, someone coughing softly a few aisles over.

"That sounds a lot like feelings," Minghao says, but his voice is kind.

"It's terrifying," you murmur.

Wonwoo reaches across the table and puts his hand over yours. His fingers are cool and dry, and the simple, platonic comfort of the gesture makes your throat ache.

"You're allowed to be scared," he says. "You're allowed to want things, too. They're not mutually exclusive."

You don't have an answer to that. So you just sit there, your hand under Wonwoo's, your chest full of something too big to name, and let yourself be scared.

Minghao breaks the silence first, his voice light but measured. "For what it's worth, I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. I've known him for a while—we were in that ethics seminar together last semester, remember?—and he's not the type. He's disgustingly earnest, actually. It's a little off-putting."

You snort despite yourself, a wet, half-laughing sound. "Earnest?"

"Painfully so. He talked about responsibility and integrity for fifteen minutes straight during one discussion and the professor had to cut him off. It was very intense. Very captain-of-the-rugby-team energy."

"He scored two tries on Saturday," Wonwoo adds, withdrawing his hand and picking his book back up like the conversation hasn't just peeled back several layers of your emotional skin. "I don't know anything about rugby, but apparently that's impressive. Soonyoung mentioned it at least four times."

"Soonyoung mentions everything at least four times."

"True."

You look between them—Wonwoo with his glasses and his steady presence, Minghao with his sharp eyes and sharper wit—and something in your chest unclenches, just a little. This is what you'd been missing, in those days when your friends had peeled away one by one. This easy, uncomplicated affection. This space where you don't have to perform, don't have to pretend, don't have to be the persona you've built like armour around yourself.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"For what?" Minghao asks, eyebrows raising.

"For not—" You gesture vaguely. "For not treating me like I'm contagious."

Something flickers across Minghao's expression, there and gone. "Yeah, well. We've seen how people treat you. It's bullshit."

"It's not entirely unearned," you admit. "I know what my reputation is."

"Your reputation," Wonwoo says glued to his book once more, "is largely the result of a double standard that neither me nor Hao subscribe to. You're a woman who enjoys the healthy pleasures of life and refuses to apologise for it. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you honest and real. The fact that most people can't handle that says more about them and the society we live in than it does about you."

You stare at him. He turns a page.

"That's—" You blink rapidly, your eyes suddenly stinging.

"It's just logic," he interferes, but the tips of his ears have gone slightly pink.

Minghao is watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes. "You've got good people around you no matter what type of relationship you have with them," he says. "Seungcheol. Soonyoung. Jihoon. Even Mingyu, in his own himbo way. The others. You built something that works for you, and you found people who respect it. That's more than most people manage."

"It's not exactly traditional."

"Since when have you ever wanted to be traditional?"

You don't have an answer for that. You've never wanted to be traditional. Okay, at least not since you figured out the world assigned you a role and it wasn't what you wanted for yourself. Ever since then you've never wanted to be the girl who gets the picture-perfect white picket fence and the monogamous fairytale and the happily ever after (even though you don't really mind that last one, who does in their right mind?). You've just wanted to be free. To want what you want without shame, to take pleasure where you find it, to owe nothing to anyone except what you choose to give.

But Seungcheol—Seungcheol makes you want things you never thought you'd want again willingly. Makes you dream about Sunday mornings and hand-holding and someone to come home to. Makes you wonder if maybe the fairytale isn't the trap you always thought it was. Maybe it's just... a story. A story you get to write yourself, in your own way, with whoever you choose.

The thought is so terrifying you have to physically shake your head to dislodge it.

"Okay," you say, and your voice comes out steady while you feel everything tremble inside. "Enough feelings. I have a cognitive psych exam on Friday and I've retained approximately nothing from this morning's lecture because I was too busy dodging stares and whispers about my alleged date."

"Alleged," Minghao repeats, arching an eyebrow, his tone so unimpressed and dry you suddenly want to take a sip of water.

"Alleged."

"Sure." He pulls his notes toward him, but his smile is knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You're about to fire back with something defensive once again when Wonwoo, who apparently got disracted to watch you and Minghao talk, pushes his glasses up his nose and opens his book again. "Start with Baddeley's working memory model," he says, and his voice has returned to its usual dry, academic tone, not without a hint of humor though. He lets you off the hook, even if it's just for now. "Central executive, phonological loop, visuospatial sketchpad. You're welcome."

You flip him off, but you're smiling, and when you finally bend your head over your notes and start to actually study, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest has loosened into something almost bearable.

Monday is still Monday. The whispers are still out there, spreading like ripples in a pond, and you know you're going to have to face them eventually. You're going to have to figure out what you're doing with Seungcheol, what you want, what you're willing to risk.

But first, the cognitive psych exam.

The messages from Seungcheol stop on Wednesday.

There is no fight or a slip up you can point to. They just... stop. Tuesday morning you'd woken up to a photo of a very disgruntled pigeon on the quad with the caption this is me when you're not around, and you'd laughed into your pillow, kicking your feet under the blanket, the sound of your giggle bright and unguarded in the quiet of your apartment. You'd typed back tragic, and he'd sent a string of crying emojis, and that had been that. Wednesday you'd sent him something about a professor with an absurd combover, and he'd replied LMAO six hours later, and you'd stared at those four letters for longer than you'd ever admit, trying not to admit to the growing unease twisting your stomach in knots as you kept waiting for the follow up that never came. Thursday was radio silence. By Friday morning you've stopped checking your phone every ten minutes, and the disappointment has settled into something dull and familiar—a low-grade ache at the base of your sternum, easy to ignore if you don't breathe too deep.

You expected it when you allowed yourself the weakness of letting him in closer than you usually have. You knew what you were signing up for.

You want to laugh, remembering Hao's words from Monday. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. Disgustingly earnest, he'd said. Painfully so. You'd let yourself believe it, just a little. You'd let yourself unclench, open a crack more, imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Even though this is exactly how almost every week went about for the past several months. Only this time you allowed yourself this weakness. And now you're paying for it.

Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Friday afternoon finds you walking across campus toward the athletic complex, your bag slung over one shoulder and a half-formed plan in your head. Your subscribers are getting restless—the comments on your last video with Seungcheol have become something of a monument to collective thirst, hundreds of messages demanding Daddy's return, speculating about your relationship, leaving increasingly unhinged declarations of devotion. You'd posted a short clip from your archives on Tuesday night to tide them over—Seungcheol's face out of frame as he fucked you from behind with you in a puppy pose, just the sound of his grunts and the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt—but that kind of content has a shelf life, and you're running out of it. You need fresh material to stock up on. You need him.

Or you did. Before he stopped texting. Before the silence stretched longer and longer.

Now you just need to ask, because asking is practical, because content is content and business is business, and you're not going to let whatever this is—this hurt, this disappointment, this thing you refuse to give name to—interfere with your personal little empire you've built. If he says yes, you'll film. If he says no, you'll figure something else out. Simple and transactional. Exactly the way it's supposed to be.

The rugby pitch is at the far end of the athletic complex, and practice must have just ended because there's a stream of players heading toward the locker rooms, sweaty and grass-stained and loud with the particular brand of masculine energy that comes from an hour of what you sincerely consider to be just sanctioned violence. You scan the crowd for Seungcheol's familiar bulk, his captain's armband, the way he carries himself with that easy authority that makes people unconsciously move out of his way.

You don't see him on the pitch. You don't see him near the benches.

You do see him, eventually, around the side of the building near the parking lot, pressed up against the brick wall with a girl's legs wrapped around his waist.

The first thing you register is his hands. One is tangled in her ponytail—blonde, glossy, the kind of sleek high ponytail that cheerleaders favor—playing with the hair-tie and the other is halfway up her skirt, fingers dimpling the bare skin of her thigh, and even from twenty meters away you can see the way his hips are grinding against her, the way she's moaning into his mouth, the way his tongue is so far down her throat it's a public indecency charge waiting to happen.

The second thing you register is that you can't breathe and your heart may have stopped beating entirely.

It's not like a punch. A punch would be quick, clean, a sharp burst of pain that fades. This is something else—something that creeps in like cold water, starting at your crown and sliding down your spine and pooling in your stomach until you're sick with it. Your vision goes dark at the edges. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to sting. And somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the hurt, a hot and ugly rage ignites in your chest like a match struck against a rough surface.

You think about Minghao's words again. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

Fucking hilarious.

You should walk away. That's what a rational person would do—turn around, go home, nurse your wounds in private, and compose a very firm and very unbothered text about how you won't be needing his services anymore, thank you very much. You should be the bigger person. You should be unbothered, icy, the version of yourself that doesn't care about anyone or anything.

But you've never been rational when it comes to him. And you've never been good at walking away.

So instead, you start walking toward them.

Your footsteps are measured, unhurried, audible against the pavement with a rhythm that announces your approach before your voice does. The girl notices you first—her eyes flutter open, widen, and she makes a muffled sound against Seungcheol's mouth that's more surprise than pleasure. She pulls back, her face flushed and her lip gloss thoroughly ruined, and you allow yourself the brief satisfaction of watching her expression shift from dazed to confused to something that looks a lot like apprehension.

She's young, you realize. A first-year, probably. You can tell by the freshness of her face, the way it's still a little round and naive, the way she still has that deer-in-headlights look that upperclassmen lose somewhere around the middle of second year. She's pretty in a conventional way—big eyes, pouty lips, the kind of body that looks good in a cheerleading uniform—and she's looking at you like she's not sure whether to be scared or defiant.

Seungcheol, still oblivious, has his face buried in her neck. "Mm, don't stop," he mutters, and his voice is rough with arousal, the same voice he uses with you, the same voice that's murmured good girl and let me take care of you and missed you against your skin in the dark.

The sound of it makes your stomach lurch.

"Busy, are we?" you say, and your voice comes out light, almost pleasant, with just the faintest edge of something sharp and deadly beneath it.

Seungcheol's head snaps up so fast you you're surprised he doesn't break his neck.

The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances—shock, then recognition, then something that flickers dangerously close to guilt before it's smothered by a mask of composure. He pulls his hand out from under the girl's skirt so fast it's like he's been burned, and the girl makes a small, confused noise, her legs sliding down from around his waist until her feet touch the ground.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is strained. "Didn't—didn't know you were coming by."

"Obviously." You let your gaze slide from his face to the girl and back again, unhurried, assessing. Then you give the girl a once-over—deliberate, slow, the kind of look that makes people feel like they're being measured and found wanting. She shrinks back a little, her hand coming up to wipe at her smeared mouth, and you feel a savage little spike of satisfaction at how easily she folds. "So. This is who you've been busy with all week?"

Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "It's not—"

"Relax, Cheol." You wave a hand, the picture of breezy indifference. "I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to ask you a question." You pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the muscle in his jaw jump the way it always does when he's uncomfortable and tense. "But I can see you're... occupied."

The girl looks between the two of you, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?" she asks, and her voice is higher than you expected, a little breathy. She's looking at Seungcheol with a proprietary tilt to her head that makes your molars grind together.

"No one important," you say before Seungcheol can answer, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost satisfying. "Just a friend. We do some work together." You let the word work hang in the air, loaded with innuendo, and the girl's eyes narrow slightly. Adorable.

"I was going to ask if you were free to film this weekend," you continue, directing your words at Seungcheol with the kind of casual professionalism you'd probably use with a business associate if you had any business to begin with. "My subscribers are getting antsy. They miss seeing you. The comments on our last video are frankly obscene." You smile, a sharp little curve of your lips that doesn't reach your eyes. "But I can see your schedule's pretty full."

Seungcheol opens his mouth, closes it. His hands are hanging awkwardly at his sides now, and he looks like a man who's been caught with his pants down—which, metaphorically speaking, he has. "I can—we can talk about this later."

"Oh, don't worry about it." You shrug, another gesture deliberately careless. "I'll find someone else. Mingyu's been asking to be in a video for ages, you know that. He's got the stamina for it… and the subscribers love a fresh face. Maybe it's time I give him what he's been wanting."

Something in Seungcheol's expression goes rigid. His eyes darken, and you can see the possessive thing that lives inside him stirring, the territorial caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu's lap at the party and pressed you against a door and told you you were his. Perfect. Let him choke on it.

"Mingyu," he repeats, flat.

"Yeah." You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "He's got a great body. Nice cock, too. The viewers would eat him up." You let your gaze drift back to the cheerleader, who's now standing there with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out why this random girl is talking to the guy she was just making out with about another guy's cock. You can't help a humourless smirk creeping in at the thought. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to... this." You gesture vaguely between them. "Enjoy your freshman, Cheol. Hope she's worth the crick in your neck."

The girl's mouth drops open indignantly. "Excuse me—"

"Have a good weekend," you say, and your smile is all teeth. Then you turn on your heel and walk away through the parking lot, your boots clicking against the pavement, your back straight, your head held high.

You don't look back. You don't let yourself. But you can feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning a hole between your shoulder blades, and you hope—viciously, childishly—that his erection has completely wilted and he's going to spend the rest of the evening trying to explain to a confused freshman why some random girl just talked to him about filming sex content.

You hope she asks questions he can't answer. You hope she realizes she's just a stand-in, a placeholder, a warm body he grabbed because he apparently thought you weren't available and he couldn't handle the silence any more than you could. You hope he goes home alone and jerks off to the memory of your mouth on his cock and feels like absolute shit about it.

But mostly, you hope the sick, hollow feeling in your stomach goes away before you have to be around other people.

It doesn't.

By the time you get back to your apartment, the triumph of your little performance has curdled into something darker. The rage is still there, simmering beneath your skin, but underneath it is hurt—raw and throbbing and so much bigger than you want it to be. You slam the door behind you, drop your bag on the floor, and stand in the middle of your living room with your hands shaking and your chest heaving and your eyes stinging with tears you refuse to let fall.

This is why you don't do feelings. This is exactly why. Feelings make you stupid and vulnerable and they give people the power to hurt you, and Seungcheol had promised—he'd fucking promised, hadn't he? I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. Liar. They're all liars in the end when you give them the upper hand.

You pull out your phone and scroll to your contacts with hands that are still trembling. You don't let yourself think. You just press the call button.

Soonyoung picks up on the second ring. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, and his voice is warm and easy, the way it always is. "What's up?"

"You free right now?"

"For you? Always." There's a pause, and then his voice shifts, dropping into something lower, more interested. "What do you need?"

"Bring Jihoon."

Another pause, longer this time. "Both of us?"

"Both of you. My place. Thirty minutes."

He doesn't ask if you're okay, and you're grateful for it. Soonyoung has always been good at reading a room, good at knowing when to push and when to let things lie. He just says, "We'll be there," and hangs up.

You toss your phone onto the couch and start undressing.

By the time they arrive, you've stripped down to a matching set of dark red lingerie—sheer lace that frames your tits nicely and a thong that barely covers anything—and you've lit a quite few candles in your bedroom and put on music, something low and thrumming with bass. You've also poured yourself a drink and you've downed half of it before the knock comes.

You open the door, and Soonyoung's eyes go dark the second he sees you. "Fuck, bunny. You look—"

"I know," you say, and pull him inside by the front of his shirt.

Jihoon is right behind him, quieter, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle as his eyebrows climb up in surprise. You barely get the door closed before Soonyoung's mouth is on your neck and Jihoon's hands are on your hips, sandwiching you between two warm, eager bodies.

"Someone's worked up," Jihoon murmurs against your shoulder, his voice low and knowing. "Rough week?"

"Don't want to talk." You turn your head and catch his mouth with yours, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "Just want to get fucked. Can you do that for me?"

"We can do that. We can do anything you want us to," Soonyoung says, and his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong and finding your clit with practiced accuracy. You gasp into Jihoon's mouth, your hips bucking forward. "Fuck, she's getting wet already."

"Always so eager for us," Jihoon agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "That's what we love about you, gorgeous. No games. Just tell us what you need."

"Need both of you. Need to not think. Need to feel so full I can't breathe."

They exchange a glance over your shoulder—something quick and unreadable—and then Soonyoung is spinning you around and walking you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving your neck, his hands working at the clasp of your bra. Jihoon follows, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and by the time your back hits the mattress, all three of you are naked and the air is thick with the heat of skin and the sharp, musky scent of arousal.

Soonyoung settles between your thighs first, draping your legs over his shoulders and looking down at your cunt with something approaching reverence. "Prettiest pussy," he purrs, running a finger through your folds and watching the way you glisten in the candle- and lamplight. "Look at how wet you are, bunny. This all for us?"

"Yes," you gasp. "All for you."

It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth. But that's not what tonight is about.

Soonyoung lowers his mouth to your soft pussy, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your back arching off the mattress, and then Jihoon is straddling your chest, his cock thick and flushed and already leaking, tapping against your lips.

"Open up," he says, and his voice is rough but not unkind. "Want to feel that pretty throat."

You open your mouth and take him in.

The stretch is immediate and familiar, your jaw adjusting to his girth as he slides past your lips and over your tongue. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat the way you've learned to do, and he groans, his hips twitching forward just enough to push another inch deeper.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth so fucking good. So wet. So warm."

You can't answer—your throat is too full—but you moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Below you, Soonyoung is eating you out like he's starving, going all ravenous, his tongue plunging into your hole and then flicking up to your clit, alternating between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks that make your hips jerk against his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pulses his tongue against it, and the dual sensation of his mouth on your cunt and Jihoon's cock in your throat is so overwhelming that your brain starts to go hazy at the edges.

"There we go," Jihoon murmurs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "There's that glassy look. That's what we want, isn't it? No thoughts. Just our cocks. Just how good we make you feel."

You hum around him, and he groans.

"Gonna fuck your throat now," he warns. "Tap my thigh if it's too much."

He doesn't wait for a response. His fingers thread into your hair, and then he's thrusting into your mouth in deep, steady strokes, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every push. You gag around him, spit pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever observed.

"Fuck, yes. Take it. Take all of it. Such a good little cocksucker."

Soonyoung pulls his mouth off your cunt just long enough to say, "She's dripping, Jihoon. Absolutely fucking soaked. You should see her pussy—it's clenching around nothing. She needs to be filled."

"Then fill her," Jihoon grunts, still fucking your mouth. "She's got three holes for a reason."

Soonyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He gets up to sit on his knees and positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He's gets himself slick with your wetness and his own spit, and when he pushes in, the stretch is so perfect it makes you keen around Jihoon's cock even with your mouth full.

"Fuuuuck," Soonyoung groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. "So tight. So fucking tight, bunny. This cunt was made for us."

He starts to move, and the rhythm is brutal-hard, fast strokes that drive the air from your lungs and make your tits bounce with every impact. Jihoon is still fucking your throat, and they find a tempo together, one thrusting into your cunt while the other pulls out of your mouth, so there's never a moment when you're not full. The wet, obscene sounds of your body fill the room—the slick squelch of your pussy getting pounded, the wet gagging of your throat, the sharp slap of skin against skin.

Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and runs down your cheeks. Your mascara is definitely ruined. Your cunt is making sounds that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but you don't—you've gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere where the only things that exist are the two cocks using your body and the music still thrumming through the apartment and the desperate, animal need to be used until you can't think anymore.

"Switch," Jihoon says abruptly, pulling out of your mouth. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and before you can catch your breath, they're maneuvering you like a doll—Soonyoung rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him, Jihoon positioning himself behind you.

"Both holes," Soonyoung says, looking up at you with eyes that are practically black. "Think you can take us both, bunny? Think you can take my cock in that pretty cunt and Jihoon's in that tight little ass?"

"Yes," you gasp, scrambling with disoriented hands to present your tight puckered hole. "Yes, fuck, please—"

"Please what?" Jihoon's voice is rough in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, the hard length of his cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Use your words, gorgeous. Tell us what you want."

"Want both of you. Want to be stuffed. Want to be so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember my own fucking name—"

"Good girl," Soonyoung growls, and pulls you down onto his cock.

The stretch is exquisite—deeper than before, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white and fuzzy. You're still adjusting to him when you feel Jihoon's fingers at your other entrance, slick with lube you didn't even see him grab from your nightstand drawer—probably too busy processing Soonyoung's dick impaling you,—working you open with careful, practiced pressure. One finger, then two, stretching your tight ring of muscle until you're gasping and pushing back against his hand.

"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is strained from watching you take his fingers while your pussy is already stretched on another cock.

"Ready."

He lines himself up with your anus and pushes in.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is indescribable—a fullness so complete it borders on pain but it's exactly what you wished for, two thick cocks separated by only a thin wall of muscle, moving inside you in counterpoint. You're spilling nonsence, you realize, strings of profanity and praise and broken moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, fuck, so full, so good, both of you, ah—please don't stop, don't ever stop—"

"Never gonna stop," Soonyoung grunts, thrusting up into you. "Gonna fuck this cunt forever. Gonna fill you up so good, bunny, gonna pump you so full of cum it's dripping out of you."

"Want that," you gasp. "Want your cum. Want both of you to cum inside me—"

"Fuck," Jihoon grits out, and starts moving faster, his hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy slaps. Soonyoung matches his pace, and they're both pounding into you now, two cocks filling you completely, and your orgasm is building at the base of your spine like a scorching hot tidal wave, gathering force, unstoppable.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Gonna come, please, please let me come—"

"Come for us, bunny," Soonyoung grunts, and reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers. "Come on our cocks. Show us how good we make you feel."

You shatter.

The orgasm is violent—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on Soonyoung's cock and your ass clenching around Jihoon's in spasms so intense you can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything except scream yourself hoarse as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you exactly the way you wished it would.

They fuck you through it, relentless, and then Jihoon is groaning and burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he pumps his load into your ass—hot and thick, filling you up, and the sensation of it tips you into another orgasm, smaller but no less devastating. Soonyoung follows a moment later, his hips snapping up into you as he comes with a guttural roar, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts that you can feel painting your walls.

For a long moment, none of you move. You're sandwiched between them, still impaled on both cocks, your body trembling with aftershocks, your holes dripping with their cum. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and ruined makeup, and your throat is raw, and your jaw aches, and you feel...

Empty.

The moment your mind clears enough for a thought this realization hits you like a cold wave. You're lying there, filled in every possible way, soaked in sweat and cum and spit, and you feel absolutely, utterly hollow. Worse than before. Worse than when you saw him with that cheerleader, worse than when the messages stopped, worse than anything you've felt in a very long time.

Because it didn't work. None of it worked. Even with two cocks inside you, even with two sets of hands on your body, even with two voices praising you and two loads of cum warming you from the inside—you couldn't truly stop thinking about him. About Seungcheol. About the way his eyes had gone dark and possessive when you'd mentioned Mingyu. About the way he'd looked at you like you were the only person in the room at the party. About the way he washed your hair on Sunday morning while taking a shower with you. Everything is just a broken record in your head, spinning on repeat.

