synopsis. Jaehyuk has been crushing on you since the first time he got a glimpse of you from across a lecture hall. It’s only in his final year of university that his luck shifts and he is finally in not one, but two of your classes. It’s halfway through the first semester now, and Jaehyuk’s finally found the courage to try and become a friend rather than a classmate to you—and, if he’s lucky, more eventually. But when you don’t show up at the party he basically only organized as an excuse to see you out of class, he thinks his efforts have been for naught. So imagine his surprise when you show up at his door the next day, two of your friends in tow, confused as to why no one else is here yet...
genre. friends to lovers, college au, jaehyuk is the simpiest simp to have ever simped, they're in love your honor but also a little bit silly, really sappy epilogue you've been warned
smut warnings. if you want to skip the sex scenes, as they are not integral to the plot i've marked them with red dots beforehand so you know what to scroll past! but if you do want to read, you'll get some sub!jaehyuk content bc it's canon (source: trust me)
word count. 34,360
a/n. my second fic of 2025 and we're in november... well yes ! i know most of my readers are engenes but i hope this fic will be given a chance bc jaehyuk and yn in this are very dear to me </3 this might be one of my fluffiest fics to date like nothing truly bad happens to these two they are just in love... manifesting this energy for all of us ! love u guys hope u enjoy pls let me know what u think, and as always shout out to @zreamy for betareading <3333
Jaehyuk is so sleep-deprived that when you take a seat across from him in the library, he initially thinks you’re a hallucination; the mirage of an oasis after a long and arduous walk through the desert that is his Advanced Methods of Applied Mathematics midterm assignment.
In his defense, it’s a little bit before 8 a.m. and the sun that has just started to rise casts a halo of white light around your figure, reflecting on your hair. You look like an angel, which to him, doesn’t differ so much from usual, but the comparison rings especially true this fine morning. A fine morning, yes, because even if he hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, the sight of you has the same effect as a double shot of espresso and a can of Redbull, and a day during which he sees you can be nothing less than great.
(Jaehyuk has a little bit of what one may call a crush on you.)
Unlike him, you don’t look surprised as you plop your bag on the desk, pull out the chair and lean across the table towards him. You must’ve seen him coming in and decided to sit with him, a thought that has his heart doing a little jump. A discerning smile plays on your lips.
“Let me guess: Advanced Methods?”
Jaehyuk nods despondently.
You chuckle. “It just about did me in too. I’m going to proofread mine now, send it in, then never think about it again. Or at least until our class tomorrow.”
“Sounds about right,” he says, laughing.
“Are you almost done with yours?”
He sighs. “Yeah, just got the last question left.”
You scrunch your nose, a gesture Jaehyuk finds so adorable he dazes out of the conversation for a second. “That one was the worst. Here,” you say, reaching into the brown paper bag next to your takeaway cup of coffee, then handing him a chunk of your cookie—a white chocolate and macadamia nut one from the university café, his favorite. Surely, this means you are his soulmate.
But he can’t accept. He is a modern man; he knows better than to impede on a girl’s sweet treat. “No, you keep it.”
You huff and reach over the low separation between your tables, placing the chunk on his desk. “I think you need it more than I do.”
He stares at it, hesitating, then finally breaks off a small piece. “If you insist.”
The macadamia is crunchy, the dough soft, the chocolate melts in his mouth—and it’s even sweeter than usual, since it came from you.
“I’ll give you another piece when you’ve submitted your essay,” you say, the smile on your lips mirroring Jaehyuk’s.
“What, like a dog when you get it to sit?”
You giggle. “Exactly.”
Jaehyuk shakes his head, but the grin he sports is huge and unwavering, even as he turns his attention back to his laptop—or just some of it, really, because of the pretty girl sitting across from him. He still manages to be amazed at himself whenever he has a conversation like this with you, no matter how trivial or short. Just a month ago, he could barely hold eye contact and get through more than two sentences without stammering. Bonding over a complicated assignment might seem like nothing to some, but it’s huge to him, whose crush on you has been dormant since first year, when he caught fleeting glimpses of you across lecture halls and School of Mathematics gatherings, and active since the start of this year, unfortunately the final one of your degree, now that fate has taken things into her hands and put you in not just one but two classes together. Jaehyuk remembers how he felt, seeing you walk into the lecture hall during your very first class of the semester, the mix of shock and fascination and hope, feelings that doubled the next day when he walked into another lecture hall and found you sitting there.