You blink, and a tear slides down your temple and into your hair. It startles you and you almost forget to take a breath.

"Hey," Soonyoung says, and his voice is soft now, post-coital and gentle. He reaches up and wipes the tear away with his thumb. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's not what you invited them for.

They pull out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of cum sliding down your thighs. Jihoon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, and he cleans you up with the same quiet efficiency he's always had about him, touch careful, eyes unreadable.

"We'll head out," he says when he's done, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Unless you want us to stay."

"No," you say, too quickly. And then reach for them to compensate for it. Both take your hands, hold you with reassuring touches. "No, I'm good. Thank you. Both of you."

Soonyoung looks at you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. Then he nods and pulls on his clothes. "Text us if you need anything, bunny."

"Will do."

They leave, and the door clicks shut behind them, and you're alone.

The apartment is suddenly too quiet. The pretty candles have burned down to stubs, and the music has stopped somewhere along the way, and the only sounds are your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. You lie there in your bed, naked and sore and sticky with the remnants of someone else's pleasure, and you stare at the ceiling and you try very, very hard not to cry.

It doesn't work.

The tears come hot and fast, leaking from the corners of your eyes and dripping into your hair, and you don't even have the energy to wipe them away. You just lie there and let them fall, let the sobs build in your chest until they're shaking your whole body, ugly and uncontrollable and nothing like the poised, unbothered persona you've spent three years perfecting.

You think about Sunday morning. The cafe. His hand around yours. The way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were something precious.

You think about his messages—the pigeon, the crying emojis, the mostly you—and the way they'd dried up like a river in a drought, leaving nothing behind but silence.

You think about his hands on that cheerleader, his mouth on her neck, and the way it had felt like being gutted alive.

You think about Minghao's words. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

You were right to be scared. You were right to keep your distance. You were right to build those walls, to keep everyone at arm's length, to never let anyone close enough to leave a mark.

Because look at what just happened. You let him in—just a crack, just a tiny crack—and now you're bleeding.

You curl onto your side and press your face into the pillow that still smells faintly of his shampoo, and you let yourself be pathetic, just for tonight. Tomorrow you'll put the persona back on. Tomorrow you'll be the campus slut, the heartbreaker, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care. Tomorrow you'll film content with Mingyu or Soonyoung or whoever the fuck you want, and you'll moan and fuck and smile for the camera and for the whole world around, and you'll pretend that Seungcheol is just another name on your roster. The way he's supposed to be.

But tonight, you're just a girl with a broken heart she didn't even think she had anymore, crying into a pillow that still smells faintly like the boy who broke it.

The text from Seungcheol comes maybe an hour after you've finished crying, maybe two. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand while you're still curled in bed, still naked, still sticky with the cooling remnants of Soonyoung and Jihoon's cum drying on your thighs. You're too weak to force yourself into shower and for once in a lifetime you can't bring yourself to care.

can we talk?

You stare at the screen until it goes dark. Your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw and somewhere deep in your chest, something that was already cracked splits a little further.

You don't answer.

The second text comes Saturday morning.

i know you're pissed. i get it. just let me explain.

You're sitting at your kitchen counter, nursing a coffee that's gone cold, wearing an old t-shirt finally having taken the shower that brought you back to feeling human even if just a bit. You read the message three times. The first time, your stomach clenches. The second time, your eyes sting. The third time, something hardens inside you—a callus forming over the wound, protective and necessary.

You type back: Nothing to explain. You're free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. We never said otherwise.

His response is immediate, like he's been waiting by his phone: can we please just talk in person?

Busy this weekend. Maybe another time.

You don't say what you're busy with. You let him imagine it. Let him picture you with Mingyu, with Soonyoung, with anyone else on your roster who isn't him. Petty? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. But the image of his hands on that cheerleader is still burned into the back of your eyelids, and you're not above making him choke on the same thing he fed you. In fact, you are right on that level.

He sends a few more messages over the next couple of days. i miss you. Read, no reply. can i see you? Read, no reply. please, baby. Read, and the baby sends a spike of something hot and sharp through your ribs, but you still don't answer.

By Monday, your responses have settled into a rhythm of sanitised politeness. When he texts how was your weekend, you reply Fine, busy with stuff and nothing more. When he sends thinking about you, you leave it on read for six hours and then respond with Hope practice is going well like he's a colleague you vaguely tolerate. The messages are so neutral and so utterly bloodless—exactly the way they used to be, back before he'd carved out a space inside you that you didn't know you'd given him. Back when he was just another name on a list, just another warm body, just another cock to chase your pleasure with and send on his way. Actually, scratch that! Back then you had it in you to be sincerely friendly and flirty, to be pleasant. Now it's just hollow.

You're trying to go back to that easiness. You're trying so fucking hard.

It's not working.

The thing nobody tells you about letting someone in is that once they're in, you can't just evict them without causing a deep wound on your heart. They leave things behind—memories, habits, reminders. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to send him a stupid meme and then remembering. You catch yourself thinking Seungcheol would laugh at this and then remembering. You catch yourself waking up in the middle of the night with your hand stretched out toward the empty side of the bed, and the cold sheets under your palm feel like a rebuke.

But you don't text him when you get the urge. You don't call even when you really want to. You don't let yourself crack, because cracking is what got you here in the first place, bleeding out from a wound you'd handed him the knife to make.

Instead, you work.

Tuesday afternoon finds you in your bedroom with the lighting adjusted and the camera rolling and Mingyu's head between your thighs, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to dimple the flesh, his tongue working your cunt with enthusiasm so strong it borders on devotional. You're propped up against your pillows, legs draped over his broad shoulders, one hand fisted in his dark hair while the other grips the sheets.

"Fuck, Gyu," you gasp, and your hips roll against his face without your permission. You know he loves that type of evidential validation mixed with verbal. "Your mouth—fuck, your mouth is so good—"

He hums against your clit, pleased, and the vibration sends a bolt of electricity straight up your spine, making you arch. His tongue is thick and relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that cover your entire cunt and sharp flicks against your swollen bud, working it in ways you never thought were possible, and he's got two fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot on your inner wall with insistent accuracy. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his fingers inside it fill the room—obscene and slurping and squelching and perfect for the camera angled at the foot of the bed.

"Taste so fucking good," he groans, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks up at you through his lashes with those eager puppy eyes that have always made you feel like the center of the universe. "Could eat this cunt forever. Swear to god."

"Don't stop," you whimper, grinding down against his face. "Please yes, more of—yes yes yes, fuck, Gyu, I'm so close—"

He doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and stroking his tongue against it while his fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, and the orgasm hits you in a sudden savage wave that makes your back arch off the mattress and your thighs clamp around his head. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming around his fingers, and he works you through it with gentle laps of his tongue until you're twitching and whimpering and pushing at his forehead with whines and pitiful helpless giggles.

"Fuck," you breathe, chest heaving, shaking with breathless laughs. "Okay. Okay, your turn."

Mingyu grins up at you, his mouth still wet with you, and crawls up your body with the kind of athletic grace that always makes your stomach flip. He's so fucking big—broad shoulders and thick arms and a chest that blocks out the light when he hovers over you—and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and his voice has gone rough with want.

"Want to ride you," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. "Want to watch your face when you fill me up."

He groans, low and wrecked, his cock twitching against his stomach where it's lying thick and flushed and already leaking. You swing a leg over his hips and position yourself above him, your hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. He's frankly bigger than Seungcheol—not as girthy maybe, but he's longer and still really thick, and that combination makes your jaw and throat ache just looking at it—and when you sink down onto him, the stretch is so intense you have to pause halfway, your breath catching in your throat.

"Easy," Mingyu murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight to support your weight. "Take your time, pretty. Don't hurt yourself."

"I can take it," you say competitively, and push down the rest of the way.

The sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, his head pressing back into the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. You brace your hands on his chest—solid muscle and warm skin that looks even hotter with his natural tan—and start to move, a slow grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.

"Hell, fucking hell," he breathes, staring up at you with glazed eyes. "You're so tight. So wet. How are you always so fucking wet?"

"Maybe you just bring it out of me," you say with a sly wink, and pick up the pace.

The rhythm builds quickly—faster, harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bedframe beneath you. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and Mingyu reaches up to cup them, thumbs circling your nipples and pinching them between his fingers until they pop out of their hiding. The dual sensation of his cock driving into you and his hands on your chest makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering for just a moment before you find it again.

"Love your curves," he grunts. "Love touching them. You're so soft and pretty, beautiful."

"Gyu—"

"Gonna come," he warns, his hips starting to buck up into you, meeting your rhythm with desperate little thrusts. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you gasp. "Cum inside me. Want to feel it."

Mingyu groans, and then he's surging up, one arm banding around your waist to pull you tight against him as he buries himself deep and comes. His cock pulses inside you so tanglibly it makes you gasp in surprise—you can never get used to that. He's flooding your cunt with hot thick cum, and the sensation of it—the warmth spreading through your belly, the way he's groaning against your shoulder like you've broken him—sends you over the edge for a second time, your cunt clamping down around his shaft and milking him through the aftershocks.

You slump against his chest, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the bruising grip he'd had on your hip a moment ago. His arms are big and warm and they wrap around you so nicely you feel yourself drift away a little.

"Good?" he asks, and there's something soft in his voice.

"Yeah," you say. "Really good."

And it was. It was good. Mingyu is always good—enthusiastic and eager and athletic in ways that leave you with jelly legs. But as you lie there, sweaty and sated and full of his cum, you can't help but notice that the hollow ache in your chest hasn't gone anywhere. It's still there, nestled behind your sternum like a stone, and no amount of orgasms seems to dislodge it.

Mingyu stays for a bit—helps you clean up, raids your fridge and yaps about his sister being a pain in his ass lately, presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves—and you let him, because Mingyu is easy and uncomplicated and he's never once looked at you like he's thinking about keeping you. But after he's gone, the apartment is too quiet yet again, and you find yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over Seungcheol's contact. It's instinct to reach of him at this point. And you're going to have a hell of a time unrooting it.

So you don't text him. You open your filming schedule instead and start filling in slots that were initially all reserved to him and him alone.

Wednesday is Soonyoung. You film a scene with him in the morning—him fucking you over your desk while the natural light streams through the window, his hips slamming against your ass with a rhythm that's part dancer's precision and part animal hunger—and then you save the footage to your hard drive without posting it. You're not sure yet what you're going to do with all this content. You just know you need to keep making it, keep stocking up, keep yourself busy enough that you don't have time to think about anything else.

"You're different today," Soonyoung says afterward, when you're both lying on your bed, cooling down. His head is propped on his hand and he's looking at you with those sharp eyes that always see more than you want them to.

"Different how?"

"I don't know." He reaches out and traces a finger down your arm, light and idle. "Quieter. More... focused."

"I'm always focused during filming, you just don't know because you never filmed with me."

"I see." He pauses, and you can feel the question coming before he asks it. "Is this about Seungcheol?"

Your jaw tightens, you can't keep the defensiveness out of your voice and you can't meet his eyes either. "Why would it be about Seungcheol?"

Soonyoung shrugs, but his gaze is still too knowing. "Word gets around. Jihoon talks to Mingyu who talks to Seungcheol, and Minghao mentioned something about you and Cheol having a thing, and then Cheol showed up to practice on Monday looking like someone kicked his puppy, and now you're filming with me on a Wednesday afternoon instead of him." He ticks the points off on his fingers and you feel increasingly more embarrassed and defensive. "I'm not stupid."

"There's no thing," you say, and your voice comes out flatter than you'd like. You know it gives you away. But with Soonyoung anything can give you away, the guy has that sixth sense on max stats. "We hook up. He hooks up with someone else, I go through my roster like I always did. That's the end of it. Nothing special. I just needed content and he was busy, so I figured I'd remember that I actually have options."

"Mhm." Soonyoung doesn't look convinced. "And how's that working out for you?"

You don't answer. Just huff in irritation and roll onto your side, facing away from him petulantly, and after a moment he sighs and presses a kiss to your shoulder and gets up to leave.

Thursday is Jihoon, quieter and more intense, his dark eyes tracking your every movement as you ride him on the couch, your hands braced on his shoulders and your head thrown back, doing your best angles for the camera. He doesn't talk as much as the others—Jihoon has always been more about action than words—but when he does speak, it's measured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back.

"You're using me," he says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation.

Your rhythm stutters. "What?"

"Using me. Using Soonyoung. Using Mingyu." His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you back into motion. "You're trying to fuck something out of your system. I get it. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever it is, don't let it eat you alive."

You stare down at him, at his steady gaze and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, and for a moment you want to tell him everything—the breakfast, the cheerleader, the way Seungcheol's messages had stopped and then started again, the way you can't close your eyes without seeing his face. But that's not what Jihoon is here for. That's not the arrangement you have.

So instead you take a mental note to cut this little moment from the footage later and then lean down and kiss him, hard and desperate, and you fuck him until neither of you can think anymore, and when he comes inside you—thick and hot, his groan muffled against your throat—you let the sensation drown out everything else for a few blessed seconds.

Afterwards, you add his footage to the growing folder on your hard drive. You still don't know if you'll post any of it.

Friday morning, you meet Wonwoo and Minghao at the campus coffee shop—it is cramped and small, tucked between the library and the humanities building, with exposed brick interior and stylish mismatched chairs and the constant hiss of the coffee machine. It's early, the sun is still watery and pale through the windows, and you're on your second almond latte by the time they both arrive.

Minghao slides into the seat across from you with that fluid grace that always makes you feel vaguely graceless in comparison. Wonwoo settles beside him, more reserved, setting his coffee down with the careful precision of someone who's never spilled or knocked off a thing in his life.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to fill a novel.

"So," you echo, and take a pointed sip of your latte, aiming for something nonchalant and lazy.

"We heard," Wonwoo says, and his voice is mild but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. He begins to list off, matching your vibe. "About last week. Soonyoung and Jihoon. Then this Tuesday with Mingyu… and Wednesday with Soonyoung, and Thursday with… Jihoon again, I believe."

"Ah." You set your cup down, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "That."

"Yeah, that." Minghao leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. "Care to tell us what happened? Because last we talked, you were doing the emotional constipation dance about Seungcheol, and now suddenly you're having threesomes like it's second year again."

You shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of brittle. "Nothing to tell. I wanted to film content, Seungcheol was busy, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon instead. And Mingyu, he wanted to be in one of my videos for a long time now anyway. It's not a big deal."

"Seungcheol was busy," Wonwoo repeats, and his tone is dryer than the Sahara.

"Apparently."

"Busy with what?"

"I don't know, Wonwoo. I didn't ask." You pick up your almond milk latte again, more for something to do with your hands than because you actually want more caffeine. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is that I remembered I have options. I've got a whole roster of people who are more than willing to help me out, and I don't need to wait around for one guy to make time for me. That's the whole point of the roster. That's literally why I built it."

Minghao and Wonwoo exchange a glance—another one of those silent, loaded looks that you've come to recognise as their wordless way of saying she's full of shit. You hate when they do it in front of you.

"You saw him with someone else, didn't you," Minghao says. It's not a question.

Your jaw tightens. "Who told you?"

"No one. I'm just good at guessing." He tilts his head, his earrings catching the light. "Also, you're doing that thing where you pretend you don't care, but you're gripping your cup so hard your knuckles are white."

You look down. Your knuckles are, indeed, white. You force your fingers to relax.

"It's fine," you say, sounding so much steadier than you feel. You're almost proud of it. "We weren't exclusive. We were never exclusive. He can fuck whoever he wants. I can fuck whoever I want. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."

"Except that's not how it's been working," Wonwoo says quietly. "Not for months. You stopped seeing most of your roster. He stopped seeing anyone but you. You were spending weekends together and holding hands in cafes and—"

"And none of that meant anything," you cut in, sharper than you intended to allow yourself to. "Clearly. Because the second he thought I wasn't available, he found a freshman cheerleader to stick his tongue down her throat. Which is fine. It's totally fine. I'm not upset about it."

"You're definitely upset about it," Minghao says.

"I'm not."

"You're doing the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a—" Your back goes stiff and your voice begins to raise and you immediately stop, exhale hard through your nose. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I was upset. I was upset for like, a few hours. And then I got over it, because I remembered that I don't do relationships and I don't do feelings and I don't need some guy to validate my existence. It was just a good reminder of that, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon, and Mingyu because I wanted to have a good time, and I had a good time, and that's the end of it. Can we please talk about something else now?"

There's a pause. Minghao is looking at you with something that's equal parts exasperation and affection, and Wonwoo is doing that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose and says nothing but somehow communicates everything.

"You know it's okay to be hurt, right?" Wonwoo says eventually. "You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to want things. Pretending you don't isn't going to make it hurt less."

"It'll make it hurt less than the alternative."

"The alternative being... what? Actually admitting you care about him?"

"Admitting I care about him and then getting my heart broken when he inevitably gets bored or finds someone better or decides I'm not worth the hassle." The words come out before you can think better of it, ugly and honest in a way you haven't let yourself be all week. "That's how it goes. That's how it always goes. People leave. People get tired of you. People decide you're too much work or too much drama or too much whatever, and they leave. And I'm not—I can't—"

Your voice cracks. You stop, swallow hard, and stare at the dregs of your latte like they might contain the answers to the universe. No crying in public, no crying in public, no crying in public no crying in—

Minghao's hand covers yours on the table. His fingers are cool and soft, the rings on them pressing into your skin.

"He's not your bullies from middle school," he says quietly. "He's not your fake friends from high school or the ones who left when you started becoming more of yourself and less of what everyone thought you should be. He's not any of the people who hurt you before. He's Seungcheol. And I told you—he's disgustingly earnest. He's probably been moping all week."

"Then why did he stop texting me?" The question comes out smaller than you want it to, more vulnerable. "Why did he just—disappear for days and then I find him with someone else?"

"I don't know," Minghao admits. "But I think maybe you should ask him instead of trying to fuck the hurt away."

You pull your hand out from under his and cross your arms. "I'm not trying to fuck the hurt away. I'm filming content. It's what I do. My subscribers have been asking for variety."

"Uh huh." Wonwoo's tone is still bone-dry. He's so unimpressed with your antics you begin to feel remotely embarrassed. "And the fact that you've filmed with three different people in the past week and posted none of it?"

"I'm stocking up."

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not."

"You're a mess," Minghao says, but his voice is fond. "A complete and total mess. And we love you anyway."

You want to argue. You want to tell them they're wrong, that you're fine, that you're in complete control of your life and your emotions and your roster. But the words won't come, because they're not wrong, and you're so tired of pretending you're not exhausted.

"If he knows about Friday," you say instead, quieter, "if Soonyoung and Jihoon talked and Mingyu talked and everyone talked... Seungcheol knows too, doesn't he."

"Probably," Wonwoo says. "That group gossips worse than a knitting circle."

Something flickers in your chest—grim satisfaction, maybe, or something darker. You think about Seungcheol hearing about your threesome or any later encounter. You think about him picturing you with Soonyoung and Jihoon. You think about the possessive, territorial thing that lives inside him, the caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu and pressed you against a door and told you you were his.

You want to let him choke on it. Let him feel even a fraction of what you felt when you saw his hands on that cheerleader.

But the satisfaction curdles almost as soon as it arrives, leaving behind the same hollow ache that's been living in your chest since Friday afternoon. It doesn't feel like victory. It just feels like more of the same emptiness, dressed up in different clothes.

You leave the coffee shop with a promise to actually study this weekend instead of just doing it for the sake of distraction and you walk back to your apartment through the thin autumn sunshine, your hands shoved in your pockets and your head full of noise.

That night, you film a solo scene with your favourite vibrator, and you come twice with your face pressed into the pillow that still somehow smells like Seungcheol, and when you're done you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling and try very hard not to think about anything at all.

By the end of the next week, you've stockpiled enough content to keep your subscribers happy for a few months on end. Solo scenes, paired scenes, one threesome footage that you still haven't decided whether to post or delete entirely. Your hard drive is full, your body is sore in ways that should be satisfying, and you're still waking up every morning with the same dull ache behind your sternum, the same reflexive reach for your phone, the same disappointment when the only messages are from people who aren't him.

You're handling it. You're fine. You're the campus gooner dream, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care about anyone or anything, and you've got a roster full of gorgeous men who are more than happy to fill whatever role you need them to fill.

But at night, when the camera is off and the only thing in your bed is the memory of his arms around you, you press your face into that stupid pillow and you breathe in the fading scent of his shampoo and perfume and you wonder if he's thinking about you too.

You don't text him. You don't call. You don't crack.

But you want to. God, you want to.

And that's the worst part of all.

You've been live for forty-three minutes when the apartment door opens.

The stream started simple enough—you, your bedroom, the soft amber glow of the ring light you've positioned just off-frame, and the familiar hum of arousal building slow and honey-thick in your lower belly. You'd announced the stream on Twitter an hour before going live, a casual "come keep me company tonight?" with a photo of yourself in the black lace set that always drives your subscribers feral, the one with the filthy cutouts that frame your nipples and leave very little to the imagination. By the time you hit "Start Streaming," you'd already amassed a waiting room of nearly two thousand people, their usernames scrolling past in a blur of anticipation.

Now that number has swelled past five thousand, the chat flying at a pace that makes it nearly impossible to read individual messages, and you're sprawled across your bed in a pose that's equal parts lazy and calculated—propped against your pillows, legs spread just enough to show the damp spot darkening the centre of your panties, one hand trailing idly up and down your stomach while you read comments aloud in the breathy, teasing voice that's become your signature.

"Is that new lingerie? It's so pretty on you." You read it with a small, pleased smile, tilting your head toward the camera. "It's not new, actually. Had this set for a while. Just don't wear it often because—" you pluck at the waistband of your thong, letting it snap back against your hip, “—it's a pain to take off and put on. Too many little straps." A pause, a knowing glance at the lens. "But I figured you guys were worth the effort."

The chat explodes with heart emojis and flame emojis and a flood of tips that make your phone buzz on the nightstand. You let your smile curve wider, genuine despite yourself, because this part never gets old—the rush of being wanted, the validation of knowing thousands of people are getting off to you right now, the power of it.

"Let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the comments with your free hand. "What else are we talking about tonight?"

"Posted the new guy video finally I see"

"Ah, yeah." You stretch, arching your back just enough to make your tits press against the lace, and catch the way your nipples are already tightening beneath the fabric. "Posted that one on Tuesday. You guys seemed to like it—the views went kind of insane, actually. What did you think?"