Later that week, a few minutes before your first seminar for one of those classes started, your eyes landed on him as you stepped inside the room. And you did something magical, something Jaehyuk won’t forget anytime soon—you smiled at him. Walked over, sat down next to him. Said hi, I recognize you but I don’t think we’ve ever really met, I’m Y/N, casually like you weren’t turning his whole world upside down. He was so stunned, he could only gape at you while Asahi came to the rescue—I’m Asahi, this idiot is Jaehyuk. He’s a little shy, he said, like a parent introducing their socially inept child. He quickly came to his senses, maybe he smiled, maybe he said that he recognized you, too, he doesn’t remember so well now. The only clear memories he has of that moment are your smile, the scent of your perfume, the ball of nerves in his stomach, his light-headedness—the latter two, he hasn’t quite gotten rid of when he sees you, and maybe he never will, but at least there aren’t five seconds of silence between the end of your sentence and the beginning of his now. He likes to think he’s made up for that day, that his shyness has been charming in its own way, the way he was often told, perhaps inappropriately, as a kid and teenager: It’s always the shy ones. You made it easy for him to start talking and joking around with you comfortably, with your open, non-judgmental personality, the fact that you never made him feel awkward when he stumbled through answers or made him feel like his timidity is an insurmountable obstacle the way many others have. Class after class, you’ve taken the time to chat with him and Asahi, never mistaking their quietness for unfriendliness, and he could feel himself physically relaxing with every word you spoke, every time you laughed. And if that isn’t a miracle, then Jaehyuk doesn’t know what is.
As the minutes pass, more students trickle in, the library filling up earlier than usual in this midterm season. Jaehyuk himself would never usually be in here so early, or technically, so late—he was so swamped with quizzes and essays and exams that he completely forgot about this particular assignment until the professor emailed them yesterday afternoon with last-minute precisions that might help them perfect their paper. Well, Jaehyuk’s answers will be as perfect as they can be when written during an all-nighter—of course, this professor only accepts extensions under extreme circumstances, and Jaehyuk has so much on his plate at the moment that more time wouldn’t be of much help anyway.
In the end, he finishes the assignment with half-an-hour to spare, and has time to go over the answers with you. The library is too full now for the two of you to even whisper without being stared down to death, so you propose to head down to the café and get another much-needed caffeine boost.
But once you are armed with your lattes and have found two adjoining seats in the café, Jaehyuk realizes there is one glaring detail he has failed to overlook, and that no amount of sleep or caffeine will fix: focusing on numbers and Greek letters and equations is a Herculean task when you are sitting so close to him. The scent of your perfume fills his nostrils, sweet and floral and perfectly befitting you, and it dizzies him. When you push your hair behind your shoulder, his eyes trace the curve of your jaw, of your neck, a debilitating sight if he’s ever seen one. Your skin looks soft, and the tips of his fingers beg to find out how it feels to touch—
“Jaehyuk?”
“Hm?”
“I said, what did you get for the first problem?”
“Oh, right, sorry.” He didn’t even realize you’d asked him a question. You chuckle, giving him a look like you knew exactly what was on his mind. A blush spreads from the base of his neck to his cheeks. “Here…”
You bring your papers together, quickly dismissing the questions you got the same answers to, rather going over the ones that differ and explaining how you each went about them. It isn’t like Jaehyuk doesn’t need your assistance on any of these questions—if anything, he’d probably benefit a lot from paying attention to what you’re saying. And yet, every time he glances over at you, he can’t find it in him to look away, can’t find it in him to stop his eyes from trailing downwards to your lips, studying the way their shape changes around your words with more intent than the assignment that is worth 40% of his grade. You keep catching him, and he keeps doing it. You don’t tell him off, just smile at him whenever you notice his mind’s wandered off. Gently hit his foot with yours, telling him to pay attention. “I am,” he says. Just not at the homework, he thinks. Instead of retreating your foot, you keep it next to his on the bars at the bottom of his stool, ignoring the way they bump into each other once in a while.
Even after you’ve both submitted your assignments, you stay in the café longer than intended. Jaehyuk says something about hogging seats in the library during midterm season, but you shrug it off—and if you want to spend more time with him down here, he’d be the biggest idiot on Earth to deny you.
“I’ve never seen you in the library so early. Well, I’ve never seen you in the library, period,” you remark with a laugh, and what he hears is that you’ve noted his absence enough to notice his unexpected presence.
“Yeah, I usually come in the evenings, I work better at the end of the day for some reason. Or maybe I feel so stressed out about having done nothing all day that my brain tricks itself into being productive at night.”
You laugh. “I’m the opposite. If I start the day late, I feel like I’ve wasted it, and I can’t bring myself to do anything.”