A cascade of responses floods the chat. "He's so big" / "New daddy??" / "Where's the original daddy tho" / "Love seeing you with new people" / "When is Seungcheol coming back????" / "No one fucks you like he does" / "are you two still together??"

The mention of his name lands like a papercut—small, sharp, surprisingly painful. You've gotten better at not reacting, but you still feel the way your smile tightens at the corners, the way your hand pauses mid-stroke on your stomach. You've been seeing his name in the comments all week, ever since the Mingyu video dropped. Some of your viewers are obsessively loyal to him, the way people get attached to characters in a show they've been watching for months, and they've been demanding to know when he's coming back, why you're filming with other people, whether something happened between you.

You can't tell them the truth. You can barely admit the truth to yourself.

"We're mixing things up," you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere luckily close enough. "I was starting to feel like my content was getting a little stale, you know? Same angles, same faces. Figured variety would be good for everyone." You let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing over the damp spot on your panties, and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Mingyu was fun, right? He's got great energy. And there's someone else who's been wanting to film for ages, so you might see him soon too, we already recorded some stuff."

"But what about Seungcheol??" / "We miss daddy" / "Is he still on the roster or what" / "You two were so hot together please say he's coming back"

Your jaw tightens. You keep your expression pleasant through sheer force of will help of god. "Seungcheol's great," you say, and you feel like you swallowed some sludge and now the remnants of it won't wash off your tongue. "We're still... we're still friends. He's just busy with rugby stuff. You know how it is." You shrug, a little too casual. "I'm not his only priority. He's got a lot going on."

You don't say he's got a freshman cheerleader to keep him occupied. You don't say he stopped texting me after the best weekend of my life and then I caught him with his hand up someone else's skirt. And you certainly don't say I can't close my eyes without seeing his face and I hate him for it and I miss him so much I feel like I'm drowning.

You just smile, and reach for the vibrator on your nightstand, and say, "Anyway. Enough about boys who aren't here. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do tonight."

The chat, mercifully, lets you redirect. Questions pour in—"Are you going to use the pink one?" / "Please ride the dildo we never see you ride it anymore :(" / "Show us how wet you are first" / "Can you talk about what you think about when you touch yourself"—and you let yourself sink back into the performance, the familiar rhythm of teasing and pleasing and giving them just enough to keep them begging for more.

You're forty minutes in when it happens.

You've worked yourself up slowly, deliberately, drawing it out because you know the anticipation drives your tips up. Your panties are soaked through now, the dark lace glistening with wetness and clinging to your cunt, and you've pushed the cups of your bra down so your tits spill over the top, your nipples hard and sensitive from the cool air of the bedroom. You've got the vibrator pressed against your inner thigh, not quite where you need it, and you're reading a particularly unhinged comment about what someone wants to do to you while you trace lazy circles on your clit through the fabric.

"Someone's feeling creative tonight," you're saying through a chuckle, your voice a little breathier than it was before, a little more genuine. "This one says they want to—"

The apartment door opens.

You hear it clearly over the music—the click of the lock disengaging, the soft creak of hinges, the heavy footsteps in your entryway, the door shutting closed—and your entire body goes rigid. Your heart lurches into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system before your brain has time to catch up, and for one wild, stupid second you think someone's breaking in—

And then you remember.

The key.

Your key. The spare you'd given him months ago, in a moment of trust you'd never quite been able to bring yourself to revoke, not even during the worst of the silence. The key he's never used without asking before, because Seungcheol, for all his possessive caveman tendencies, has always been careful about your boundaries. Has always been respectful. Has always waited for you to invite him in.

Until now, apparently.

Your head snaps toward the bedroom doorway just as he appears in it—broad and solid and so fucking familiar it makes your chest ache. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is damp, pushed back off his forehead like he just showered. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, like he ran here, like he saw your notification and didn't stop to think before coming over.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes sweep over you—sprawled on the bed in your ruined lingerie, vibrator in hand, five thousand people watching—with an expression that's equal parts hunger and something softer that looks terrifyingly like hope.

"Started without me," he says, and his voice is casual, almost lazy, but you can hear the tension underneath it. "That's cold, baby."

You glare at him.

You don't mean to. You know, on some distant rational level, that you should be performing right now—should be pasting on a smile, feigning pleasant surprise, playing the role of the girl who's delighted her favourite co-star has shown up unannounced. But your body reacts before your brain can intervene, and the look you throw him is pure venom, scorching and clawing and full of every single thing you've been choking on for the past weeks.

The chat notices.

"LMAOOO THAT LOOK" / "she's PISSED" / "wait is there drama??" / "omg did they break up???" / "She looks like she wants to murder him" / "DADDY'S BACK THOUGH" / "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY"

You don't read any of it. Your eyes are locked on Seungcheol, and he's staring right back at you, and the air between you is so thick with unspoken things you could cut it with a knife and still choke on it. His jaw tightens at your glare—he saw it, he definitely saw it—but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed with that easy, rolling gait that's always made your mouth water, and your traitorous cunt clenches around nothing even as your hands itch to curl into fists.

"What are you doing here," you say, and it comes out flat, barely a question.

"Saw you were live." He settles onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there, like he's never left, like the past three weeks haven't happened. His eyes flick to the camera, then back to you, and his mouth curves into that half-smile that makes his dimple appear. "Thought I'd keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"

You mind. You mind so fucking much. But he's already turning to the camera, already addressing your audience with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much they love him, and you're trapped—because if you tell him to leave now, if you cause a scene on camera, the questions will never stop. The speculation will explode. Every single person watching will know something is wrong, and the carefully constructed narrative you've been maintaining—we're still friends, he's just busy, nothing happened—will crumble like wet paper.

"Of course not," you manage, and your voice is almost steady. Almost. "Wasn't expecting you, that's all."

"That's the point of a surprise." He leans closer, close enough that you can smell him—soap and something woodsy, the cologne he's worn as long as you've known him—and your stomach flips. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, and the gentleness of it makes your throat tight. "Missed you," he murmurs low enough that the camera might not catch it.

You want to bite his hand. You want to press your face into his palm and cry. You want to scream at him until your voice gives out and then kiss him until neither of you can breathe.

You do none of those things. You just hold his gaze, and let him see the hurt still simmering there, and say nothing.

The chat, oblivious to the nuances of your silent standoff, is losing its collective mind.

"THE WAY HE TOUCHED HER FACE" / "i'm literally crying they're so cute" / "MISSED YOU 😭😭😭" / "He's so down bad for her look at those eyes" / "Why does she look like she's about to cry though" / "maybe she's just emotional" / "DADDY CAME HOME" / "fuck her already PLEASE" / 'I'm throwing money at the screen TAKE IT" / "someone tipped $100 Imaoooooo"

Seungcheol glances at the chat scrolling on the monitor positioned just off-camera, and his smile widens. "You guys are really excited, huh? Been a while since I was on one of these."

A fresh explosion of caps-lock and emojis. He reads a few aloud, his voice dropping into that lower register he uses when he's playing up the Daddy persona for the audience—"We missed you, Daddy", "Please never leave again", "The content hasn't been the same without you”—and you watch him work with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. He's good at this. He's always been good at this. The persona fits him like a second skin, and the viewers eat it up, and somewhere beneath the anger you remember that the first time you ever filmed together, he'd been so nervous his hands had shaken. He'd hidden it well, but you'd felt the tremor in his fingers when he'd touched you, and you'd thought—Oh. He's not just doing this for the camera experience. He actually wants it for me.

You'd been so naive. So willing to believe.

“—right, baby?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, realizing he's asked you a question you didn't hear.

"What?"

"I said, you've been having fun without me, haven't you? New videos. New faces." His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes are dark and serious, searching your face for something you're not sure you want him to find. "Mingyu, huh? That's who you replaced me with?"

"I didn't replace you." It comes out colder than you intended, and you see his expression flicker—hurt, maybe, or guilt, or both. You force yourself to soften, to remember the camera, to remember the thousands of people watching this exchange with bated breath. "I told everyone earlier. I'm just mixing things up. Variety is good for content."

"Variety." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes the chat go wild with speculation. You need to do something—need to take control of the situation before it spirals into territory you can't recover from—so you do the only thing you can think of. You reach for him.

Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, and you pull him toward you with more force than necessary, your mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, his hands coming up to grip your hips, and then he's kissing you back just as hard, just as desperate, the familiar slide of his tongue against yours sending a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. And you feel the unwanted relief of something tight loosening in your chest just enough to allow you an easier breath.

The chat goes absolutely feral.

"FUCK YES" / "FINALLYYYYY" / "That was so aggressive Imaooooo" / "she's marking her territory" / "THE TENSION WAS INSANE" / "I'm so hard rn" / "look at the way he grabbed her" / "they're literally made for each other" / "DADDY IS HOME"

Your entire world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of his body pressing you back against the pillows, the way his hands are already sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts where they're still spilling out of your bra. He kisses you like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger, and you hate how much you've missed this, hate how your body responds to him on instinct, hate that even now—even after everything—your thighs are falling open to make room for him as he leans you backwards onto the mattress and your hips are rocking up to meet the bulge already straining against his sweatpants.

But you don't relax into it the way you usually do. You can't. Every time you start to soften, to yield, your brain supplies an image—his hand under that cheerleader's skirt, his mouth on her neck, his voice rough with arousal as he told her don't stop—and the rage spikes fresh and hot in your chest, and your fingers curl into claws against his back.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving. "Baby—"

"Don't." You don't know what you're warning him against. Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend nothing happened. You just know you can't hear his voice say your name right now without shattering.

His jaw tightens, but he nods, just barely. "Okay." He kisses your forehead, soft and careful, and it makes your eyes sting. "Okay. Whatever you need."

What you need is for him to hurt the way you've been hurting. What you need is for him to understand what he did to you. What you need is for him to hold you and never let go and promise that he'll never, ever put his hands on someone else again.

You can't say any of that. So instead you kiss him again, and this time you bite his lower lip. Hard.

He hisses, his whole body tensing, and you taste copper—the bright, metallic tang of blood welling up where your teeth broke the delicate skin. His doe eyes fly open, dark and shocked, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't push you off. Just stares at you with something that looks almost like understanding, his tongue darting out to touch the small wound, smearing red across his lip.

"Okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I deserve that."

You don't answer. You just sink your nails into his back and drag them down, hard enough to leave raised red lines that' probably bruise by morning, and he groans—a low, wrecked sound that's half pain and half pleasure—and buries his face in your neck.

"Whatever you need," he repeats against your skin, and his voice is ragged now, strained with something that sounds a lot like guilt. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You want to scream at him. You left! You stopped texting. You had your hands all over some freshman bitch with a ponytail and you didn't even think about me! But the words won't come, stuck somewhere between your throat and your tongue, so instead you dig your nails in harder and feel the way his muscles jump beneath his skin, and you tell yourself this is enough. This is revenge. This is you hurting him the way he hurt you.

It doesn't feel like revenge. It just feels like more of the same hollow ache masterfully masked yet again.

"Okay is it just me or is this really intense" / "She's literally clawing him up" / "the way he's just taking it though" / "what the hell happened between them" / "I feel like I'm watching something private" / "this is hotter than any porn or sex scene i've ever watched or read" / "the tension is INSANE" / "why am i crying"

Seungcheol lifts his head from your neck and looks at you. His lip is still bleeding, a small bead of red welling up and threatening to drip down his chin right before he licks it off, and his back is on fire from the scratches you've carved into it, and his eyes are so soft, so impossibly tender, that it makes your chest crack open.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words are barely a whisper, meant only for you. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I was stupid and scared and I fucked up, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to be angry, but please—please just let me—"

"Stop." Your voice comes out broken, cracking in the middle. "Don't. I can't—"

"You can." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that your eyes flood with tears. But you stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything. You built this whole life from nothing, you made yourself into exactly who you wanted to be, and you don't need anyone, and I love that about you. I love everything about you. I love the way you laugh and the way you get excited when you eat good food and the way you get competitive about getting stupid little facts exactly right and the way you frown when you're focused and so many other little things. I love you. I've loved you since the first time you let me stay the night, and I was too scared to say it because I didn't think you'd want to hear it, because I thought I was just a name on your list, just a warm body, just someone you'd get bored of eventually—"

"You stopped texting me," you choke out, and the tears are falling now, hot and fast, tracking mascara down your cheeks. "You stopped texting me and then I saw you with her, I saw your hands on her, I saw—"

"I know." His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I was scared. Sunday was—Sunday was the best day of my life, and then Monday you went back to being casual, and I thought—l thought that after all it meant nothing to you. I thought I meant nothing to you. And I just—I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to stop hurting for five minutes. She was there, and she was easy, and she wasn't you, and I couldn't even—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. You left and I stopped. I felt sick. Because she wasn't you. No one is you."

You stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving. "You didn't sleep with her?"

"No." Seungcheol shakes his head, emphatic, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "No, baby, I didn't. I couldn't. The whole time I was just thinking about you. About how much I wished it was you. About how I'd ruined everything with you because I was too fucking scared to just openly tell you how I felt." He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for almost a year. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and I know you've got your rules and your roster and your whole thing about not catching feelings, and if you don't want me like that, if you just want this to be sex, l'll take whatever you'll give me. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel it. Not after Sunday. Not after I got to have you like that and then I thought l'd lost you."

The chat is going absolutely berserk at this point.

"OH MY GOD" / "HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER" / "THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER WITNESSED" / "I'M LITERALLY SOBBING" / "HE DIDNT SLEEP WITH THE OTHER GIRL" / "what other girl????" / "SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE LORE" / "she's crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "CONFESSION ON LIVE CAMERA" / "this is better than a drama" / "I'm screen recording this for posterity" / "THEY'RE SO IN LOVE IT HURTS" / "look at the way he's holding her face" / "DADDY IS GONE THIS IS JUST A MAN IN LOVE" / "$500 tip HOLY SHIT"

You don't see any of it. Your world has narrowed to the man above you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wet and earnest and terrified. The man who washed your hair and held your hand and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the centre of the universe. The man who hurt you, yes, but who's hurting too—who's been hurting this whole time, just as lost and scared and stupid as you've been.

"You love me," you whisper, tasting the words.

"I love you," he confirms, and his voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I did the dumbest thing I've ever done because I thought you didn't love me back. And if you don't—if you can't—l understand. But needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, at least once, even if it's in front of five thousand strangers."

A wet, hiccuping laugh escapes your throat. You glance at the monitor. "Six thousand. And climbing."

He blinks, then turns to look at it too. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, fuck."

"Yeah." You reach up and wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, smearing mascara across your knuckles and your cheeks. "We just did this on camera."

"We really did."

"Everyone saw."

"No doubt."

You should probably be mortified and scrambling to shut off the stream, to salvage some shred of privacy, to reclaim control of a situation that's spiralled completely out of your hands. But instead, you just feel... lighter. Like something that's been pressing on your chest for two weeks has finally lifted, and you can breathe again, really breathe, for the first time in days.

"I love you too," you say, and it's so scary to confess to it that your gut twists in a knot. "I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. It just happened and when I noticed it was already too late. I was just too scared to say it. I thought if I said it, you'd leave."

"I'm not leaving." His voice is fierce, almost angry and his big arms wrap tighter around you, as if you could escape. "I'm not everyone. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that on Sunday, and I meant it. I've got you. I'm always going to have you, if you'll let me. And I'm sorry that I made you doubt it but I'm not going anywhere anymore, just say the word."

"Even when I'm a disaster?"

"Especially when you're a disaster." He kisses your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose. "I love the disaster. I love the mess. I love all of it. I love you."

The chat, which you've been ignoring for several minutes now, is still scrolling at a pace that makes it totally unreadable now.

"THEY SAID I LOVE YOU" / "I'M CRYING IN THE CLUB RN" / "this is the most unhinged livestream i've ever watched and i've been subbed for 2 years" / "FROM CLAWING HIM UP TO LOVE CONFESSIONS" / "the emotional whiplash" / "SO ARE THEY TOGETHER NOW???" / "ask her to be your girlfriend COWARD" / "We just witnessed history" / "someone please tell me they're recording this" / "I'm never going to recover from this" / "BEST LIVESTREAM OF ALL TIME"

Seungcheol glances at the monitor and snorts at something he catches there. "They're telling me to ask you to be my girlfriend."

"Well," you say, and your voice is still watery but there's a smile tugging at your lips now, small and tentative but real, "are you going to?"

He looks back at you, and the expression on his face is so open, so hopeful, so overflowing with love—his baby cow eyes staring at you so intently—that it makes your heart stutter. "Will you? Be my girlfriend? For real this time? No roster, no rules, no pretending we're just casual?"

"Yes." The response comes out before you can overthink it, before you can second-guess, before the fear can creep back in and steal your voice. "Yes, Cheol. I want to be yours. I've wanted to be yours for a while, I just didn't have the courage."

The smile that breaks across his face is so bright it nearly blinds you. His dimples appear like a secret, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks so genuinely, incandescently happy with that gummy smile of his that it makes your chest ache in the best possible way and you can't help a responding smile that finds its way to your lips.

"She said yes," he announces to your viewers, like it's a victory, like he's just won the championship and the world cup all at once. "Did you hear that? She said yes!"

The chat erupts.

"SHE SAID YES" / "WE HEARD WE ALL HEARD" / "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE" / "CONGRATULATIONS DADDY YOU DID IT" / "from toxic situationship to marriage in one livestream" / "I'm throwing a virtual wedding RIGHT NOW" / "FINALLY OMFG" / "the slow burn paid off y'all" / "I've been subscribed for 18 months and this is the most satisfying conclusion I could have imagined" / "they're both crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "SOMEONE CLIP THAT" / "this is going to go viral omg"

You laugh, and Seungcheol laughs with you, and then he's kissing you again—soft this time, gentle, mindful of his split lip—and you're melting into him the way you always do, the way you only ever do for him.

"We should probably," you murmur against his mouth, "acknowledge the fact that we just trauma-dumped our entire relationship drama in front of six thousand people."

"Seven thousand now actually," he corrects, and his voice is sheepish but still giddy. "And I think there's more coming in."

"Oh my god."

"It's fine." He kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls back to look at the camera. "Hey, everyone. Thanks for witnessing my emotional breakdown, I guess. Sorry it wasn't sexier."

"Speak for yourself," you mutter loud enough for the stream to catch, and he laughs again, that bright boyish laugh that makes your heart do backflips and somersaults.

The chat, predictably, disagrees with his assessment.

"This was the sexiest thing I've ever seen and it wasn't even sex" / "emotional vulnerability IS sexy" / "you apologized and confessed your feelings that's better than porn" / "We still want to see you fuck though" / "yeah don't think you're off the hook" / "now that you're officially together give us the makeup sex" / "MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX"

Seungcheol reads the last few comments and raises an eyebrow at you. "They have a point."

You roll your eyes, but the heat is already starting to pool in your belly again, slow and sweet, accelerated by this dopamine rush you just unleashed onto yourselves, your body remembering that you were worked up before all of this started and Seungcheol is still here, still solid and warm and now he's also yours, finally fully all yours. "You're insatiable."

"For you? Always." He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. "But if you want to stop the stream, we can. Whatever you want."

You consider it. Your makeup is ruined, your emotions are raw, and you've just exposed the most vulnerable parts of your relationship to an audience of thousands. The sensible thing would be to end the stream, crawl under the covers with him, and figure out the rest in private.

But then you look at him—his swollen lip, his flushed cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—and you think, fuck it. You've never been very good at being sensible anyway.

"Let's give them what they want," you tell him, and your voice comes out husky. "If I am going all in then it's all in."

His eyes darken. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You reach for the hem of his hoodie and tug it upward until he's forced to take it off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, some fresh bruises from the drills, the fresh red scratches you've just carved into his back. Fuck you missed him like that so much. The urge to crawl under his skin and curl there is gnawing at your sanity. "Show them how you love me. Show them you're mine."

"I'm yours," he agrees, and his voice is a growl now, rough with renewed want. "Always been yours. Always will be."

He captures your mouth in another kiss, and this one is different—deeper, hungrier, the apology and the confession giving way to something more primal and soothingly familiar. His hands find your hips and pull you against him, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath his sweatpants, pressing insistently against your thigh. Your cunt throbs in response, already soaked, already aching for him, and you moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair that already dried up.

The chat, which has been demanding makeup sex for the past ten minutes, gets exactly what it asked for.

Seungcheol strips you out of your lingerie with reverent hands, his mouth following every inch of newly exposed skin—your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the sensitive undersides where his tongue traces patterns that make you shiver. He takes his time with your nipples, sucking them out of their shy inverted state until they're hard and pebbled and glistening with his spit, and you arch into his mouth with breathy gasps and tiny needy mewls that the camera definitely picks up.

"Love your tits," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are familiar, a call-back to every other time he's said them, but tonight they land differently. Tonight they feel like a premise to something so much bigger than just an arrangement. "Love how responsive you are. Love how you moan for me."

"Cheol—"

"Shh." He kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I missed you."

He settles between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and looks at your cunt with the kind of reverent hunger that always makes your breath catch. You're dripping, your folds slick and puffy and flushed, your clit a hard little pearl peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. He runs a finger through your wetness, spreading it around, and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he's tasting the sweetest syrup on earth.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Missed this. Missed your taste. Missed the way you get so wet for me."

"Then stop talking and eat my pussy," you manage, and your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper even though you aimed for something more smug and commanding. Still, it doesn't fail to make him get to work.

Seungcheol grins, feral and sharp. "Yes, ma'am."

His mouth descends on your cunt, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your hips bucking against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration travelling straight through your sensitive flesh. His tongue is thick and clever as always, alternating between plunging into your hole and flicking against your clit, and he's alternating it with wet smooches and filthy slurps, and his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open against his face like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there, like he always does.

"So fucking good," he grunts, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Best pussy I've ever tasted. Best pussy in the world. My pussy."

"Yours," you gasp, and the word feels different now, heavier, more real. Certainly real, not just cheap dirty talk to throw around. And the notion turns you on so much more. "Yours, Cheol, always yours—"

He groans against your clit, and the sound is so unrestrained, so desperate, that it sends you toward the edge like a speeding freight train going off rails. Your fingers fist in his hair and your thighs clamp around his head so hard you're briefly scared that you're either going to strangle him or squish his scull but the thought is fleeting. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming against his tongue while he works you through it, gentler now, lapping at your oversensitive flesh until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away.

Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your wetness, his swollen lip beaded with fresh blood from where his mouth stretched too wide. He looks up at you with eyes that are practically black, and the sight of him—ruined by just having you and so beautiful in his want and all yours—makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his knees. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, a dark wet spot where his precum has soaked through the gray fabric. "Now I'm gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good and reclaim this pretty pussy. Gonna make sure everyone watching knows exactly who you belong to."