“How early do you wake up?”
“Like, 6:30.” This makes Jaehyuk’s eyes widen. “I know,” you say, chuckling. “I’m so happy we get a break next week. I’m gonna do as little as I can.”
“Ah, that sounds nice.”
“Do you have anything planned?”
“No, not really. I’ll probably spend it at my parents’ house, hang out with my little brother.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t know you had a younger brother.”
“Yeah, and an older sister, but she moved out a while ago.”
You ask about Jaehyuk’s siblings, and it’s a simple, universal subject, but it’s also the most personal topic you’ve ever delved into, your conversations usually revolving around classes and not much more. It feels nice, revealing more of himself to you, especially at your own request—your genuine curiosity makes his insides feel pleasantly warm. What grade is his brother in, where did his sister move to and what does she do, does he get along with them, whether he ever misses them. You laugh when he tells you about growing up with a sister only two years older than him, how the two of them used to always fight until their younger brother was born, eight years after Jaehyuk, and they finally shared a purpose: teasing him mercilessly and endlessly. He asks about your siblings, and you tell him that as the younger sister of a set of twins five years your senior, you can relate to his little brother: it seems your brothers’ life purpose is to make yours hell. From hiding your plushies at age four to chasing your first boyfriend away from the house at age sixteen, they’ve rarely let you breathe for more than a minute.
This glimpse inside of your inner world only makes Jaehyuk want to know more, more, more. He could sit here for hours, letting his coffee grow cold as hundreds of students walk in and out of the café, if it meant he got to learn more about you. If it meant he got to stare at you shamelessly while he drank in everything you felt like sharing with him—childhood anecdotes, drama that dates back to high school, whether you believe in God, what you had for dinner last night. There’s not a single thing about you he’s not interested in knowing.
But alas, although it seems to Jaehyuk like a great use of his time, neither of you can afford to spend an entire morning not studying right now, so you trudge back up to the library after some time, maybe thirty minutes, an hour of talking. He didn’t mean to stay any longer after submitting his assignment—his plan was to send it in as quickly as he could then head home and sleep all day, then head back to the library around five p.m.. But packing his things up when you’re sitting right in front of him is unimaginable, so instead, he pulls his last blueberry-flavored Redbull out of his backpack and downs it under your amused gaze, hoping it’ll be enough for him to go for another few hours.
High on the inordinate amount of caffeine in his blood, Jaehyuk flies through Commutative Algebra past exams, but the crash comes out of nowhere: when fingers gently tap his shoulder, and he wakes with a start to find half of his face pressed to open notebook, he doesn’t even remember when he fell asleep. He sits up too quickly, his head reeling, a pain shooting in his neck, and he swivels towards the origin of the disturbance to his deep, peaceful slumber. And what a sight it is, to have your face near his right as he comes to. Your lips are pursed as if suppressing a smile, but the amusement is clear in your eyes. “I’m going home for lunch,” you explain, your voice a whisper, soft, making Jaehyuk’s stomach twist with its intimacy, even in a library full of stressed and sleep-deprived students. “I thought you might want to head out, too.”
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Almost one p.m..” Your smile breaks out despite yourself, and you add, “You’ve been sleeping for almost two hours.”
His eyes widen, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Yeah, I should probably head home,” he says, and the little giggle it gets out of you makes it all worth it.
You wait for him as he stuffs his laptop, notebook, and various items that have accompanied him through the night into his backpack, and then head back down together. As he steps outside, he doesn’t know if it’s the fresh air on his face after almost a day of being trapped inside, the energy drink still running in his veins an hour later, or your presence next to him, but his fingers tingle with the feeling of something new beginning.
From here, you have to go in opposite directions to head home. You stand in front of him, smiling down at your feet, holding tightly onto the straps of your bag as if you don’t want to leave just yet—or maybe that’s Jaehyuk’s imagination playing tricks on his mind as usual. “Do you have any plans for break?” you ask after a small while.
His head tilts in confusion. You already asked him earlier—have you forgotten his answer, or are you… waiting to hear a different one? “Just heading home,” he says hesitatingly.
“But your parents don’t live far from here, right?”
“No. It’s a thirty minute bus ride out of the city.”
You nod slowly, as if taking this in. “Right. Well, I’ll see you for the Comm Algebra exam, then?” you say, and you’re smiling, but it feels different from earlier, like you’re still waiting on something that Jaehyuk isn’t seeing.
He nods too, tries to ignore the way this sudden shift in atmosphere weighs his heart down. “Yeah. Good luck with revision,” he says, then immediately feels like an idiot. You’ve only spent, what, an hour talking? And already, such platitudes feel completely out-of-place between the two of you.
“You too, Hyuk.”
Fortunately for him, before you can see the look of astonishment on his face and the inevitable spread of a blush across it at the new nickname, you turn and walk away. Jaehyuk watches you for a while, replaying the end of your conversation. It’s so glaringly obvious that something was off, like a lost puzzle piece leaving a hole right in the middle of the complete picture.
When it hits him, you’ve long turned the corner, and Jaehyuk wouldn’t know where to go to catch up to you. All he can do is head home himself, dragging his feet the whole way back, mentally hitting his head with a shovel as punishment for being such a helpless idiot.
.
.
“You, my friend, are a helpless idiot,” Haruto tells him that evening after Jaehyuk has recounted in torturous detail his run-in with you, reenacting the highlights, playing himself and getting a disgruntled but cooperative Asahi to play your part so that his friends can truly picture how it all went down.
He groans and sinks further into the couch. “I know that,” he snaps, feeling sensitive and on edge when his friends’ initial reactions are to tease him, clapping and laughing like they’ve never heard anything so funny, instead of reassuring him and giving him advice like he hoped they would—although even he knows that was being too hopeful. They need to get it out of their system before they can even think about being sympathetic.
“I mean,” Jeongwoo starts, not even bothering to conceal his laughter, “you managed to convince yourself she liked you back when she looked at you that one time—”
“But it was a special look—”
“And now that she literally opened the door for you to ask her out, you just… didn’t?” he finishes, his tone so disbelieving and almost condescending that it sends Haruto into another fit of laughter.
Asahi is the only one with some empathy. “You’ll get another chance,” he says, trying to reassure a pouting Jaehyuk. “You can still text her, or ask her directly next time you see her.”
“But the timing is all wrong now,” Jaehyuk mumbles. “I had the perfect opportunity and I missed it. I’d have to be black-out drunk to have the balls to text her.” Jeongwoo and Haruto exchange a look, and before they can suggest a night out — or rather, a night in with enough beer and soju and takeout to feed a regiment of soldiers, all on Jaehyuk’s tab, of course — he shoots down their idea. “I’m not drinking during exam season. Second years, I swear…”
The younger boys roll their eyes like having basic academic ambition is the lamest thing they’ve ever heard of. “What’s so scary about asking her out?” Haruto asks, with too much attitude for Jaehyuk’s liking. “The worst she can say is no. Big deal.”
“Oh, like you did with that girl from your Spanish class? Worst she can say is no?” Asahi asks, keeping his tone innocent, but his smile betrays him. Finally, it’s Jaehyuk’s turn to make fun of his friends. Haruto opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it—the embarrassing memory of being turned down shuts him right up. (Sorry, I don’t see you that way, you and Jeongwoo are always together so I thought you were… well, together. But we can be friends?)
“If it’s the risk of being rejected that stresses you out, why don’t you invite her to a party instead?” Jeongwoo hastily asks, eager to change the subject—and finally saying something of value.
Jaehyuk sits up. “What party, though?”
Jeongwoo shrugs. “You could have one. Didn’t you say your parents were out of town next weekend?”
A smile lights up Jaehyuk’s face. He crosses the living room towards Jeongwoo, and, planting his hands on his friend’s shoulders, says excitedly, “Jeongwoo, I think this is the first smart thing you’ve said today.”
.
.
As he peels carrots and cuts potatoes into small cubes, Jaehyuk’s mother eyes him suspiciously. After a few minutes of silence and glances across the kitchen counter, he finally caves: “What?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Nothing,” she hums. “Just awfully nice of you to come and have dinner with your old parents on a weeknight.”
He shrugs, faking innocence. “I was craving homemade food. I haven’t had time to cook, all I’ve been having is ramyeon and instant curry.”
His mother tuts. “I’ll send you back with leftovers.” She says nothing for another while, but keeps on glancing her son’s way, as if a good look at him will allow her access into his thoughts.
“Mom, just ask whatever you want to ask,” he finally says, laughing at her behavior.
“I’m just curious. Usually, when you come here, it’s because you need something from your room, or your brother asked you, or you had an argument with one of the boys…” she trails.
“Or I just really love my family and want to see you guys?”
“Or because you want something.” Jaehyuk looks up from his diced potatoes and finds his mother already watching him. The answer is already written all over him—Jaehyuk’s face is a textbook forever opened on the solutions page. He’s never been able to hide much of his feelings from anyone, least of all his own mother. “So,” she continues, a smile slowly making its way to her lips, “I think you need to just ask whatever you want to ask.”