"Already know," you breathe. "Already yours. Just—please, Cheol, please fuck me—"

Seungcheol doesn't make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock, too desperate to care for full undressing. You've seen him so many times and yet the sight of him thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, fat girthy inches of pure, aching need—never fails to make you salivate. He positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you're so wet that he slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your waiting cunt without any resistance.

The sound you both make is obscene—a shared groan that fills the room, fills the stream, fills the ears of eight thousand people who are absolutely losing their minds in the chat.

"FINALLYYYYY THE MAIN EVENT" / "the way he just slid in so easy she was so ready" / "THAT GROAN" / "I need a cold shower after that" / "they're so in love and so hot at the same time" / "this is the best livestream in the history of onlyfans" / "DADDY IS BACK FOR REAL THIS TIME" / "look at how he's looking at her" / "I don't know whether to swoon or be a horndog" / "I'm never going to emotionally recover from this stream"

"I love you," Seungcheol says, and the words are strained, his hips already starting to move in slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. "I love you, I love you, I love you-"

"I love you too," you gasp, your legs wrapping and locking around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Love you so much, Cheol, please don't stop—"

"Not stopping." He punctuates the promise with a harder thrust, and you moan, your back arching off the bed, feeling the sweet sparks building back up in your belly. "Never leaving. Never letting you go. You're mine. You're finally mine."

He fucks you like he means it—deep and steady and devastatingly thorough, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every stroke, his cock filling you so completely that you can feel him in your throat. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room—the slick squelch of your cunt, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the broken praise falling from both your lips. He tells you you're beautiful, tells you you're perfect, tells you you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, and you sob your agreement into his mouth, your orgasm building at the base of your spine like a tidal wave.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Cheol, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby." His thumb finds your clit and presses down in tight, perfect circles. "Cream on my cock. Show me you're mine."

You shatter.

The orgasm is crushing—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.

"Gonna fill you up," he grits out. "Gonna cum inside you, baby, gonna pump you so full—"

"Do it," you gasp. "Please, Cheol, please do it inside me, want to feel it—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's burying himself deep and cumming, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps rope after rope of hot, thick spend against your walls. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—sends you over the edge for a third time, a smaller but no less intense orgasm that makes your pussy milk him dry.

He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you wrap your arms around him and hold on.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You just lie there, tangled together, his cock still lodged deep inside you, his cum slowly leaking out around his shaft. His breath is warm against your neck, and his heart is pounding against your ribs in sync with yours, and you can feel every inch of him, solid and real and here.

"We should probably," he says eventually, his voice muffled against your skin, "check the chat."

"Mm." You don't move. "Do we have to?"

"I think we broke them."

"Probably."

He lifts his head to look at the monitor, and his expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, amusement, something that might be embarrassment because his ears begin to turn bright pink. "Uh. There are ten thousand people watching."

"What?"

"Well… ten thousand. And climbing."

You turn your head to look at the monitor, and sure enough, the view count is sitting at 10,247, and the chat is scrolling so fast it's barely legible.

"THEY'RE DONE" / "that was the hottest thing i've ever gooned to" / "HE CAME INSIDE HER" / "I'm crying and horny at the same time" / "This was better than any movie" / "FROM EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN TO LOVE CONFESSION TO MAKEOUT TO SEX" / "I'm subscribing for life" / "congrats on the sex and the relationship" / "they're just lying there now" / "look at them they're so cute" / "post-fuck cuddling is what we deserve yes"

You laugh at that last one you manage to catch, and the sound is breathless and giddy and maybe a little hysterical. "We just livestreamed our entire relationship drama and then had makeup sex in front of ten thousand people."

"We did," Seungcheol agrees. He looks down at you, his expression soft and wondering. "Any regrets?"

You consider it. You think about the roster, the rules, the walls you've spent three years building. You think about the girls who whisper when you walk past, the boyfriends who look too long, the reputation and a character that's defined you for so long you almost forgot there was a person underneath it. You think about that Sunday morning, the cafe, the way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. And you think about tonight—the confession, the tears, the way he'd let you claw him almost bloody and then held you anyway. The way he'd had ten thousand strangers witness him telling you he loved you and didn't care who heard it. The way he's looking at you right now, like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"None," you say, and mean it. "No regrets."

"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet, mindful of his split lip. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You reach up and touch his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his dimple. "I believe you."

And you do. You really, really do.

He pulls out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of his cum sliding down your thighs. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth while you show off for your audience—a little lazy because your bones are all jelly and very smug because you always love to brag about what Seungcheol does to you—and he cleans you up with the same gentle thoroughness he used on your face that Friday night when he brought you home after that party.

"Alright," he says when he's done, turning to the camera with his best captain-of-the-rugby-team authority, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he's still half-naked and his lip is swollen and his ears are actually burning bright red now that everything's catching up to him. "Show's over. Go drink some water. Go to sleep. We'll see you next time."

You tug him back down to the bed, curling into his side, your head on his chest. "Yeah," you add, addressing the camera with a smile that's genuine for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for witnessing our emotional carnage. Sorry it wasn't the usual programming. We'll be back to regularly scheduled filth soon."

"Very soon," Seungcheol murmurs, and you elbow him in the ribs.

The chat protests, as expected—a flood of "NOOOOO" and "DON'T GO" and "STREAM FOREVER" and "THIS WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"—but you just laugh and blow them a kiss and reach for the laptop.

"Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for being here. Love you all."

"WE LOVE YOU TOO" / "GOODNIGHT DADDY AND DADDY'S GIRLFRIEND" / "this was unironically the best livestream i've ever watched" / "CONGRATS ON THE RELATIONSHIP" / "see you next time!!" / "sweet dreams you two" / "I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM"

You switch off the stream.

The silence that follows is sudden and absolute, broken only by the sound of both of you breathing, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft rustle of sheets as he pulls you closer. The ring light is still glowing, casting warm amber shadows across the ceiling, and you should turn it off, clean up properly, do a dozen different things that feel very far away right now.

"I love you," Seungcheol says into the quiet, and his voice is soft, private, meant only for you.

"I love you too," you whisper back. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

"Don't apologize." His hand traces lazy patterns on your spine, the same way it always does, and your eyes flutter closed. "We got there in the end. That's what matters."

"The end," you repeat, and the word feels strange to your ear. You wouldn't call it an ending, really. A beginning—yes. The start of something new and terrifying and maybe—probably—the best thing you've ever been brave enough to try.

"The beginning," he corrects, as if reading your mind. "This is just the beginning, baby. We've got a lot more mornings to figure out."

Your throat tightens. You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—fresh sweat and soap and home—and let yourself believe it.

"Stay," you murmur, already half-asleep. "Stay with me for the night, don't want to let you go yet."

"Always," he says, and presses a kiss to your hair. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

And this time, you don't doubt it. Not even a little.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

Masterlist.

[sailorsoons]

The Jester (y.jh)

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

MAIN M. LIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

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

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

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

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

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

"You know nothing about me."

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

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

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

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You see nothing, jester."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Running away, Your Highness?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not?"

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

"You don't know anything about me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hannieween]

emergency contact | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: dilf jeonghan, boyfriend jeonghan, jeonghan is a girl dad › genres: angst, fluff, smut (18+) › word count: 23k

READ PART ONE HERE

› warnings: toxic family dynamics: jeonghan's ex is a bad person in general (a neglectful parent), talks about speech therapy, speech impediment. jeonghan is an idiot. reader is emotionally constipated. so there's A LOT OF drama.

› smut warnings: smut with plot (this part has more plot than the previous one, you're warned), they're both crazy for each other, dirty talk, pussy eating, jeonghan is pussy drunk, quickies, make up sex, breeding kink, cowgirl, daddy kink, edging, bathroom sex, silence play, unprotected p in v sex (i'm such a bad influence, wrap it up!), creampies, mating press, yn is slightly 🤏🏻 bratty, dom jeonghan, aftercare. pet names: babe, baby, beautiful, darling, sweetheart, (hers) babe, daddy (his)

› author's note: hiiii! i'm here to say thank you guys for the support in the pineapple on pizza? post! it was really nice to see that so many of you enjoyed it, so here is a part two! honestly i enjoyed writing dilf!hannie quite a lot and couldn't get him out of my brain for months so here it is, a part two lol. and this chapter is looooong, so buckle in!

also another note: this is incredibly self indulgent. like everything i write. but i think this one takes the cake.

› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

“Have you seen my keys?”

Morning routines were always a mess. Something different happened every time, and somehow, even though you’ve done this more than a dozen times, it was still hard to catch up.

But you were getting the hang of it.

The apartment was a controlled chaos, as you liked calling it. The air smelled of coffee and the soft fragrance that Jeonghan wore to work. Repetition was starting to have its effect as you began to associate your mornings with those two scents.

“Have you tried looking under the couch?” you asked, turning around with a small bowl in your hands. You placed it carefully on the small tabletop of Sohee’s booster seat and watched quietly as she sank her little spoon into her bowl of cereal and milk.

“I should’ve added more milk,” you mumbled, biting on the inside of your cheek.

The little girl didn’t seem to notice, though. She ate happily, kicking her feet in the air and clapping her tiny hands together as she chewed, milk dripping from the corners of her pouty mouth.

You heard a sigh, and then the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall, and you lifted your head.

Jeonghan was still buttoning his perfectly ironed shirt, his hands going lower and lower, distracting you from your initial task. You felt your lips parting before forcing any kind of control onto your facial expression. His black trousers were also yet to be fixed, but as he finished buttoning his shirt, he tucked it inside his pants, quickly fastening his belt.

You lowered your gaze to the little girl slamming her palms onto the tabletop. Sohee was dancing happily. And you were glad that you had zero witnesses to your ogling your boyfriend quite shamelessly.

You brushed crumbs off the table, picked up the empty bowl and put it away. “Alright,” you said with a sigh, pretending to be deeply focused on the morning routine. “Did you find them?”

When you looked up, you found that Jeonghan had also been staring. His eyes were trained on the scene happening before him. His mouth parted, and he appeared to be confused for a split second—giving himself a very brief shake. “Yeah,” he smiled shyly and patted the pocket of his trousers. “Under the bed.”

“Huh,” you grinned. “How could they have gotten there?” you asked, innocently tilting your head.

Jeonghan sighed. The smile was still glued to his face, but it slowly brushed off as he raised his wrist to his face, looking at his watch. “I’m late,” he said, delivering the words with an annoyed edge in his tone. “Fuck. I’m so late,” he added, turning around to grab the jacket that had been previously placed on the couch.

Panic rushed in your veins. It was a big day for Jeonghan at his work—he had a big meeting in which it was certain that he would get some good news about a project that he had proposed for the company he worked for. You knew what this meant for him.

You looked at the time. His shift started earlier than yours did, and with another twist to your stomach, you knew that he wouldn’t be able to drop Sohee off at the daycare and then make it on time to his meeting.

“Go. I’ll drop Sohee at daycare,” you blurted right as he was throwing Sohee’s things into her bag.

His gaze snapped up and locked onto your face. The shock was flitting, but you were able to catch it before he blinked and parted his mouth to say something.

But you were quicker— “Here. Take my car and I’ll take yours so I can put Sohee in her car seat. We can switch later,” you said, stumbling over your words as you fished your car keys from the pocket of your smart trousers, handing them to him.

Jeonghan straightened, fixing the wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose—you always went a little crazy when he did that—but this time he placed his hands on his hips, his face thoughtful, calculating. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause an inconvenience with—”

“Babe, you’re not causing anything,” you insisted, thrusting your fist holding the keys into the space between you and him. “Take my car. Go to your meeting. I’ve got Sohee.”

At that, Jeonghan’s face relaxed, starting to approach you with a softened look on his face—like he could melt just at the sight of you. He took the keys from your hand.  “You’re godsent, did you know that?” he asked, his tone low as he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to his body.

“I’m just here to help,” you said lightly, meeting his gaze as he bent his head to meet your lips with his own.

Jeonghan gave you one feathery kiss. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, pushing his lips on yours again. “Be careful, okay? Call me if anything happens.”

You smiled against his lips. “I got this,” you repeated in a sweeter tone.

Part of you was sure that Jeonghan knew this as well. But Sohee was his entire world. And he was quite literally leaving her in your hands. 

And you were unsure as to what to think about it.

Jeonghan turned, peeling himself from your lips with a begrudged groan and placed a kiss on top of Sohee’s head. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” he cooed gently.

Your tummy twisted again. This time, the reaction was from the way Jeonghan switched into dad mode in the blink of an eye. The switch from hot boyfriend to diligent father never failed to mess with you.

Sohee lifted her head, her eyes looking at her dad, but she didn’t respond.

“Be good today, okay? Eat all of your meals and try not to miss me too much,” Jeonghan insisted, trying to get her to utter something. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Byeee,” he cooed again.

But Sohee kept looking at her father fixedly.

“Sweetheart, say bye,” Jeonghan encouraged Sohee again, this time lower but still gentle.

“Maybe she’s not feeling it today, babe,” you muttered behind him.

A few weeks ago, Jeonghan confided in you that he started to notice that Sohee often froze at the moment of speaking full sentences. Initially, he had brushed it off, thinking that his daughter was innately shy, just like himself. But as months passed by and she continued developing other social skills, he began to believe that it was something else.

“Right,” Jeonghan mumbled, not hiding the slight look of worry on his face. But he leaned and propped another kiss on her forehead before stepping back. He kissed you on the cheek, handing you the keys to his car.

“Good luck,” you mumbled, and he replied with a quick nod. You and Sohee watched quietly as Jeonghan slipped through the door.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you realized what you had gotten yourself into. It was supposed to be a simple task, yes. But it had a thousand layers of meaning beneath it. Taking Sohee to daycare was something you could do every day, gladly—but something felt off.

Like you were starting to cross a line, and neither Jeonghan nor you knew how to talk about it.

Taking Sohee to her daycare was one thing—driving Jeonghan’s SUV was another.

It wasn’t a particularly daring task either, but it also put your nerves on edge. After fixing Sohee’s daycare bag and your own stuff, you grabbed her first, hoisting her up your hip, and then you swung your bag and Sohee’s on your shoulder.

“Ready to see your friends today, Sohee?” you asked, raising your tone into a sweet one. It felt practiced, and you remembered the first few times you ever did it—how it made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. But after a time, you could say that you understood why people would talk in a cute way to kids, it came naturally.

“Yeah,” Sohee replied, the word landing almost aloofly. Like you had just caught her in a moment where she didn’t find any barriers for her to speak.

You pushed the button of the elevator and slowly moved your head to look at her.

Sohee was a perfect little girl of almost three years of age. When you met her over half a year ago, you were sure you were holding a little angel. She was gentle and sweet. Her head was full of dark hair that matched her long eyelashes, just like her father’s.

“Oh, yeah? What are their names?” you asked, eyeing her as you stepped into the elevator with her still attached to your hip.

“Dany,” she mumbled perfectly, raising her tone as though she were about to make a list of names.

“Dany? Okay, and who else?”

“Nora,” she said, quieter this time.

The elevator paused on its way down, opening the doors for another person to step in. You knew the conversation was over.

Sohee fell silent, lowering her gaze from you and fixing it on one point on your shirt. You realized after a few seconds that she was staring at your hand, at your painted fingernails. What made you certain was the way she raised her hands to her gaze, comparing her fingernails to your own.

Something twisted inside you, the idea of her and you doing each other’s nails dawned in your head. And you knew what that pang in your stomach was—possibility. You were thinking of the future.

“Here we go,” you mumbled as you approached Jeonghan’s navy blue Kia Seltos. The fresh smell of new and clean leather still lingered inside it as you opened the door and put Sohee in her chair.

She never complained, just quietly sat on the chair and looked at you as you fixed the buckle of her safety belt.

“Safety first,” you said, trying to fill in the silence. You grabbed one of the toys from the toy basket sitting beneath her seat and showed it to her. “Look, it’s Rory!” you cried dramatically, showing her the dinosaur plushie that you knew she loved.

Sohee extended her arms and made grabby hands at the green and very cute T. rex. She didn’t speak again, no matter how hard you tried to get her to say something.

The parking lot was buzzing with activity, cars coming and going, hustling parents coming in and out of the building, dropping their kids off—and you for sure felt like a fish out of water, but you didn’t want to entertain the thought for too long. You signed Sohee in without an issue—the staff mentioned that as you were dropping Sohee off, Jeonghan had phoned them to let them know you were coming in his stead.

You soothed Sohee’s hair and gave her a quick kiss on her head as she scrunched her fingers on your back, almost affectionately. “You be good, sweetie,” you said before leaving her and turning to the parking lot, feeling strangely empty when you climbed inside the SUV.

You carried out work as usual. You didn’t think about the odd feeling clawing at your heart for the rest of the morning. The second the clock hit one o’clock, your phone started vibrating, snapping you out of your monitor screen. You scrambled to get your phone, only to see Jeonghan’s face on the screen.

“Hello?” you responded with a hushed tone, looking over to see if you had interrupted the workflow in the office. But you realized the space was nearly empty, and everyone had left for lunch.

“Am I interrupting?” Jeonghan noticed immediately by your tone alone.

“No. I just didn’t look at the time,” you told him, pushing yourself off the chair and walking in the direction of the elevator.

“Oh, I see. Is this still a good time to speak with you?” he asked.

You smirked at his choice of words. “I don’t know, you tell me. Is this a good time for you?” you retorted, noticing that he was also in his cubicle.

“You got me,” he said, and you could imagine the shy smile on his face. “I’m stepping outside, hold on.”

You pushed the button to the elevator and waited while on the other side of the line, you heard Jeonghan moving.

“Okay, I’m out,” he said with a sigh. “Are you going to the food court?” he asked.

Jeonghan knew your schedule well, and he was also very familiar with your routine since you always kept him in the loop of the things you did. When you started dating, you would quite practically narrate to him your daily life through text messages, to the point that he knew all of your co-workers by name without knowing them in person.

“Yes,” you replied, stepping out of the elevator.

“Chicken salad?” he asked with a low tone, making you think that he probably had some co-worker passed him by.

“Oh, I think I’m moving on from that,” you told him. “I want a burrito. A chicken burrito.”

“Oof, how different,” he teased.

“Let me be,” you bit back and then frowned, suspecting something was off.

“I will. But I’m going to tease you about it either way,” he said with a brief laugh. “How is work going?”

“Fine,” you replied simply. But it was then that you dared to ask, “Is something going on, babe? You’re never this weird.”

Jeonghan sighed, and you knew he was smiling. “Am I being that obvious?” he said, and then, before you could say something, he continued. “I just wanted to tell you to come tonight and have dinner with Sohee and me.”

“Mmn, why do I feel like this could’ve been a text,” you said as you sat down at an empty table that was cluttered with a tray and a single French fry sitting on its box.

He laughed. “I am trying to get somewhere here,” he said.

“You’re taking a lot of detours!” you laughed with him. “Of course, babe. You know I love having dinner with you and Sohee.”

“Good. Great,” he mumbled, and something about the dejected way his words came out made your ears perk.

A long moment of silence happened between you, where you could hear the sound of his breathing and nothing else. Your gaze fell out of focus, landing on a single grain of salt on the dirty table in the very crowded food court.

“Is everything alright, babe?” you asked, your tone lower. “Did the meeting go well?”

“Yeah. It’s not that. I want—” he cut himself off, but then, “I want us to talk,” he said.

Your heart fell to your stomach, the feeling so impactful that it left you completely stunned. There was nothing in the world that could replace the feeling you’d get when you heard the words we need to talk, and all of its variations.

“Oh, then—t-that changes things,” you mumbled awkwardly, not forgoing that he ignored your initial question.

“Wait, no,” he started, noticing the tension in your words. “It’s nothing bad.”

“Okay,” you said under a heavy sigh. “Then tell me now,” you said.

“I’d rather wait until tonight—”

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked instead. And perhaps you could’ve controlled yourself better, but you were fully induced in anxiety now.

“No. I swear it’s nothing bad,” he told you firmly. “It’s something I have been wanting to ask you.”

You started toying with the lonely grain of salt with the tip of your finger. “If it really is nothing bad, then you could ask me now,” you said, fully aware of how shaky your tone was.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, stretching out each word.

“Very.”

Jeonghan sighed and then paused. You could picture him clearly—standing on the balcony of the building where he worked, looking very polished on the outside but probably tense, judging by his tone alone.

“I was just thinking that we’re always so busy, you with work and me with—well, with everything and…” You heard him pause, and then release a sigh, and that’s how you knew he was also steadying himself. “I wanted to know if you would like to move in with us. With Sohee and me.”

In all of the things you could’ve possibly imagined him saying, this wasn’t one of them. You straightened in your seat as a chill ran down your spine. “Jeonghan, are you serious?” you asked, unable to control how firm you sounded.

“I don’t mean now, but sometime in the future. We can plan and see how things go from there,” he offered, and he sounded steady, but you could notice the slight edge of nervousness in it.

The feeling invading your body made you feel as if you had been dropped from a very tall building.

“Babe…” you started, looking for the words to say.

“It’s okay if you want to say no,” he said. “I just wanted to talk about it with you tonight over dinner.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m not saying no,” you told him.

“You’re not saying yes either,” he sighed in defeat. “I’m rushing into things.”

Your chest caved in. You wanted to say yes, you wanted this. But there were so many things that you thought needed to happen before you moved in with him and his daughter. In your book, things like the first I love you had to happen before sharing a roof with that person. Or at least knowing them for a full year.

Oh, and the judgment. Your friends already thought you were insane for dating a single parent, and now you were moving in with him eight months after meeting him? Not only that, your whole life had taken a turn when you started dating Jeonghan—to the point that the person you were a year ago wouldn’t recognize the person you were now.

“Can we talk about it tonight over dinner?” you asked, your tone tiny.

“Of course. We can talk about it more calmly,” he said, and you couldn’t ignore the note of sadness in his words. “I get it, baby. I should’ve waited. I’m sorry.”

“No, Jeonghan. You did nothing wrong,” you said, but then something felt off.

“Listen, I have to go back. See you tonight?” he asked, and you caught the way his tone picked up. Something had come up.

You deflated completely. “See you tonight, Jeonghan.”

And then something hung in the air. An unspoken thing between you, something that needed to be said.

Your heart started to hope.

But then the line went dead.

There was a thought that you couldn’t quite keep away. When you met Jeonghan, you instantly knew this man was for you—every bone, every nerve ending in your body told you that. Then, when you knew he was a single father, you knew that a relationship with him would be challenging. But it turned out to be easier than expected.

However, things started to shift from the first night you and he took things to the next level. Spending the night in his bed was a very conscious decision you both made. You were both ready, and truth be told, aching for each other. What you didn’t foresee was that you were climbing those steps into a serious relationship without paying attention to how fast and how uncontrolled you were.

Now, it felt as though you were in too deep, but there were no rules or boundaries in place.

You gnawed on your lower lip, debating whether to write him a text telling him that you knew he meant well by his proposition.

Instead, you got up and went to the nearest convenience store, got a sandwich, and ate half of it on the elevator ride back to your office.

The rest of your shift happened in a blink. Thankfully, you were so busy that the aftermath of that call with Jeonghan was pushed to the second plane of your brain. You would sometimes remember it with a jolt in your stomach. And he also didn’t text you afterwards, which meant that he was also probably busy—or that’s what you wanted to believe anyway.

You came out of the office some four hours after the phone call, scrambling inside your handbag to get your car keys.

Your phone started vibrating furiously somewhere in one of the many pockets, your heart deflating stressfully in the thought that it could possibly be Jeonghan. A flashing thought drove that anxiousness right into your soul, telling you that he would be telling you that tonight’s plans were off.

But it was an unknown caller. And you picked up solely on the thought that it would be a work-related thing.

“Yes?” you said, putting your bag on top of the trunk of your car.

The caller was a woman with a very polite tone, asking for you using your full name.

“This is her,” you replied almost routinely.

“Hi! This is Katy from the Speech and Learning Center. Am I speaking to Sohee’s mother?”

“Oh—” you gasped, leaving the task of finding your keys completely abandoned due to the sheer shock that question gave you. “No. I’m her father’s partner. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no. Everything is fine. I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Katy responded kindly. “We have you on Sohee’s file as the emergency contact in case her father doesn’t answer, and we’ve tried him three times just now, but no answer. Are you able to make choices about her appointments with us?”

“God,” you mouthed to yourself, screwing your eyes shut. “Um, Sohee’s birthday is on Friday, so Thursday would probably be better,” you responded automatically, and then you stopped yourself with a shake. “But I think you should try her father again.”

But then you remembered—Jeonghan had mentioned a very important meeting, the one where his boss would determine whether he had the promotion or not.

“I believe he was in a meeting. Maybe you should try in…” you checked your watch. “Twenty minutes. He should be off by then.”

“Understood. I will call him instead. Well, I thank you for picking up this call and wish you a good rest of your day. Bye!”

“Thanks. You too,” you replied shakily.

And then she hung up.

The drive to Jeonghan’s apartment felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt yourself driving, but at the same time, your mind was somewhere else. After being hit with two reality checks, one after another, you were reconsidering what to do, what to say to Jeonghan once you saw him.

He had assigned you as Sohee’s emergency contact. Not her grandmother, not her aunt. And certainly not her mother. You.

It shouldn’t be a big deal—maybe you were making it into a big deal. But after Jeonghan had told you he wanted you to move in with him and his daughter, this just felt like too much.

You turned the doorknob of his apartment door as you released a shaky sigh, trying to drive out all your nervousness. But as you entered and laid eyes on him, you knew it would be impossible not to be nervous for the remainder of the night.

Jeonghan was sitting on the couch, baby Sohee sitting safely on his thigh as he held a triceratops in one hand, making it clash gently against Sohee’s brontosaurus. His gaze immediately switched to the door as you crossed it. Then tension set in, making the features of his face harden.

And you probably were mirroring that same expression. You closed the door behind you quietly and removed your shoes by the entrance.

Jeonghan placed Sohee on the couch carefully as you walked to the living room, feeling strange.

“Hey,” he said, reading your face with his eyes.

Your heart was racing incredibly fast. “Hi,” you replied.

“I got it,” he said with a big sigh.

Understanding dawned on you with a blink. “You got promoted?”

He nodded, but his expression was still blank.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, thinking that the tension in his demeanor was due to the call from earlier. “Congratulations!” you said excitedly, going for a hug.

Jeonghan didn’t appear to be happy, not precisely. But he wrapped your torso in his arms, hugging you tightly. “Thank you, baby,” he sighed, sinking his face into the crook of your neck.

Then you felt a pair of tiny hands palming your leg intuitively. You pulled away from Jeonghan’s arms, looking down to spot Sohee trying to get your attention.

“I think she’s feeling left out,” Jeonghan interpreted keenly.

“Oh, my bad,” you giggled and bent down to hug her. “Come here, princess,” you spoke softly to her as you lifted her in your arms.

“Look,” Sohee said quietly, showing you a new dinosaur toy.

“Wow, what is this?” you asked her, your tone turning into honey.

“Saurus,” she mumbled shyly, still showing you her dinosaur figurine.

“A stegosaurus,” Jeonghan informed you quietly as he watched you carry Sohee in your arms. And there was that look again. The one you had seen in the morning. He was watching intently, calmly—like he wanted to remember this moment forever without missing a thing.

“This is so cool,” you told her, still using that tone. “Is this the one you liked the most?” you asked her.

She listened to you intently, but her gaze was fixed on her figurine. She shook her head.

“Show her your favorite one, sweetheart,” Jeonghan said as you placed her back on the floor.

She ran back to the couch, grabbed the forgotten dinosaur and brought it back to you. You crouched to be at eye level with her as she showed you a new Triceratops.

“Did you just get these?” you asked her sweetly, your tummy twisting in cuteness aggression as she just nodded, ruffling her black hair.

“It was one of her birthday gifts. I thought that it would be safe to keep them stashed in my closet, but I guess that I should’ve known better,” he said guiltily, crouching with you as Sohee went on to show you her new collection of dinosaur toys.

“You’re a very observant girl, aren’t you?” you asked her, to which she ignored completely.

You could feel Jeonghan beside you, his gaze set on you as you continued your silent exchange with Sohee. After some seconds of feeling the weight of his gaze on you, you glanced to his direction.

“Can we talk?” he whispered as soon as he caught your eye.

You nodded, tummy twisting uneasily.

Jeonghan opened and then closed the fridge in one short motion. He placed his empty hands on his hips as he released a sigh. You noticed then that he was anxious. “Sohee’s mother is coming to town.”

You froze in place.

Of course. You should’ve expected her to be for her daughter’s birthday. But part of you was also completely vexed about this piece of information—since you had believed for a moment that Jeonghan wanted to talk about the proposal he’d made earlier. But Sohee’s mother rarely called, to the point that in the eight months you’ve been dating Jeonghan, you had never even seen her in person.

“Oh, I see,” you said, swallowing hard. And then you added quite awkwardly: “Is she… did you… Did she call to see what you would do for Sohee’s birthday?”

Jeonghan understood where your curiosity came from. But he was still looking at you wearily, just like all the times he talked to you about a difficult thing in his life. Like the time he told you about his daughter, or the time he told you about Sohee’s absent mother.

It made your stomach churn.

And you knew what it was. It was selfishness.

“No. I called her,” he said. You knew that he was telling you the truth, and in doing so, he was nervous. “Sohee’s birthday is one of the few times I can get her mother to come see her, so…”

“I understand,” you said, resuming to set the table with the tablecloth and the dishware. “Do you… want me here that day?”

“Of course I do,” he said. You glanced his way, seeing his worried face—his eyebrows knitting softly. “Do you want to be here?”

“As long as you are comfortable with it, yes,” you said, and then added: “I just don’t want to complicate things.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Believe me, things can’t get more complicated with her. Soomin is just…” he shook his head lightly. “Well, you’ll see.”

You exhaled sharply. “Okay… no pressure,” you mumbled.

All you knew about Soomin was that she was not present in Sohee and Jeonghan’s lives from the moment Sohee turned eight months old. Her reason for parting and leaving everything behind was simply—I don’t want this life—and one day she packed her bags and left. Some months later, Jeonghan asked her for full custody of the baby, receiving it without any fight from her.

“Is she coming the day of?” you asked.

“On Thursday afternoon, after Sohee’s therapy,” he said. And then you noticed that the anxiety hadn’t quite brushed off. “I want you to meet her that day. That way we can have the party without any issues, if any.”

You raised your eyebrows, watching him from the other side of the table. “That bad?”

He nodded silently, throwing a look to the living room, where Sohee was dancing around to the music playing on the TV screen. “I just don’t want her to make a scene on Sohee’s birthday, you know? It’s supposed to be her day.”

The tension in your shoulders dissolved when you turned over your shoulder and saw baby Sohee bending her knees to the rhythm of the music, her tiny hands planted on the sofa to keep herself steady as she danced happily. Your stomach twisted with the realization that you loved Sohee in a way that you wanted to protect her, care for her.

You had gotten irrevocably attached.

You took a deep breath, slowly turning to see Jeonghan. “Don’t worry, babe,” you told him, smiling at him as you approached him again. “We’ll make Sohee’s day just about her, alright?” you said, pushing yourself to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Jeonghan smiled softly. “Alright,” he said.

You stared at that smile on his face for one long second, and slowly, the memory of the phone call from earlier came back to your mind. Your heart faltered. You carefully thought of how to open the conversation, but nerves got the better of you first— “About earlier…” you said in a whisper, pausing to clear your throat. “Were you serious? About me moving in?”

Jeonghan inhaled slowly, blinking away from your face briefly, glancing to where his daughter was in the living room. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, licking his lips before turning his gaze back to you. “It’s a big step, but it makes sense, right? I mean, you’re already here all the time…”

You studied him for a brief moment. You were hearing him, but all you could think about was the way his shoulders were tight, the way he was gripping the back of the chair with one hand. And more than everything else—the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes.

“It feels fast, Jeonghan,” you said carefully.

“It feels right,” he countered, taking one step towards you. His face had changed now that you could see him with more closeness—his dark eyes were full of certainty, full of tenderness. “I want you here. With us. You’re already here all the time, you do morning routines with us, put her in bed, and drop-offs…”

Your chest tightened. Something felt off. And then by pure instinct, you glanced at Sohee. The baby had stopped moving, her gaze fixed on the flat screen mounted on the wall, sticking her index finger in her mouth quite aloofly.

But the sight of her made your tummy twist even harder. It was the realization hitting you like a train. If you lost this—if Jeonghan and you ever get to a point where you split, you would lose Sohee as well. The mere thought threatened to break your heart.

His gaze shifted—and without following it, you knew that he was looking at Sohee. “I’m just… scared of doing this wrong way, you know?”

You reached for his face, cupping it with your hands to draw his gaze back to you again. “Then we should slow down,” you said, your heart protesting against your words with a stabbing pain. “Just a little.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he breathed.

“Yeah?” you replied in kind. “We slow down for just a little while. We could talk about it again when the timing feels right.”

Jeonghan grabbed one of your wrists, squeezing it gently. He looked relieved, so much so that the next sigh he let out was slow as he leaned his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to rush you,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” you replied, despite your heart deflating a little. “I understand. Just know that I’m not saying no. Okay?” you said, raising your tone just a little bit higher, trying to swallow your nerves.

“Okay,” Jeonghan replied with a breathy giggle, hearing your nervous tone.

You felt his lips grazing yours before he kissed you fully. It was then that you felt those three littlewords sitting on the tip of your tongue. You were falling for him, fast and uncontrollably. But instead of telling him that, you pushed your lips against his, kissing him fervently.

But then a sharp, and very high-pitched laugh pulled you both apart. Baby Sohee was laughing at something happening on the TV. You broke away and stepped back from Jeonghan.

“I’ll… bring her to her chair so she can have dinner,” Jeonghan said. And by the look in his eyes, you knew that there was something else on his mind.

You let out a tired breath. “What a Monday,” you sighed.

“Welcome to my life,” Jeonghan replied.  

After dinner, Jeonghan started to ready Sohee for bed, and that usually involved a bath, brushing teeth and then bed. It took him around thirty or forty minutes. And in that time, you usually took it upon yourself to tidy the space up. Initially, you had started doing it to kill the time while waiting for Jeonghan to come back—despite his insistence for you not to do it—but lately, it felt like it was part of your routine too.

You had put all of Sohee’s toys in the basket, folded the blankets and were now doing the dishes. The task had fallen into a steady rhythm, and so you were deeply focused on washing a pan when a pair of arms snaked around your waist, startling you.

“Stay the night,” Jeonghan said, his tone low as he bent his head to rest it on your shoulder. 

Your tummy twisted.

Ever since you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you had fallen into a pattern of addiction. You would stay over at every chance you could get, which, granted, weren’t as many since you had a very hectic work schedule as a CEO Assistant and he as a single parent, and now newly ascended to Director. But even as you had finally stepped to that level of intimacy, it was life that constantly would get in the way. It wasn’t as easy to find a time for you to come to his apartment, and it would be nearly impossible for Jeonghan to spend the night at yours.

You felt his lips grazing a particular tender spot on the crook of your neck. “Hannie,” you sighed, recoiling from his sweet kisses.

“What?” he mumbled against your skin, you could tell from his tone that he was smiling. But he didn’t stop kissing your neck slowly.

You swore you could melt. When you took too long to respond, he giggled gently against your skin.

“Want me to stop?”

You had already scrubbed every inch of the pan you were holding under the stream of water; the task had been long forgotten. “No, I want you to let me finish doing the dishes,” you replied with a playful tone.

“Alright, my bad,” he said, stepping back from you and starting to put things away in the kitchen.

You watched him through the corner of your eye as he roamed all over the space. Feeling the absence of his touch on your skin made you swallow hard. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” you mumbled, feeling hot on the cheeks.

Jeonghan huffed, clearly still amused. “Baby, we’ve been going like this for weeks,” he said pointedly, then chuckled as he threw a look at your face, finding your pout.

Since the night when you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you have had very few occasions of true intimacy. However, that didn’t stop Jeonghan from teasing you, touching you in places he hadn’t dared before that night, but now he did it at every chance he could get when no one else was looking.

It got you nervous. You liked him too much. Every time he touched you intimately, your mind would be thrown back to those nights where it was just you and Jeonghan. It made your blood dance, heating your entire body.

Only Jeonghan had that power.

You placed the last item on the drying rack and grabbed the hand towel, drying your hands before returning it to its place. “Fine, I’m done doing the dishes,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “Where were we?”

Jeonghan let out a teasing huff. “You’re cute,” he said with a chuckle.

“You’re a tease,” you bit back, trying to sound as annoyed as you could, but instead your tone denoted how flustered you already were.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes at you, the smirk not washing off his face. “So? Are you staying or not?” he asked, his tone still playful.

“Only if you behave,” you said impishly.

Jeonghan raised his eyebrows, stepping closer to you. “Me?” he asked, his tone rising. He was close enough now that all he had to do was lift his hand to cup your face, fixing your gaze on him. “All I do is what you tell me, baby,” he said, his tone so low and raspy it was almost like a purr.

“So whenever you misbehave, is it because I told you to?” you huffed, not caring that his face was closer to yours now.

He smirked slowly as his eyes outlined your face. “Obviously,” he shrugged lightly. He finally closed the space between your lips and his, kissing you tenderly. “I always behave. While you, on the other hand…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, his gaze dipping to look at your lips briefly before he kissed you again. You smiled into the kiss, despite it being chaste in the way that he was only pressing his lips to yours repeatedly, creating soft, wet noises that only incited you to get more.

“Babe,” you muttered, laughing sweetly. “Kiss me properly,” you told him.

Jeonghan didn’t waste a second. Repositioning his hands around your face, he only leaned in, locking his lips with yours. His kiss was soft, but slow, wet, and so full of heat. You closed your eyes and let him dominate the kiss, parting your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swipe your bottom lip, and then you felt his tongue against yours.

Your legs tensed as an automatic response, a shot of arousal coursing through you like lightning. His hands switched from cupping your cheeks to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. That made a silent moan bubble in your mouth, so you grabbed him by the belt in his jeans, pulling him closer to you.

Jeonghan grunted in your mouth and then pushed you to the kitchen counter by simply taking two steps forward, making you take two steps back. His lips took yours with more vehemency now, kissing you deeply, with a very unique urgency. It made you lose control, it made you feel hot all over.

So you pulled back, but not far. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” you said breathily, running a hand over his clothed chest.

Jeonghan smiled, making you think that he’d say something about your nervousness again. But he grabbed your hand, “Alright,” he said, and then he pulled you in the direction of his bedroom.

Whenever you stayed the night, you would wear Jeonghan’s clothes—mostly oversized t-shirts and sometimes sporty shorts. So much so that you’d noticed Jeonghan kept the clothes he’d lent you in a particular spot in his closet, making you suspect that he probably had stopped wearing them, only to keep them clean in case you came to stay the night.

Your gut twisted when Jeonghan pulled the same oversized t-shirt and handed it to you. “You know, you could bring some stuff in. I’ll empty a drawer for you,” he mumbled, turning on the bedside lamp.

He always said something akin to those words whenever he had the opportunity. It reminded you of his other request—of moving in. “Yeah, I’ll bring some spare pyjamas,” you replied nervously, turning on your feet to start unbuttoning your shirt.

“And maybe clothes for work?” he asked, and you could hear the hint of hope in his tone.

You already had a toothbrush and makeup remover wipes that you once bought to keep in Jeonghan’s bathroom. That time you’d also felt you were stepping over a line, for some reason. But Jeonghan thought it was endearing that you had asked him for permission beforehand. You don’t have to ask, he told you every time.

“Yeah, that too,” you replied, sounding short of breath. When finished unbuttoning your shirt, you threw a look behind you, seeing that Jeonghan had just turned his gaze elsewhere in that instant. You smiled to yourself, noticing that he, too, was acting strange, fidgety.

Or perhaps it was just staying behind the line you always painted. That was another thing that drove you crazy about this man—he always waited for your word. But he kept a keen eye on you, certainly making sure that you were not having trouble initiating. And this time was no different.

You liked Jeonghan. No, you loved him. And tonight, with all those questions roaming about in your mind, questions about moving in, taking care of Sohee, meeting her mother… You were simply too much in your head.

And Jeonghan knew.

After brushing your teeth and cleaning your makeup off, you slid into the bed beside him. He was eyeing you and the screen of his phone back and forth, waiting for you. “Ready?” he asked.

Your stomach twisted again. “Huh?”

Jeonghan smiled at you. “To sleep?” he added.

“Ah. Yes. Oh, yeah,” you stuttered nervously, scooting closer to him.

Jeonghan left the phone on the bedside table and turned the lamp off. He turned around, draping an arm around your waist as you also turned, forming up a spooning situation where he was the bigger spoon. He kissed your shoulder over his clothes, and then your cheek.

“Did you have a good day at work?” he asked, his tone soft and low.

You blinked, turning slightly to look at him. “Yeah. Why?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Hopefully I didn’t distract you too much with my stupid phone call,” he said.

Your heart softened. “It was okay, babe. Today's work was nothing out of the ordinary,” you told him, and then showed him a playful smile. “And I love your phone calls.”

“No matter how inopportune they are?” he asked, his tone waning ever so softly.

You nodded. “They never are. Stupid or inopportune,” you replied, your tone waning too.

He paused, looking briefly at your lips before bringing a hand to pinch your chin softly. “Where were you my whole life?” he asked.

Your heart could burst. You wanted to say a million things to him. You wanted to tell him how you fell in love with him at first glance, you wanted to tell him you loved him.

But you choked up. “I could say the same,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying—despite having had other boyfriends in the past, you had never ever felt love like this in your life. It only made you think that Jeonghan hadn’t either. And the thought broke your heart.

He smiled, moving his head so he could touch your forehead with his. “I’m never letting you go, you hear me?” he said.

You nodded. “Never.” Please.

You and Jeonghan fell asleep shortly after that, going back to your original spooning position. He wrapped an arm around you, and you snuggled close to him under the covers. Sleeping with him was extraordinarily good—he never moved, never snored, and you were careful not to disrupt his sleeping either.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you felt him stir and slip out of bed. You became too conscious about it because the bed grew colder around you, and it was getting harder to go back to sleep.

You turned over, thinking that you might’ve done something to wake him up. But he was nowhere to be seen. “Jeonghan?” you called.

He stepped into the bedroom, carefully leaving the door ajar. “Did I wake you?” he asked, his tone low.

You watched him as he came back to bed. “What’s wrong?” you asked instead.

He sucked in a breath when he felt your warm body, as though he had been exposed to a chill temperature. “Sohee’s mother called.”

“This late?” you asked. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah. She’s fine. I suppose she didn’t look up what our time zone was before calling,” he explained calmly.

“Well, what did she have to say?” you asked, feeling sharply awake now.

He slipped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him. His clothes were cold, as well as his skin. He was probably having the phone call outside on the balcony so as not to wake you or Sohee up. “A bunch of nothings. She cancelled Thursday’s plan. Said she’ll be meeting us at the party.”

You couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Did she say why?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Yeah. But it was all an excuse.”

Something inside you deflated with shame. Here you were, feeling relieved that you wouldn’t meet Soomin a day sooner; meanwhile, that also meant that Sohee wouldn’t see her mom either until the party. And Jeonghan’s lower tone reflected that pity.

“I’m sorry, babe,” you murmured.

“It’s fine. I had expected something like that,” he replied, but you could still hear the hurt in his tone. “She promised she’d be here for Sohee’s birthday. So, I’ll take whatever at this point.”

Now, you were even more reluctant to meet her. Your gut twisted, but before you could even process what type of feeling you were having, Jeonghan kissed your brow, easing the storm cooking up in your mind.

“Shall we go back to sleep, beautiful?” he whispered, moving his lips to kiss your eyelid, then your cheekbone.

Jeonghan was so sweet, so loving, that it scrambled your brains to think how he was yours.

His lips reached your cheek, and you moved your face so that the next kiss landed on your lips. He planted a sweet kiss, but then you parted your mouth, trapping his bottom lip in. You kissed him deeply, trying to put all of your feelings into one single kiss.

You wanted to show him that you were madly in love with him without having to say the words. You kissed him with such force that had him moaning in your mouth. He said nothing, only letting you lead as you pushed him by the shoulders, wordlessly telling him to lie on his back.

He gave you one confused look that quickly evaporated once you straddled him. His hands snaked on your thighs as you bent forward, taking his face in your hands to kiss him, moaning on his lips once his fingertips grazed the lace hem of your panties. The sound only gave him the green light to continue, exploring your skin with the pads of his fingers as he hiked the t-shirt up your torso.

You pulled back, but only to let him take the t-shirt off, leaving you only in your panties, and your chest bare for his view. His gaze roamed all over your bare skin, but it was for just a moment. You leaned in again, his hands latching to your waist, while the other fisted your hair by the side of your head.

You shifted on your knees, grounding your hips down on him—but just barely. Jeonghan was already hard, and you could feel him just by moving on top of him a little.

Dragging your fingernails down his chest, you crawled back to give yourself space to pull his shorts down. Your fingers hooked around the waistband of both his boxers and shorts, and you pulled, uncovering an inch of skin as one of your fingers traced a line over his thin but dark, happy trail.

Jeonghan sucked in a breath—but this time it was because of something else. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled, looking at your hands as you pulled his cock out, grabbing it with your other hand.

“Mn?” You raised your gaze to him.

His hands slipped on your hips, clutching you gently as you lifted them to move your panty line aside. “Condom?” he mumbled, groaning and clenching his jaw as you guided the head of his cock down your folds.

You pretended not to hear, lowering your hips and slipping him inside your warm walls, all in one go. And fuck, he was perfect—his cock was perfect too. The feeling of having him raw and stretching your pussy was the sweetest feeling you’ve ever felt. Your mouth fell open, eyebrows drawn together as you started bouncing on him gently.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan gasped, closing his eyes before sinking his head back on his pillow.

You anchored your hands on his chest, using him as support to roll your hips on top of him. And yet again, you wondered what the scene would look like—middle of the night, his pants halfway pulled down, you bouncing on top of him with your panties still on and trying your best to be quiet.

But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan moved his hands from your hips, palming your breasts and caressing your pebbled nipples with the pad of his thumbs. You clenched your teeth together, letting out a soft whine as you ground your hips on him, trying to take his cock deeper into you.

“Quiet, baby,” he said, smirking. But then he moved his hands, one to your hip, the other on your lower abdomen. He pushed your panties further aside, pressing your lower belly with his palm before starting to rub your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Fuck—Daddy,” you mewled, hips buckling on top of him.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his tone low. He glanced at your face once before his gaze dipped to your cunt, moaning at the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

You nodded, picking up the pace of your hips. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit steadily, not switching, unstopping. It was driving you closer to the edge with every second that passed, making your walls tighten around his girth.

“Is this what you wanted, baby? Daddy’s cock?” he asked with that lazy smile still on his face, his tone raw, but waning.

It drove you insane—the switch from being sweet and gentle to talking to you like that. “Mm-mmph,” you admitted.

He tilted his head back slightly, teeth clenched tightly as he tried to exert some control on himself. But as you continued rolling your hips on top of him, you saw him starting to fall apart—his eyes went white before he squeezed them shut. And then, he made a sound, a long, raspy moan that was stuck in his throat. “Baby, I’m not going to last long,” he said.

It was your turn to smile now. “That’s okay, Daddy,” you told him sweetly, and then you tilted your head, showing him a playful side. “I could slow down for you.”

Jeonghan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I don’t think that’ll make a difference,” he gritted, smiling despite himself.

His hands switched to your sides, lifting your hips with one powerful groan that rumbled in his chest. The sound made your pulse quicken, and your gaze immediately shot to the door, as though trying to fish for any kind of sounds coming from down the hall.

Jeonghan acted quickly—rolling your back onto the mattress effortlessly. A gasp spilled from your mouth, eyes locking with his as he slid your panties down your legs. And then he crawled between your thighs before taking his t-shirt off.

“We should be quiet,” you told him, smiling shyly as he placed his palms on your knees, pushing your thighs up to your chest.

“Let’s see how long you can do that,” he replied, letting out a tired giggle.

And he had a point about that. Last time you and Jeonghan had sex, you had been so noisy that the downstairs neighbors made some tacit remarks about a creaky bedframe. So you watched as Jeonghan grabbed a pillow, probably thinking the same as you and placed it behind the headboard.

“Can’t make any promises,” you mumbled, still looking as he pulled his shorts and boxers down, taking his hard cock in one hand and guiding it to your drenched pussy. You swallowed hard, holding your breath as the crown of his cock nuzzled against your entrance, and then he slipped inside you, so fucking slow.

You couldn’t resist it. The sight of his length disappearing in your mound was alluring, and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside you was even more delicious than riding him. He pushed your thighs to the sides of your ribs by climbing on top of you, so he was now fully pressing your body with his.

Jeonghan smiled. “See? Didn’t last long,” he said, hearing your soft whines as he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck—daddy,” you gritted, breathing hard under the weight of his body, but you loved it. “Move, please, move.”

You didn’t need to beg—he did it right away, pulling back to push right in, creating a steady pace effortlessly. He framed your face with his forearms, his face so close to yours that he only leaned slightly to get a swift kiss. You cupped his head in your hands, lifting your head so you could kiss him deeper, earning a soft moan from him.

It was truly suffocating. The warmth of his body, being so close to him. Looking into his eyes as he claimed your body like it was his. It overwhelmed you—the need to be his woman and have him like this every night, forever. You were going insane with the mere thought—waves of love and lust coursed through you uncontrollably.

The room became flooded with the muffled sounds of pleasure—the small whines you made, the short moans Jeonghan let out in between tired breaths, and the very obvious creaking of the bedframe despite the headboard having a pillow to not slam against the wall.

You loved it. Loved how you both had fallen into an addiction of silent quickies in the middle of the night, stifling moans and speaking filth in hushed tones. The sheer adrenaline of trying and failing to be quiet made you wet. You could even catch the slippery sound of your arousal as Jeonghan pushed his cock deep inside you.

“God,” you gasped when he picked up a pace, fucking you faster, still massaging that glorious spot inside your walls. 

And you let pleasure bloom inside your body with a hot, intense shiver. Long ago, it was so rare that you’d cum with penetration alone—but somehow Jeonghan always made you cum like that, effortlessly. Your mouth dropped open, almost tasting your orgasm on the tip of your tongue.

“You close?” he asked with sharp, ragged breaths. He gave you a dazed look, outlining your features with his gaze. When you nodded, he gave you another light smile. “Let go, baby.”

You stared into his eyes, watched him as his jaw twitched when he ground his teeth down—you noticed he was close too. “Cum with me?” you asked, cheeks turning hot as you heard how fucking sweet you sounded.

Oh, you were in love. You had come to this realization a while ago, but now it was becoming more and more unbearable. Your mind spun with questions—did Jeonghan know? Could he see it in your eyes? Hear it in your tone? There you were, riddled with questions while you were begging for him to cum with you, and he wasn’t wearing a condom.

“You’re cumming first, Babygirl,” he replied, his tone waning.

You could’ve sworn that he had a way to hear your thoughts, but you didn’t let that distract you—because you were instantly swept over by an intense wave of pleasure. A gasp tore from your chest, and before you could let out a scream, Jeonghan crushed his mouth against yours, drowning out your sounds of pleasure.

He continued thrusting in that same calculated pace until you became a puddle of pleasure. You were wet. Sweaty, hot, and quivering on his bedsheets. And he was kissing you softly, passionately, like he hadn’t done before.

“Felt good?” he mumbled.

You nodded. “Amazing,” you drawled sweetly.

“Good,” he mouthed, the muscles of his face tightening, like he was in pain—he was close.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t pull out,” you said.

He blinked, his gaze finding you instantly.  

“Please,” you whispered, linking your wrists behind his nape, as though trying to hold him right there.

He blinked slowly and then let his forehead rest on top of yours. “Fuck,” he sighed, pushing his hips against yours with tight, deep thrusts. You closed your eyes as another euphoric rush gripped your body wholly. “God—fuck, baby,” Jeonghan drawled, letting out a raw, quiet moan as he gave you a final push, his cock twitching in your walls as he spilled himself deep inside you.

Jeonghan remained there, breathing fitfully, his body completely glued to yours as though unable to move. And then you wished you’d known what to say next. You wished you knew what to do or say after making love. So instead, you moved your face, finding his lips with your own. You kissed him slowly, trying to convey the quick rhythm of your heart, the butterflies swarming inside your chest.

He pressed his lips against the corner of yours, then he kissed your cheek. “You’re okay?” he whispered, gently pushing the tip of your nose with his before pressing another kiss against your lips.

Your heart gave another leap. “Yeah,” you mumbled shakily. “We should probably get ready to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

Jeonghan pulled back, blinking at you confusedly. “Yeah. Sure,” he replied, his gaze outlining your features. “But after I’ve taken care of you, baby.”

And when he peeled off your body, you knew you had made a mistake. You felt foolish then, because this man was clearly thrown off by the switch in your tone, confused by your evident refusal to talk about what was going on in your mind.

But he took care of you with the utmost gentleness, offering to start a shower for you, which you declined due to how late into the night it was. However, you cleaned up in the bathroom, and when you came out, he had a glass full of water ready on the bedside table, and he’d already changed the bedsheets.

“I put your clothes in the washing machine and programmed it for a quick start early in the morning,” he said thoughtfully as he unstuck the pillow behind the headboard. “They should be clean and dry by the time we both get up.”

It made you smile—the very careful manner in which he was fluffing the pillows as you approached the bed. “Thank you, babe,” you replied, feeling your heart warm up.

“Don’t thank me,” he whispered, lifting his head as you stood beside him before the bed. “Hopefully you will remember to bring in some spare clothes next time?” he insisted, smiling shyly about something, and then— “Sorry. I keep bringing it up.”

Your heart deflated. “Don’t apologize,” you replied, placing your palm on his side, feeling the muscle of his abdomen contract at your touch. “I’ll remember to bring some stuff in. I promise.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand and taking it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go to sleep.”

You nodded, climbing back on the bed and snuggling him close. Jeonghan wrapped your waist with one arm, the little crook beneath your earlobe.

Your heart fluttered. “Do we already have a cake?” you asked suddenly.

Jeonghan pulled back. “What?” he mumbled.

You turned slightly. “For Sohee’s party. Did you order a cake?”

His brow creased. “Yes. Why?” he asked curiously.

You turned again, face to your pillow. “It’s nothing. I can bake really good chocolate cakes,” you gave him a light shrug. “Thought I could help with something.”

Jeonghan smiled; you felt the change in his breath on your neck, making you shiver. “I’ll remember that,” he said, pressing his lips to the first spot of skin he could find. “For her fourth birthday.”

The knot in your tummy twisted harder. “Yeah…” you trailed off, deciding to snuggle closer to him, silently telling him to hold you tighter to his body.

“Sleep well, pretty,” he whispered, unaware of the shift happening in you.

Your head was about to blow up. You were sure. And every time you blew air out of your lungs, your abdomen screamed in pain and exhaustion.

“Perhaps I’m not made for this,” you mumbled to yourself quietly, wrapping the bead around your fingers to secure a tight knot, and then proceeded to put tape on one side of it, sticking it to the wall.

You had successfully decorated the side of the dining room that had the most cleared space for it. There perched a big and colorful daisy of white and light blue petals, with a Happy B-day Sohee sign sitting in the centre in baby pink colors, made by your hand. You had pulled out your party decorating skills, which you had put away since entering college, but they came in handy the moment you realized Jeonghan wasn’t planning on decorating.

“Okay,” you sighed tiredly, looking at the wall. Now that you had one task done, you needed to tend to the other two tasks you had set for yourself.

Task number one was decorating, done. Task number two was tidying up the place for the guests. And task number three was psyching yourself up for meeting your boyfriend’s ex, and the mother of his daughter.

Your stomach did that thing again—it felt like some deep part of you protested against what you had ahead for you, and it wanted to draw your attention to it by stabbing you right in the gut.

But you went ahead and tidied the place up—putting toys where they belonged, folding blankets and taking them to the bedrooms, cleaning the kitchen counters, and setting the table just nicely.

Two hours had passed since you’d arrived at Jeonghan’s place, and all of your tasks were done. You realized you could sneak fifteen minutes of mirror talk and touching up your makeup before Jeonghan and Sohee arrived back home.

When you came out of the bathroom, you felt like something was shaking inside your veins, leaving a trail of prickled nerves in its wake. But you took a deep breath—catching the sweet smell of vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon from the birthday cake set in the centre of the round dining table. You outlined the entire space with your gaze, mentally checking every single item you told Jeonghan you were in charge of getting for the party.

Balloons. Fruit tray. Candy tray. Banana milk. Peach drinks (Sohee’s favorite), candles and goodie bags, which were dinosaur themed.

The smart lock of the main door clicked and beeped, making your stomach contract and your nerves fire up in different directions inside your limbs. Jeonghan was crossing the door carrying a backpack on one shoulder, gift bags hanging on the same arm he was carrying Sohee with.

“Hello, you two,” you chirped, anxiety instantly swept when you saw Sohee’s adorable face. “What took you so long?”

“Sohee’s teachers,” Jeonghan exhaled tiredly, closing the door behind him and watching you approach him and Sohee. “They had a lot to say to me. One of them even got emotional.”

“And what did they have to say?” you asked, eyes set on the little girl perched on her father’s arm.

“Oh, just how much they appreciate Sohee,” he replied, bumping his daughter on his arm and turning to her. “They said you were the best girl, right? The smartest, kindest and friendliest. She’s been pretty talkative at school,” he added at the end, giving you a meaningful glance.

You made a shocked expression. “Is that true?” you asked, and then giggled at the sound of your own voice.

Sohee was listening to the conversation while she chewed on the tip of her index finger. But she nodded intently.

“They gave her a couple of presents,” Jeonghan said, gesturing to the gift bags on his arm. “Some of them were from her friends, two of them were from her teachers.”

You took one glance at the gift bags. “Oh, shoot,” you muttered.

“What?” Jeonghan said, brow furrowing.

“I forgot the present I got for her back in my apartment,” you said dispiritedly. But you turned to Sohee, extending your hands at her. “Hi, sweetheart!”

Sohee inclined her little body forward, just as you grabbed her by the torso and wrapped her around your hip. The movement was so natural that it went almost unnoticed, but it was Jeonghan’s gaze, the way he blinked, and his eyes lit up as he looked at his daughter, pointing at the wall behind you.

“That’s okay, we can go get it tomorrow morning,” Jeonghan mumbled faintly, still looking at his daughter perched now on your hip.

“Mn,” Sohee hummed softly, kicking her legs up in the air and pointing at the wall slightly harder.

“Oh, right,” you turned on your feet, taking the baby girl to the living room area so she could see the wall decorations. “We made this for you, kiddo,” you chirped, looking at her pretty face.

She pointed again.

“D’you like it?” you whispered, heart warming up at the sight of her sweet brown eyes taking in the big daisy on the wall.

She nodded aloofly. And then kicked her legs, pointing them to the floor.

“Alrighty,” you mumbled, carefully setting her on the floor. You watched her run joyfully to her bedroom, perhaps to get something, a toy for her to show you.

But then you turned, catching Jeonghan still staring at you, hands deep in his pockets, head tilted to one side. But it was the tenderness in his eyes that made your heart flip in that same rhythm as before—the one you had been so keen on avoiding, but was becoming unbearable.

“Do you like it?” you parroted, showing him the wall with your hands. You exhaled, trying to calm your nerves down—but it was futile.

“I love it,” he replied with a warm tone coating his words. Then he approached you with a slow step, slipping a hand on your waist to pull you closer to his frame. He leaned his head forward, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A vehement shudder crossed your entire body, and you let your eyelids fall closed as he planted another kiss on your forehead, this time longer. The words he said were ones you knew your heart was aching to hear—but the noise inside your head didn’t let you form a response.

The doorbell rang loudly, making you cringe visibly and turn to the door. “I’ll get it,” you said, slipping out of his embrace.

“No, I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said kindly.

“Then I’ll go get the birthday girl,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t feel too stiff on your face—but your heart was going a thousand miles per second.

Jeonghan caught something in your face, his eyes outlining your features before you turned around and hurried down the hall and to the toddler’s bedroom.

Sohee was playing with the new dinosaurs that her father had gotten for her birthday. She already got them all lined up on the colorful bookshelf in one corner of the room. Your stomach twisted with cuteness overload when you heard the tiny noises she was making for a triceratops as she made it stomp across the shelf.

“Hey kiddo,” you cooed, approaching her and crouching behind her. “Your friends are here. Do you want to come with me and greet them?”

She turned around and directed a steady look at your face. “Yeap,” she nodded happily, taking another dinosaur in her fist and running out of the room, squealing like she knew she was the star of the day.

You rose, and with a big sigh, you followed the toddler down to the dining room. You greeted the guests, parents of Sohee’s friends from daycare. And before you knew it, the party had already started, and it was going smoothly.

You made light conversation as you got juice boxes for all the kids, who weren’t many, but they felt like a massive multitude when they were swarming around you trying to get juice boxes and goodie bags.

“Alright, alright!” you laughed, holding up both hands. “Everyone will get one, I promise!” you said while handing a goodie bag to each kid.

You felt a hand on the small of your back. “That includes me?” Jeonghan asked close to your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek.

You leaned into the kiss. “If you behave, I’ll consider it,” you replied warmly.

“Mmn,” he hummed, pressing another loving kiss. “You know you’re all I want.” 

Your heart stammered, making you blink and find his eyes. Your tongue twisted, and you wished you had been quick enough to quip back something as enticing—but it was already too late. The doorbell rang again, but this time, neither you nor Jeonghan had to go get it.

It was Sohee’s mother, Soomin. She had only rung the doorbell to announce her arrival, since she knew the combination to the smart lock—a thing you had thought only you and Jeonghan knew, but you were proven wrong.

The person who crossed the door was entirely not what you had imagined. In all the scenarios where you had pictured yourself meeting Jeonghan’s ex and the mother of his child, you’d never imagined that it would be like this.

Soomin was beautiful. She was tall and had a bright smile as she crossed the door. “Where’s my girl?” she shouted from across the apartment, and your poor heart fell to your stomach when you saw Jeonghan smile widely.

“Oh, thank god,” he mumbled beside you. He ran quickly to his daughter, snatching her from the floor and making her squeal with the abrupt movement. Sohee laughed, drawing the attention of the room as Jeonghan carried her to see her mother. “Sohee baby, mom’s here!”

“Hi, peanut,” Soomin said in a high-pitched tone. “Happy birthday, sweetheart! Mommy is here,” she said, and then she leaned towards Sohee, who was sitting in Jeonghan’s arms.

But Sohee recoiled, turning her back to her mother. It was only natural, you thought, since the child barely recognized the face in front of her. But the scene before you hurt to watch either way. Jeonghan bounced the toddler in his arms, trying to drag her attention back to Soomin, who was getting something out of her leather handbag.

“Look what mommy got for you!” Soomin said, still speaking in that faux sweet tone. “Look!”

Sohee turned to see her mother getting a red gift bag, small enough that it fit inside the slick black leather bag. Sohee stared at it for a hard second before extending her hand and grabbing it, and then she proceeded to kick her legs to the floor.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said, putting the toddler back on the floor.

Sohee ran freely, and back to her little friends. Your gaze followed back to Jeonghan, who greeted Soomin with a very dry hey, but then approached to give her a quick hug, devoid of all kinds of affection. It was almost like neither of them knew how to treat each other anymore.

“Wow, you really went out this time,” Soomin said, looking at the decorations, the birthday cake carefully set in the centre of the table, birthday plates piled up, and trays of fruit and candy already about to empty.

“Oh, it was all her,” Jeonghan said, extending an arm towards you almost ceremoniously.

Your heart warmed up at the gesture, but your nerves had eaten you up already. You approached them with a stiff step until Jeonghan wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you up to his side, showing you off proudly.

“So I can put a face to the name, finally,” Soomin said, showing you a dashing smile. She extended a hand towards you. “I’m Soomin, Sohee’s mother.”

You took her hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, smiling at her politely.

At that exact second, one of the little kids had pulled one of the candy trays from the table and thrown the candy all over the floor. “Oh—” you uttered, motioning to go clean the candy from the floor.

“I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said, giving you a quick but reassuring look. And then he said to you, “I’ll be back, baby.”

And you knew he didn’t want to leave you alone with his ex, but he also didn’t want you to go and clean up the floor. So you stood there, anxiously watching as Jeonghan picked the candies and put them back on the tray one by one.

“Can I help with anything?” Soomin asked, more for decency than true intentions of helping.

“Nope,” you said awkwardly. “Everything’s set up.”

Soomin leaned her head to one side slightly before throwing one glance to the kids playing with Sohee. “You’ve done a lot already.”

“It’s not that big of a party,” you said, shrugging.

She smiled faintly, and you knew what she was looking at. “It’s big enough,” she said faintly.

You followed her gaze, finding Sohee playing with one of her little friends. They were both sharing a soundboard that someone at the party had gifted her.

“She’s shy, isn’t she?” Soomin said, her tone was devoid of snark, but then she added, “Kind of like her father.”

Although the comment wasn’t ill-natured, it hurt your heart to hear it. “She just takes a minute,” you replied, wishing you hadn’t sounded so harsh towards Soomin. But your heart was beating frantically, making you afraid that it was going to jump out of your chest.

And then you watched as Soomin’s gaze went around the room again, stopping on the wall behind you. Her dark brown eyes went over the balloons forming a giant daisy, and the big birthday sign made by you.

“You’re really good with her,” Soomin said after a moment. Her eyes found you. “Jeonghan has told me about you.”

Your tummy clenched. “I care about her.”

“I can tell,” she replied, and then you caught an edge in her tone. And then added, softer, “Not everyone would step into something like this.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Soomin raised her eyebrows, gesturing around the apartment, the toddlers. “Well, a life that’s already in progress, you know what I mean?”

You told yourself that the words were neutral. Nothing was targeted towards you. But it still felt like it was.

You forced a smile. “I didn’t see it that way.”

Soomin’s expression didn’t change; it was as though she were having a great time talking with you. “That’s probably why you’ve made it work. It was really brave of you to have stepped in. To do what I couldn’t.”

Your stomach clenched again, and your mouth twitched like you were about to tell her something you’d regret.

“Baby! Where are the candles?” Jeonghan called from the kitchen.

You exhaled, glad. “Excuse me,” you said, and as you walked away, you felt Soomin’s gaze on you, following you.

Your ears were ringing, anger still boiling inside you. Jeonghan was closing a drawer, his expression hardening at once as he took one look at you. “Everything okay there, beautiful?” he asked, glancing towards the living room.

You could still feel Soomin’s eyes on you. You nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, trying to mask your anger. You would talk about it with him later.

His eyes outlined your expression. “Sure?” 

“Sure,” you said, opening the top cabinet and then handing him the pack with green and pink candles in it.

Jeonghan grabbed the candles, sighing. “Looks like the party is going well,” he said, giving you a hopeful smile and glimmering eyes.

Despite the rage still tightening your stomach, you smiled at him. “Sohee’s happy,” you said, casting a look at Sohee. “I’ll go get her,” you told him, turning around and walking towards Sohee.

The toddler was happily focused on her toys and her little friends. Her eyes were wide and glimmering in excitement, and candy wrappers were spread all across the floor. Something caught your eye—a red, unopened gift bag, forgotten in one corner of the living room.

“Princess, come here,” you called softly, crouching behind her to see her at eye level. “Do you want cake?”

The question caught her attention immediately, making her turn around and face you. You stretched your hands to her, and she silently responded by stretching her little arms to you. You grabbed her, standing up to secure her at your hip, and she instantly wrapped her legs around you.

“Oh, I got her. Let me.”

Soomin was already behind you, showing you her palms so you could transfer Sohee to her grip. A pang of jealousy sank deep inside your belly, making you want to hold Sohee closer to your body, almost like a protective defence mechanism.

You conceded, though begrudgingly. “Of course,” you replied, but there was no way you could hide the disappointment in your tone.

With a fretful pain lacing your heart, you handed Sohee over to her mother. The toddler kicked her legs anxiously and turned to look at you as though trying to understand she wasn’t in your arms anymore. And with little control over yourself, you glanced in Jeonghan’s direction, almost as knowing he’d be looking. He had watched the whole exchange from afar, and he immediately recognized the dispirited look on your face, because all he did was offer you a solemn smile.

It made your blood boil. What else could he do? A tiny voice called inside your head. You’re not Sohee’s mother. The voice said with painful regret.

It was the truth. No matter how bad it hurt, you weren’t Sohee’s mother. And you were getting attached to her—attached to this life without having a true anchor to it.

And the thought ruined the rest of the night for you.

So you watched as Soomin sat on the table with Sohee sitting on her lap, the toddler forgot about the anxiety of being with a stranger as soon as Jeonghan stepped beside the chair and lit up the candles on the cake.

You debated whether to step closer or just watch from afar. The candles you had picked for Sohee’s cake were green and pink, and a single sparkling candle that, once Jeonghan got to light it up, stole the attention of the toddler. Her big, brown eyes glimmered in the dark against the sparkles that flew up to the ceiling, and instead of gasping or crying out as the other kids did, Sohee just stared at it, fascination spread across her face, parting her little lips.

Your stomach twisted in adoration. And you couldn’t resist it. You pulled out your phone and hit the record button, determined to save this little moment forever—even if in real life it only lasted about fifty seconds.

Sohee was happy. She ate cake happily, shared her toys with her friends and seemed to be getting better at talking with others. And that was the only shining light in your night.

By the time that all the guests had left, the apartment didn’t look as wrecked as you half expected it to be after hosting about fifteen people in it. The paper plates were stacked in a crooked tower, forks and spoons piled next to it on the kitchen counter, breadcrumbs spread all over the surface. There were plastic cups everywhere, toys, gift bags and confetti all over the living room floor.

The front door opened, and Jeonghan slipped inside the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. The minute he stepped in, you decided to busy yourself by looking for a large trash bag that you had left somewhere in the kitchen.

“Well, that’s everyone,” Jeonghan said, pleased that all of the guests had gone home. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

You started shoving trash into the bag as quickly as you could without making too much noise, and you were half glad that there was so much to do before you went home because you needed to think.

But Jeonghan had already noticed you were in a mood, and you could feel him hovering in the kitchen, trying to get a read on you. “The party went really well. Everyone had a lot of fun,” he said, his tone gentle.

You were grabbing a bunch of plastic cups in one hand, throwing them inside the bag without caring that they were still half full. “Yeah. Sure,” you huffed, continuing to clean the dining table.

The silence that followed was truly unsettling, making you weigh on the tone you had used and the manner in which you were moving. You were stepping out of control, and you didn’t care where you were taking this conversation.

By the time you found the courage to raise your gaze, you found Jeonghan frowning at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Air left your lungs like you were suddenly punched in the chest. “Did you have fun today?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “Because I didn’t.”

Jeonghan’s frown didn’t ease; he was confused. But his gaze softened, showing you worry. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone dropping when he added, “Did something happen?”

You left the bag aside on the floor, dropping your arms at your sides in a defeated manner. “I mean, I spent the entire evening running around, trying to make sure everything worked,” you said, gesturing around you. “I made the food, drinks, decorations, and cleanup. I didn’t have the chance to sit down once.”

Jeonghan blinked. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

You sighed. “That’s easy to say now.”

He shifted his weight, motioning to approach you. “That’s not what I meant—”

“I know,” you cut him off, putting a hand between him and you. “I know you meant it nicely.”

You could feel the waves of emotion coming closer, coming to get you. And your body acted off of instinct, picking up one stray napkin on the table and folding it in half, almost as though preparing yourself to have something in your hand for when you started crying.

With a tearless sob, you added. “It would’ve been nice if someone had noticed while it was happening.”

Jeonghan’s frown disappeared. “I noticed.”

“Did you?” you asked, still holding your emotions back.

“Of course I did,” he said, his tone dropping to an even gentler one.

But you could still feel the tears prickling in your eyes, everything you held back making you taste them in your tongue. “Then why was I still doing everything while everyone else was enjoying the party?”

Jeonghan tilted his head to one side, looking at you as though finding you endearing that you were about to cry for something like this, but still approached you with caution. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” he said, and then he hesitated, almost as though wanting to take back his words, so he added instead, “I was busy with things as well, I thought we were both busy, baby.”

You deadpanned to him. “You really didn’t think I wanted to enjoy the party too?”

He opened his mouth, his eyes widening as his mind started to reel, you knew it.

But you kept going. “I wanted to sit down with her when she opened her presents. Or be next to her when she blew out the candles. Honestly, Jeonghan, I felt like a guest at a party I helped throw. I couldn’t even hold Sohee for two minutes!”

His face fell in utter worry, his shoulders going slack. “Is this all because Soomin wanted to hold her?” he asked, his tone hollow, like he now couldn’t believe you were throwing a tantrum over this.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No—! Yes! But it’s not only that!” you stammered.

Jeonghan stepped back, but just slightly, as though he wanted to take a good look at your face—disbelief still contorting his face. “Soomin was just trying to have a moment with her as well,” he shook his head. “I don’t see that as a bad thing. Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?” you asked, raising your tone.

And Jeonghan sighed. “Baby… she’s Sohee’s mother.”

It wasn’t necessarily cruel. His tone was devoid of venom, but it still hurt—like a bitter truth being forced down your bloodstream, burning and leaving an ache in its wake.

Your entire body shook before a powerful shudder. “Right,” you said slowly.

Jeonghan immediately realized the weight of his words, the pain translating in your features. “Wait—” he said, his jaw set tight as his eyes widened in worry. “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”

You shook your head. “No, I get it,” you said, but your voice had lost all power, and the wall you had put between reason and emotions crumbled. Tears burst in your eyes, and a sob broke through your chest.

“You’re right. I’m not her mom,” you continued, giving him a brittle smile. “I never forgot that. Not for a second,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “You know, I keep reminding myself of that. Of where I stand.”

Jeonghan took another step towards you, this time more decisive. “Baby, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said, trying to be nice still, trying to figure out how to calm you down.

You looked down to wipe your tears. Confetti was spread all over the floor, and your stomach twisted at the thought of how this scene might appear from the outside. The apartment was a mess—gift bags, wrapping paper, candy, and new toys scattered across the living room. A half-eaten cake sat on the table, and balloons were stuck to the walls. The lights in the kitchen and living room remained on. You and Jeonghan were arguing, trying to keep your voices down so as not to disturb the little girl’s sleep.

You finally found the strength to look at him again. And when Jeonghan saw your tired face, fear replaced the worry in his eyes. He saw the determination in your eyes—he knew you well. “I think I’m going to go.”

Jeonghan sighed, motioning a step closer. “It’s late. Stay,” he said, his tone still wrapped in a careful gentleness.

You shook your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeonghan,” you said, your tone fading into a mere whisper. “I’m going home.”

He took a pause, studying you with his gaze roaming all over the features of your face, finding something in your eyes that made you wonder what you would look like. Because he seemed to lose all composure. “Baby, come on,” he said, his eyebrows drawn in. “We just had a fight. That doesn’t mean you need to leave.”

You sighed tiredly. “It wasn’t just a fight, Jeonghan,” you said calmly. All need to fight was gone now. You had lost. You shook your head. “I’m done.”

You turned around, heading towards the door. But you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan’s expression, the shock and worry making his eyes wide and glistening. “Baby.”

You grabbed your sweater and your handbag. The only two non-disposable belongings you had in his house.

“Baby,” he insisted again, more firmly now. “You’re not seriously leaving because of something I said.”

You paused, but you didn’t let the moment catch you in your determination. “It’s not just something you said. It’s a fact.”

Jeonghan stiffened, but words got stuck in his mouth, making his throat bob visibly.

You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob. And then all self-control slipped out of your hands. “Today I learned two things. One is that I was changing my whole life to fit into yours,” you told him, pulse quickening when you realized what you were doing, what you were breaking. “And the other thing is that I was the only one doing that.”

Jeonghan took a weak step towards you, his eyes showing the realization of what was about to happen. “We can still figure things out,” he whispered, eyes wide and glossy.

And something reminded you of how easy Soomin walked back into Jeonghan and Sohee’s life, how fleeting her presence was compared to the mess you had in your hands now. Your heart was breaking, and you couldn’t fit in your head how easy it was for her to walk out and walk back in. You envied that for a split second, because now you had a broken heart to fix.

Jeonghan still thought the problem was logical. And not something you had been wanting him to truly see.

You took in a deep breath. “Goodbye, Jeonghan,” you whispered, slipping out through the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Coming back home to your apartment felt hauntingly out of the ordinary. It was as though you were stepping into a scene that had been put on pause. There was a forgotten glass of juice half empty on the kitchen counter, and you couldn’t remember leaving it there. The ironing board was standing in the middle of the living room, iron unplugged and in the holder—two things you had left there while in a hurry to get to your work in time. Plants all over the apartment were starting to wither, neglected.

A secondary instinct kicked in, telling you that at this hour you’d be helping Jeonghan tidy the place up while Sohee slept. You’d be stacking toys back into their place, folding blankets while Jeonghan did the dishes.

You closed your eyes slowly, finally hurting when you realized that you had walked out on all of it.

And your apartment didn’t feel like home.

You left your things on the counter and decided to plop down on the couch, face down against the cushions. Your pulse hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d said goodbye to Jeonghan—and when you collapsed on the couch, you realized that you were crying. And you weren’t crying angry tears like when you were having a fight with Jeonghan, no.

You sobbed uncontrollably, tears kept coming and blurring your vision. And there was nothing in your mind except the memory of Jeonghan’s face when you walked out on him. You did the right thing, you told yourself, but your heart felt empty.

It had been the right thing. That much was true.

You loved Jeonghan. You loved Sohee.

Somewhere in the kitchen, you heard your phone buzzing, vibrating furiously inside your handbag. You ignored it. And you ignored it ten times all through the night, until it eventually ceased ringing.

Quiet settled around the empty apartment. An apartment that was yours, with all the things you built on your own. And the worst part is that it didn’t feel like home anymore. You kept wanting to reach for your car keys and leave somewhere.

Did you overreact? You wondered. I probably did blow everything out of proportion. You thought, remembering Soomin’s satisfied face when she told you that you were brave for stepping into her shoes.

Your chest tightened.

But you pushed it down.

The first twenty hours were hell.

That’s how Jeonghan felt. Like a long, gruelling torture that only pushed him to reflect.

The balloons on the wall had started to deflate, but he didn’t want to take them down. The rest of the things that you had prepared for the party had already been cleaned up, one thing that Jeonghan had done the morning after you left. It helped him think instead of bombarding your voicemail with messages pleading with you to call him back.

I could just go to her apartment, he thought. But he imagined the scene—Sohee on his arms as he begged you to come back. And he instantly pushed the idea away.

The apartment was awfully quiet. Until his phone started to vibrate on the dining table, making his stomach drop, and his hand reached for it instantly, thinking it was you, finally calling him back.

Soomin.

Jeonghan sighed, his heart deflating.

But then, a knock came to the front door. And for a moment, he thought he imagined it.

Then it came again. You knocked two quick times, deciding to step back from it and wait, clasping the gift bag with your hands. Standing there, your gaze fell out of focus, and inevitably started comparing the times you had stood there, how quickly Jeonghan would get to the door and welcome you in with open arms.

When Jeonghan finally opened the door, it was the first time you had seen him truly torn. It was normal for you to see him untidy after a long day at work, hair messy, unmade tie, untucked shirt, whatever. But no, this time was different. His face was darkened by the dark circles under his eyes, but it was the deep, conflicted sparkle in them that disheartened you completely.

“Hi,” you croaked, and cleared your throat nervously.

Jeonghan let out a quick sigh, running a palm down his mouth and chin before stepping aside, letting you in.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say, but silence was the last thing you had anticipated. But you stepped into the apartment anyway, immediately spotting the quietness, which could only indicate one thing.

“Where is she?” you muttered, turning around to see Jeonghan shutting the door behind him quietly.

“Asleep,” he told you quietly, leaning back against the door with his hands tucked behind his back. You noticed the tired look he gave you, but that wasn’t the only thing that consumed your attention wholly—he was wary. “I just put her to bed.”

Your heart squeezed one more time, and you gave him a reproachful look. “Oh, okay,” you sighed, looking at the green gift bag in your hands. “Then I’ll leave this with you. She’ll like it, I’m sure. It’s a—it’s an axolotl plushie,” you said, stammering over your words with the need to hurry and get this over with. You wanted to run back to your car and cry.

Jeonghan nodded, licking his lips in a way that told you he had a lot to say, but decided to remain quiet. See how things would unfold first.

But this wasn’t going according to your plans. Your eyes began to brim with tears, which you blinked away quite successfully. “I wanted to see her one last time. Say goodbye properly,” you told him, tone lowering as your throat closed up.

He leaned the back of his head against the door, and as he blinked slowly, you saw his walls crumble down. “I know,” he said, his tone lowered too. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly.

You saw him blink up, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “Is that why you put her to bed earlier than usual?” you asked keenly. “So I wouldn’t get to see her?”

Jeonghan nodded slowly, moving his arms and crossing them on his chest. “I didn’t want her to see this. I’m sorry,” he shrugged with a look of pity on his face. “But I think we should talk first.”

You felt your brow furrowing. “I thought we already talked, Jeonghan. Last night,” you said, feeling lost.

“Yeah, but last night you walked out on me,” he said, tilting his head to one side as his gaze changed, quickly being filled with disappointment and resentment. He pushed himself away from the door, approaching you with the same wariness.

“There was nothing left to say,” you muttered, trying to keep down the tight knot sitting in your throat.

“Really?” he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks just one step in front of you. His face had fallen in something that went far beyond resentment now, like uncontrolled exasperation and anger. “We could’ve solved things last night before you ended everything!”

Shame filled your bloodstream, coursing through your body and leaving your skin feeling hot and prickling with anger. You carefully set down the gift bag on the table, deciding to leave. “I won’t let anyone treat me like I’m second-best, Jeonghan. That’s why I walked out.”

It was as though you had slapped him in the face. He stepped back, blinking in a way that told you that your words had hurt him. But before you could have a confirmation on this, Jeonghan took another step, but now in your direction. “I didn’t treat you like second-best,” he replied, his face crumpling with hurt, and most shocking—you saw fear in his eyes.

“No? I was trying to make everything perfect for Sohee. And by the end of it, what did I get? Your ex walking all over me like I’m her stand-in!” you blurted, words coming out raw and shaky. But you were glad that, despite the overwhelming need to cry, you could still speak what troubled your heart.

Jeonghan looked at you like he was finally seeing the truth. Almost as though he had willingly blindfolded himself throughout the party last night, but now, he finally saw something he didn’t want to.

So, with heat flooding your chest, you continued, “You truly didn’t notice, Jeonghan? The tacit remarks she’d make? Or when I wanted to hold Sohee and she would casually step in? Or what about the moment she told me I was brave for doing what she couldn’t?” you said. Your throat tightened, anger burning as tears finally spilled. You wiped them angrily, refusing to look away.

“She said that?” he said with an empty look in his eyes as his shoulders sagged a little. “I didn’t hear her. I actually thought she was being nice. For once.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to see it because she was being nice to you,” you accused, crossing your arms to hold yourself steady. Or to protect yourself. “That’s myproblem. She doesn’t have to fight for a space!”

“That’s not fair. You don’t have to fight for a space—”

“No, but I do,” you interrupted, blood heating up after remembering how it felt. “And what’s not fair was pretending she was being nice. She knew exactly what she was doing, and whether you meant it or not, you let her.”

“I should’ve known she would do things when I wasn’t looking,” Jeonghan replied, his tone firm. But then his gaze softened, right as he too crossed his arms, making you think that he was guarding himself up as well.

You let out a resigned sigh. “But this isn’t truly about your ex, Jeonghan,” you finally said, gulping hard. “This is about us failing to do things right.”

And when he lifted his gaze back to you, you noticed a glint in his eyes, like sorrow taking over him. He wasn’t crying, but your heart slowed down at seeing that torn-up look on him. Your words had struck a nerve. “This isn’t on me—I tried making things right!” he said, not lifting his tone, his words devoid of heat.

“You were rushing into things! Asking me to move in? Putting me as the emergency contact on Sohee’s file without telling me?” you said, trying to keep your tone light, but instead you sounded like you were on the brink of tears again.

He still looked hurt, but now, he was beginning to detach himself from you—and you could tell. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe you, running a hand down his mouth, frustratedly. “I thought that you moving in with us would make us stronger. But now I know we weren’t on the same page with that.”

You understood why he delivered his words dryly, but it still made your aching heart deflate even more. Tears burst from your eyes again, and you hated that you were now out of control. “I just wanted to know that you weren’t just looking for someone to share the burden with.”

He let out a huff, a cold smile painting his face. “I don’t need someone to share the burden with; I have been doing fine on my own since Soomin left.”

You rolled your eyes—he was missing the point. “I wanted to be certain that you wanted me.”

That left him cold. His arms were still crossed on his chest, but you saw the smallest of budges, as though the very air had left his lungs, cracking that wall he was putting between you. “Is that it? Is that why you said no?” he asked, his tone softer. He motioned to approach you, but the look on your face stopped him.

You were fully crying now. No sobbing, no hiccupping, no runny nose. Just unstoppable tears streaking down your cheeks. Your lip trembled, just as you were looking for the words to tell him what you needed to hear from him.

His mind reeled—you could tell from the way his gaze shifted quickly, dropping from your face to the ground and then back to you. His brow twitched. “I thought you knew.”

You nodded. “I still needed to hear it, Jeonghan.”

His gaze fell to the space between you, as though trying to untangle this mess in his mind.

But it didn’t matter now. Nothing he could say now would ease the pain in your chest. You were done now. You wanted to go home.

You didn’t say goodbye this time. You didn’t want to drag it any further.

You walked past him, rushing to the door before he could stop you—or to be quick and have the confirmation that he wouldn’t try to stop you. And when you were safe in the elevator, your heart broke anew when you blinked and saw the image of Jeonghan standing in the dining room, a grief-stricken look on his face.

Oh, this would take you months to heal.

Your friends were right. Getting into a relationship with someone like Jeonghan would only bring you pain. Nothing else.

The walk from the elevator to where you had parked your car was excruciatingly long. Your chest was constricting more and more as you fished your key out of the pocket of your jeans, unlocking the car door from afar.

“Wait!”

Jeonghan’s raw voice crossed the parking lot like lightning shooting through the night sky. You stopped, not because you wanted to follow the request, but because of the sheer shock of knowing that he’d chased you down to the parking lot.

Jeonghan was catching up, running to where you stood, frozen to the ground. “Wait,” he pleaded, breathing hard as he reached you. “Don’t go… please.”

Had he run down the emergency stairs just to catch you before you got in your car? Had he left Sohee alone just to get to you? You stared at him, beyond disbelief.

He composed himself with one deep breath, raising his palms at you warily. “I know I don’t deserve this, but please hear me out.”

When you didn’t respond, a wild look of fear shot across his face, making his eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t ask you to move in with us because I wanted someone to share the burden of being a parent,” he said, his words honest despite the tremble in his tone. “I said those things because Sohee is my priority. I was dumb, and that was the first thing that popped into my mind. I wasn’t thinking of how I sounded.”

He gulped air, hard. “I asked you to move in with us because I feel empty when you’re not around,” he said, more fiercely, his eyes glimmering as he took another step towards you. “I asked you to move in with me because of the most selfish reason—because I don’t want to be without you.”

And then the look in his eyes turned to complete despair when you remained motionless. His confession had done nothing to you, or so he appeared to believe. But your heart was beating wildly, thumping in your eardrums. You stood there, torn between holding your ground and giving in to him.

His mouth parted, and he took half a pace to where you stood. But he stopped, as though all strength and courage had dissipated the moment your eyes began to brim with tears again. “Please,” he whispered, gulping hard once again. And you knew what he was feeling—his heart thrumming in his throat. “Don’t do this.”

He wasn’t scared of losing a perfect candidate for his ex’s stand-in. No—and you were a fool to have believed that. You had seen the terrible person his ex was and still decided to run with that idea.

What you had failed to remember was that Jeonghan had gone through difficult breakups before. His ex left him with a baby in his arms. And even if his relationship with Soomin had been loveless from the start, it was still hard, and it still hurt.

God knows how long it had been since Jeonghan felt love.

And the truth is, you trusted that not even he remembers it as well.

Jeonghan was exceptionally bad at sharing his feelings aloud. That is one thing you’ve learned in all eight months you’ve been with him. But then you saw his posture change, the strength in him waning. “I won’t let things go this way again,” he told you, his eyes pleading.

A brutal shudder coursed through you. You loved this man. There was no way you could just turn around and walk away.

Your lip trembled. “You promise?”

It was as though life had been injected into him, hope glimmering in his eyes now. “I promise,” he replied.

With just a couple of paces, you closed the space between you and him, grabbing him by the collar of his black t-shirt and pulling him in. And he simply let you, receiving the impact of your smaller body against his by grabbing you by the waist, already knowing you were aiming for a kiss.

Your lips clashed with his in a crushing kiss; it almost hurt, but you didn’t care. Your body brimmed with energy, making your fingers curl around the fabric of his t-shirt. It was a leap of faith—but this time, you were ready. “I love you,” you said, squeezing your eyelids tightly.

A small sigh escaped him. “I love you too,” he replied, switching his hands from your waist to your face, cupping it before going back to kissing you. “Please, stay,” he whispered before pressing his lips against yours tightly.

You melted in his embrace. “Okay,” you replied, nodding.

He wrapped you with his arms completely, placing one hand on your back and the other on your head, making your face nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “You scared me,” he whispered, the sound of his voice strangled.

You swallowed hard. “You scared me too,” you admitted.

He kissed the top of your head, moving to cup your face again. “I know this doesn’t solve everything,” he said, his tone brittle. That’s when you noticed his eyelashes crumpled with tears. “So I think we should talk about what comes next.”

You shifted slightly to get the tears on the corners of your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He seemed to calm down with one breath. “Soomin is still going to be part of our lives.”

You nodded. “I know.”

His eyebrows knitted slightly. “And sometimes our lives will get messy.”

“I know that, Jeonghan,” you whispered, smiling at him softly.

He caressed your cheek tenderly. “But I want you to talk to me every time something feels off,” he said.

“And will you?” you asked.

He nodded. “Every single time,” he said. “I want us to be stronger together.”

The certainty in his demeanour made you pause. “You mean that?” you asked with a tiny tone.

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I should’ve told you this before. I don’t want to be without you.”

And now the honesty was the thing that disarmed you completely. For a second, you almost felt like your vulnerable side was about to win, but you sighed. “I was jealous of her,” you confessed.

He blinked in disbelief. “Of Soomin?”

You nodded. “She’s Sohee’s mom. I didn’t like to feel that I was competing with her.”

“You weren’t,” he said with certainty. “Things got messy yesterday. I didn’t notice she was trying to make you feel insecure.”

You shook your head lightly. “This whole thing feels ridiculous now.”

He frowned. “What does?”

“All of this,” you gestured to the space between you and him. “We nearly blew up our entire relationship because we couldn’t talk about what we actually feel.”

He let out a light laugh. “It won’t happen again,” he said, stepping back and grabbing your hand, motioning back to the building. “Let’s go back inside?”

You nodded, walking with him, feeling ten times lighter than before.

You both stepped into the elevator, still holding hands. But as soon as the doors closed, Jeonghan tugged at your hand, pulling you closer to his frame. He wrapped an arm around your waist, finding your cheek with the other hand. “Will you forgive me?” he mumbled softly, smiling at you like he was shy. “I let things go out of hand.”

Your heart softened again, making you choke up, so you just nodded. “Me too,” you whispered. “I apologize too.”

He blinked slowly. “We talked about this before, remember?” he told you. “My life is messy, and I haven’t had a relationship since Soomin. I think this is us trying to find the balance in everything.”

You smiled at him. “Please don’t tell me that finding the balance will look like this every time.”

He laughed lightly. “I told you, baby. I won’t let this happen again,” he said, full of certainty. “I mean it.”

You sighed softly, relief finally setting in. “Okay,” you whispered, closing your eyes as he leaned in to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours ever so tenderly, like he was trying to isolate every single feeling and just focus on how your lips felt against his.

The kiss deepened, lips locking together in a heated dance that had your blood dancing in your veins almost instantly. A moan bubbled in your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swiping on your bottom lip, touching your tongue as it rolled inside your mouth.

You placed a hand square on his chest. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” you said, faking a stern look on your face.

The elevator reached the floor, doors parting with a soft ding. Jeonghan took your hand again, as though not wanting to let you go for one second. “I didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said with a smirk. “But please tell me what I can do to get there faster.”

You laughed. “Well, first, you could give me a neck massage.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s starting strong?” he laughed.

“And take me for dinner at that restaurant you keep telling me you wanted to take me,” you said.

“You free tomorrow?” he said while opening the door for you.

He quickly pushed your back against the wall of the hall to his bedroom, locking his lips with yours in a quick, but passionate kiss. “I could pick you up at eight,” he said, his tone raw.

“I dunno. I’ll have to check my calendar,” you replied jokingly, putting your hands on his chest, feeling him up.

Jeonghan giggled into the kiss. “You do that,” he replied.

You smiled, letting him dominate the kiss. And Jeonghan quickly took on the task, kissing you vehemently, like putting every emotion he felt for you into a silent dance of his lips with yours. His hands slipped from your face, finding your waist to clutch on as his tongue rolled inside your mouth.

You moaned, feeling his tongue against yours sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands on his torso slipped further down, finding the hem of his clothes and slipping beneath his shirt, feeling his warm skin.

The muscle of his abdomen contracted softly. “Wait—” Jeonghan said, pausing mid-kiss with a smacking sound from his lips and yours. “Bathroom.”

You were only able to moan out a sound of affirmation. The door to the bathroom was a couple of steps away from you, and when you both got there, it was as though a lightbulb had been switched on in your mind. Jeonghan was intending to take you to the most secluded place in the house—far away from the baby’s room.

Jeonghan turned the lights on with one hand, undoing the button of his jeans with the other. You acted quickly—taking one step in his direction and grabbing the black t-shirt, enjoying the look in his eyes, the hunger, the lust and devotion in them.

The clothes came off quietly—hurriedly, while his gaze remained trained on your face. Jeonghan was quiet, unusually quiet as you worked your trembling fingers to undress him. “Do you want to undress me?” you mumbled, your tone sweet, but low.

He blinked slowly and nodded, biting his bottom lip. He first grabbed the hem of your tank top, hiking it up your torso while you raised your arms to help him in the process. His gaze shifted to your chest when your bralette came into view. “I like this,” he whispered, running the pad of his thumb along the pretty lace hem of the cup of the bralette. “You know I like this one.”

You smiled softly. “If you’re suggesting that I wore the bra you liked to break up with you in case something happened, then you’re sorely mistaken,” you replied smugly.

He matched your smile. “I’m glad,” he whispered, tilting his head to meet your lips with his. He kissed you once, softly at first, his lips creating a low smacking sound when he pulled back, but not far. “I’m glad you didn’t break up with me.”

“I guess all we needed was to talk it out,” you joked in between hurried, heated pecks. Then your breath hitched, Jeonghan’s cold fingers had found the clasp of your bralette.

Jeonghan sighed in amusement. “Who would’ve thought,” he replied with an obvious tone while his hands gently eased the straps off your shoulders, and took your bra off your chest.

You needed one second to take in the situation in—you had just gone through one of the worst moments of your life, thinking that you were breaking up with the man you had fallen head over heels for. And now to be back in his apartment, hiding in the bathroom with him so that whatever went down in there wouldn’t wake the baby up.

It felt strangely exciting.

He pushed the tip of his nose against yours softly, making you angle your face as he swiped the tip of his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You parted your mouth, letting him in with a silent moan, right as his tongue found yours. He kissed you slowly, sensually, like he had been aching to do that for the longest time, but things just got in the way.

You understood then, all the intense gazes, the way he kept looking at your lips…

“From now on, I’ll tell you everything,” he told you suddenly, giving you small kisses as his hands came up to cup your face lovingly. “Every single thought that crosses my brain, you’ll know it.”

You laughed at that, the sound louder than anything else; it bounced off the walls in a denouncing manner.

“Quiet, baby,” Jeonghan uttered, but he let out a tiny giggle with you anyway. “Sohee might hear you.”

You couldn’t help it; your heart melted. “Sorry,” you whispered, but the smile didn’t wipe off your face.

He tilted his head to one side, smiling endearingly at you. “I have a feeling you like this,” he muttered, voice low like a purr.

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you pushed his boxers down.

“You like it when I tell you to be quiet,” he kept going, keeping his tone down.

His gaze dropped to your hands as you grabbed his cock and started stroking him with your hand wrapped around the underside of his shaft. He had a pretty cock, soft and veiny on his thick shaft, dark pink on its head.

Seeing your hand rolling up and down his erect cock made him swallow a grunt, but as you twisted your grip around him, the sounds he made grew louder. How easy it was for him to surrender under your touch caused a deep satisfaction to bloom in your chest. But more than that, arousal had already started to pulsate between your legs. You enjoyed giving him pleasure just as much as you enjoyed receiving it.

“I like everything you do, daddy,” you mumbled, your tone wrapped in honey.

“Fuck,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. He slipped his hands on your waist, clutching your skin tightly but not enough for it to burn. “You make me crazy.” 

Your fist tightened around the crown of his cock, smearing the slick precum leaking from his slit. You loved pleasuring him, yes, but you needed him inside you—the thrumming between your legs ached to feel him. A cunning smile painted your lips, considering playing with him some more.

But Jeonghan caught that naughty smirk on your face.

In one motion, he pushed your back to the countertop of the sink. You gasped at the sudden movement, but before you could protest, he was already getting to one knee in front of you.

“If you make a single sound, I’ll stop,” he told you, his eyes darkened with need and lust.

And without waiting for your verbal response, his head dipped down, pressing his mouth to your mound. He kissed the top of your pussy first, pressing his lips to your skin tenderly, almost adoringly as his sweet brown eyes found yours, but briefly. You let out a ragged breath, parting your legs by half, sitting on the countertop. That gave him all the access to your slick folds, which he nipped and licked eagerly.

You instantly tensed, your hand finding his head and the other holding onto the basin like your life depended on it. Jeonghan knew you well; he knew how you liked being touched, how to eat your pussy out until you were a mess of tears and babbles. He knew how to make you cum. What he was doing now was just to tease you, to drive you crazy—licking the juices off your folds with pleased grunts from his part, loving the way you were always ready for him.

He grabbed your thighs, spreading you further apart so you stopped twitching and moving—and licked your pussy up and down slowly, thoroughly, only to tease you some more.

But then he finally wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it ever so lightly.

Your jaw went slack, and to not let a scream out, the hand that was previously clutching the basin flew and landed on the tap, accidentally pushing it open. The sound of water flowing freely was the perfect mask for your whiny moans, because Jeonghan had started to run his tongue flatly on top of your engorged clit, all the while his lips kept it trapped.

Thoughts ceased to exist. Nothing mattered to you except for the sweet waves of pleasure running uncontrollably through your veins, making your skin prickle and your nipples pebble. It was as though you were submerged in a pool of pleasure. Your breathing turned ragged, and your body tensed solely to let the orgasm build up—because Jeonghan wasn’t stopping, and apparently, he had forgotten about the no noise rule.

Or maybe he liked this too.

But then he lifted his face slightly, keeping his lips and tongue on the top of your pussy as his lust-filled gaze met yours. You sank your teeth on your bottom lip, using the hand that was cradling the back of his head to push his face against your cunt, begging him silently to continue.

Jeonghan eyed the basin swiftly, briefly. And that was all the command you needed. You pushed your thumb against the tap, shutting it off.

However, he continued being a tease. Or a menace. He dragged his tongue against your swollen clit, pushing the wet muscle against you, achingly slow.

Your eyebrows pinched. Please, you begged with just one look.

There was a smile that only showed in his eyes right before he resumed eating you out, sucking and licking your clit. And he only needed to do it for mere thirty seconds before your orgasm tore through your body. You forgot about pulling his hair, taking that hand against your own mouth to stop yourself from screaming.

The waves of pleasure running through you were beyond anything else you’ve felt before. He’d teased you for so long that you were very much ready for that orgasm, leaving you limp and trembling on the countertop.

Your chest was rising and falling dramatically. Embarrassed, you cast a look at Jeonghan, who was pushing himself onto his feet with a light but wicked grin on his face. He didn’t need to say anything, he knew that you’d liked that.

And you needed him now.

You grabbed his wrist, pulling so that he stood between your thighs. “Wait,” he whispered, sliding his hands on your thighs to bring you to a halt.

You instantly knew what he’d say. You shook your head. “I want you now,” you mumbled.

But he motioned a hand to the cabinet behind you, where you knew he kept one large box of condoms. He kept it there and would also restock the bedside table every night you stayed in.

You grabbed him by the hip, pulling him closer to your body. “Now,” you whined. 

Jeonghan didn’t resist, didn’t question you.

His hands returned to your thighs, wrenching them further apart and positioning himself between them. Tilting your hips up, you angled yourself for him while still sitting back on the countertop—you knew he liked the view of his bare cock entering you, the view of your pussy stretched open with his girth.

So his head dipped, keeping his gaze where your body and his were about to join. He pushed his hips closer to yours, and you took his cock, guiding it to your sopping core. His mouth parted when the crown of his cock nuzzled your entrance, and a rush of excitement flowed through you when you felt him push inside.

Feeling him raw, skin on skin, was a delicious experience. Maybe it was more in your brain than in your body—because you swore you could cum right there and then, and he wasn’t even fully inside you.

You caught a glimpse of his face changing, of the pleasure taking over him quickly as he gave the first thrust, the muscle of his jaw twitched, and he immediately crushed his mouth with yours. With a muffled moan, he started moving, languidly at first, as though testing you.

“God, baby, you feel… amazing,” he whispered, pushing his hips with gentle motions. You believed that he wanted to take it slowly, so he wouldn’t finish fast and inside you. But then you heard how fucking wet you were. You could hear his cock slipping in and out of your walls, and Jeonghan wanted to enjoy it.

You cupped the side of his neck with one hand, motioning his gaze back to yours. You stared into his eyes for a long moment while he took your body slowly. Jeonghan blinked, his hands grabbing your thighs and motioning them around his hips, making it even harder for him to pull out.

It was a game you both had. And it made you feral. You loved it.

Jeonghan pushed his body flushed against yours, thrusting slowly, but deeply. “Like that?” he asked, although he didn’t need to—the look on your face told him enough.

But you nodded either way. You remembered what he said about telling you every single thought that crossed his brain, and you decided to give him some of your thoughts in return. “I love this,” you whispered. “I love feeling you like this.”

He let out a grunt, bowing his head to kiss your shoulder. “I know,” he sighed, his breath fanning your pert nipples. “I love it too.”

You slipped your hand from his neck and then locked your arms around his shoulders. All reason flew out of your brain, and then you knew you were just babbling—but you didn’t care. “The thought of you cumming inside me makes me cum,” you mumbled, uncaring of how pathetically sweet your tone sounded.

“Oh, fuck,” Jeonghan moaned loudly, the sound barely muffled by the crook of your neck, hips stuttering against yours for half a second.

You cupped his nape with your hand as he lifted his head to face you. “Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze taking you in. “Want me to pump you full of my cum?” he asked with a playful lilt.

You nodded, incapable of giving him a verbal reply. The question was crude; it sounded beyond dirty and sinful as it came out of his lips. This surely wasn’t the first time he spoke filthy things to you, but it was the first time he asked a question like this.

And you loved it.

The pacing of his thrusts quickened, but didn’t relent on their depth, keeping his body flush against yours. You could feel the film layer of sweat covering his skin, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were sweating as well.

But you noticed that Jeonghan was forgetting about your game of keeping quiet. The pacing of his thrusts quickening also meant that the sounds of skin slapping against skin were harder to avoid. You thought of mentioning this to him, but it turned you on to see him lose control slowly.

“Babe,” you whispered, “be quiet.”

Jeonghan had to bite his smile back. And fuck, you loved this man. One of the things you loved about him was how sexy he could be. He pushed his hips against yours in a particularly thorough way that made you think he was trying to reach as deep into you as he could, making you whimper loudly.

“You be quiet,” he bit back, continuing to slip his cock in and out of your walls deliciously, making you see stars.

Your eyelids fell closed, but you could capture the image of him leaning his face closer to yours, feeling his breath on your lips before he kissed them. “Quiet or you won’t get to cum,” he said, his tone raspy, tired.

“Doesn’t that mean you won’t either?” you taunted, loving the way the pacing of his thrusts changed. You knew he was trying to draw out his own pleasure, make himself last longer.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound languid. “Remember how I got you to shut up that one time?” he asked, his tone still low, waning. And when the memory instantly flashed behind your closed lids, your walls tightened around him, drawing out a moan from him.

That time, he showed you a different side of himself. You were being louder than most nights, having fun by testing how far Jeonghan would go to make you submit to him.

“Yeah, you remember it,” he drawled, moving his face ever so slightly so he could join his lips with yours, all while still moving inside you painfully slow. He was edging you, and in turn, he was edging himself as well. “I thought you looked pretty with my cock inside your mouth,” he said.

You could’ve fallen over the edge in that second. A shameful whine came out of you, but you were too gone to even think of how pathetic you were sounding. You didn’t care. Having Jeonghan inside you, raw, and speaking filth to you felt so good. “I’ll be quiet, Hannie,” you told him. “Just don’t stop.”

With a grunt, Jeonghan obliged, changing the push and pull from a painfully slow one to a deliciously hard and deep one. You let out a silent moan, angling your hips to him so he could reach deeper inside you, so you could feel him completely.

Jeonghan cussed, his voice drowned out by the dull sound of skin hitting against skin. And it was then that you knew that this was his obsession—the quiet play, the bickering, the very obvious sounds of pleasure…

And you simply let him take you. The closer he grew to his orgasm, the closer you felt like giving in to the sweet pleasure dancing beneath your skin. Jeonghan parted his mouth, and you felt his hips buckling, his hands gripping your hips, his body flush and pushing against yours…

“Fuck, baby,” he said with a tired, but blissful drawl. “I’m close,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.  

And you knew what he wanted to say. “Inside,” you moaned. “Do it inside me.”

Jeonghan gave you another one of those hazy smiles, tilting his head back so you could see his face, while pleasure took over the features of his beautiful face. “Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?” he asked, looking like he was in between happy and tired.

You nodded. “Uh-huh,” you mewled, aware that the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bathroom had become louder. But you didn’t care, and Jeonghan didn’t seem to pay attention.

He pushed inside, slamming his front to yours, switching the grip on one side of your thigh to your hair at the base of your head. “Then give it to me,” he whispered, the sound raspy and full of greed. “Cum for me.”

You could’ve gone off simply from the way he was talking to you. But you needed to get it done, fast, now. You moved your body slightly, taking your hand in between his body and yours and started rubbing your clit, teasing it with fast swirls. “Daddy,” you moaned, louder. His thrusts were deep, hard, and so fucking good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Jeonghan responded with a deep moan of his own. “Baby,” he gasped, releasing the grip he had on your hair, his hand sliding down your back as he dropped his forehead on your shoulder.

You closed your eyes, letting your orgasm barrel down your body, letting Jeonghan push his cum deep inside you with a couple of final, languid thrusts. His face was pressed tightly against the crook of your neck, making your skin prickle as he breathed hard against you.

The inner side of your thighs trembled quite dramatically as you tried holding onto him. Jeonghan let out a light, breathy giggle, right as you, too, were composing yourself, caressing his naked back with the tips of your fingers.

Then you felt his lips on the crook of your neck, your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. “I’ll start a shower for you,” he croaked, lifting his head to direct a tender look at you. “I have to go check on Sohee.”

You nodded. “Okay,” you replied.

But there was a great reluctance in his following movements. Casting a look down your body, he carefully peeled his body back from yours, turning around to start the shower. You watched him as he walked back, only to plant a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before grabbing his shorts and slipping through the bathroom door.

Once you found your limbs, you climbed off the counter and stepping before the shower. After testing the temperature, you stood below the stream, closing your eyes as you let the water wash down your face.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of a thousand questions and things that you still wanted to say. But one thing was finally clear to you.

The gentle sounds coming from the door announced he was back, right as you were halfway done washing up. When he stepped into the shower, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he embraced you tightly. “Hey,” you mumbled, grabbing his forearm to squeeze him.

He inhaled deeply, pressing his lips to your hair. “Hey,” he replied, his tone low and raspy.

You turned around, moving on the shower floor so that the stream bathed his bare skin. “Let me,” you said, grabbing the soap and washcloth. 

Jeonghan gave you a sheepish smile. “Oh, are you going to wash me?” he asked, his tone turning playful as you nodded at him silently, looking into his eyes. “Alright, just don’t give me those eyes, or we’ll never get this done.”

You laughed, the sound filling the bathroom. His glimmering eyes found your face, and you could see the minute his mind snapped with decision. Cupping your face in his hands, he pulled you in for a kiss full of passion and endearment. “I love you,” he mumbled, his tone so gentle that it made you think he was relieved to say it.

“I love you,” you replied, laughing softly before he pressed his lips against yours again.

“What’s that?” he asked in between pecks.

“Nothing,” you huffed as he moved to kiss your cheek. “You’re very confident now.”

He responded with a light laugh of his own. “I don’t care. I’m going to say it more,” he told you, sounding serious like a warning.

“Good,” you mumbled faintly, as he bent down to kiss your neck.

“Starting now,” he said, slipping his hands from your lower back to your rear, pressing you against his frame.

“Careful,” you replied. “You might start sounding desperate,” you teased.

You felt him smile against your skin. “Desperate, huh?” he asked, his voice low and in your ear.

“Well,” you said, tilting your head to give him more space for him to kiss, “you did just almost lose me.”

He nodded. “That put things in perspective.”

A sigh escaped your mouth when he kissed a particular sweet spot on your shoulder. “You’re going a bit overboard.”

“Mmm,” he sighed against your skin. hands squeezing your ass, but just softly, tenderly. “I love you.”

You bit back a smile. “See?”

“You’re the one who wanted me to say it.”

“I didn’t say you had to start saying it every minute,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He pulled back, making you miss his lips on your skin instantly. “I can slow down.”

You bit your lower lip, nodding. “Please.”

But he showed you a charming half smile. “I love you.”

You laughed, trying to push his shoulder. “You’re a tease.”

A pause. The smirk wiped off his face as he exhaled softly. “And yet,” he said, his eyes glimmering with something you hadn’t seen before in him, “you’re still here.”

You watched his eyes for a moment, your pulse quickening. “That’s still under review,” you tried to joke, sounding out of breath.

If Jeonghan heard your tone, he made no comment about it; he played along. “What can I do to help my case?”

“I already told you,” you said, looking at his eyes and then his lips.

He nodded, leaning to kiss the tip of your nose. “What else?” he whispered.

You slipped your hands from his shoulders, down his torso, feeling his warm and wet skin. “Let’s go to that water park… all three of us together.”

He smiled before pressing his lips against yours. “You got it,” he replied.

Your heart shuddered. “Jeonghan?” you mumbled softly, feeling his hands all over your skin, exploring you, getting you aroused again.

“Yes?”

“Ask me to move in with you,” you said, tone falling to a mere whisper.

He pulled back, only to look into your eyes. He didn’t hesitate. “Move in with me.”

Your eyes glimmered, your whole body trembling with joy, relief, and love. You nodded. “I’ll move in with you.”

Jeonghan smiled. “Good,” he mumbled, content. “I love you.”

You groaned softly, rolling your eyes playfully. “Oh my god,” you said, loving the sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls. He leaned over, showering you with kisses again. “I love you more,” you replied shyly.

“Impossible,” he said. 

› author's note pt. 2: hi hey hello!!

so, we're are so back. and jeonghan is coming back? hannieween is writing again? hell yeah

OKAY BUT I WANT TO TAKE A MOMENT TO ADDRESS SOMETHING HERE. apparently, tumblr has moved some things so that if someone comments, likes or reblogs a post that has been previously reblogged by someone else, i won't get to see those notifs. so for example, if you're not reblogging this from my page directly, i won't get to see it 😭 so if you guys comment, like, reblog, etc, i appreciate you all so much, i might not get to see it, but i appreciate it anyway!

anyway,

toodles!

© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.