Jaehyuk sighs. He got here less than ten minutes ago, and the reason for his impromptu visit is already being brought to light. “Can I have a party here while you guys are away?”
His mother laughs, a genuine guffaw that Jaehyuk doesn’t know which way to take. “You came all the way here to ask that? You could’ve just called, son. Of course you can have a party. I’ll just trust you not to make a mess of the house and to clean up in the morning.”
How laidback. How nonchalant. Jaehyuk can’t believe his mother is more relaxed about an unknown number of college kids invading her home than he is. In his defense, this is the first time that Jaehyuk plans something at his parents’ house; this is the first time that he plans something, ever. He can’t be blamed for being unsure how to go about it. Even back in middle and high school, he never was the type to have a ton of friends, or even just ten people he felt comfortable enough around to invite for a birthday—those celebrations were always a tight-knit affair with neighbors, family members, and three or four of his friends. Only Jeongwoo has been around his whole life, the younger kid that lived next door and never wanted to leave his side. Asahi and Haruto are recent, university additions to their little duo; his school friends, he’s either grown apart from, or they’ve left town for college and only come home a couple times a year.
Even in the apartment he’s shared with Asahi since second year, the biggest event he’s held consisted of a whopping nine people, the two of them included. Originally a goodbye party before his semester abroad in California, he was so embarrassed at the thought of having a party for himself that he organized a Secret Santa to take some attention off of him. He’d invited the few classmates that he’d actually managed to befriend during his two-and-a-half years at university, which, to his dismay, excluded you at the time.
But the time of watching you from afar is gone. Well, when he pictures how the party might go, he’s self-aware enough to know he might spend most of it watching you from afar, but at least it’ll be in his house and not across a lecture hall.
Since he moved out of his teenage home, the only people he’s had over have been Asahi, Jeongwoo and Haruto. Even his six-month situationship from second year never stepped foot here—he couldn’t imagine inviting a girl he wasn’t in a serious relationship with over to his parents’ house, even when they weren’t home, and she never wanted to take things further.
But not having a party here would be a waste: with a pool that’s swimmable even in the winter, a big enough garage for beer-pong and empty rooms for couples to have privacy in, his parents’ house is quite literally heaven for alcohol-thirsty and fun-seeking college students. Between the four of them, he and his friends will find enough people to fill the house. All he has to do is tell ten classmates to come and bring their own friends, and watch as strangers trickle into his house on a Friday night. He’ll just have to hope they’re all well-intentioned strangers.
It’s not like his parents have ever been restrictive or strict in any manner—if anything, they’ve always encouraged him to go out more and to try to make more friends, wondering how two sociable and extraverted people such as them could’ve given birth to such a shy boy. Nevertheless, he’s surprised she would agree to a party in a heartbeat. He thought he’d have to strike some kind of deal with her, to vow to mow the lawn or take his younger brother out to the city more often. But no, just the promise that they will return to a clean house is enough.
“Oh, alright,” he simply replies as his mother shakes her head, still laughing.
“I’m happy you’re having friends over!” she exclaims, indeed wearing a bright smile on her face. “Almost makes me wish I was there to see it. Your father will be excited to hear it, too.” Going home always makes him feel younger than he is, like he’s retreated back to being a teenager—but this makes him feel like a six-year-old having his first big birthday bash.
And so, like any self-respecting six-year-old boy about to have his first big (non-birthday) bash, he sheepishly stalks over to his mom and engulfs her in a bear hug, presses a kiss to the top of her head and thanks her. Even though he outgrew her by a few inches many years ago now and doesn’t try to meld his body to hers like he used to do as a child, there are still only few things in the world that make him feel warmer than a hug from his mother.
Eye contact with you during class comes close, though—he can only imagine how anything more from you might make him feel.
The affection makes her laugh again, and she pats his back gently, happily mumbling something about her son having never changed.
.
.
A few days later, Jaehyuk is more nervous coming out of the exam hall than going in.
The Commutative Algebra exam was easy—he studied for it (and not just that one RedBull-fueled time), and it was his favorite class of the semester. It’s only now, standing in front of the building, waiting for you to hand your paper in, that a ball of nerves forms in his stomach.
He’s starting to reconsider the whole thing. Surely, there are less dramatic, more straightforward ways to become closer to someone than to invite them to a party along with fifty plus other people, most of which he, truth be told, doesn’t exactly care about. They are like extras in the background of a movie starring him and you: necessary to setting a realistic scene (and saving him from potential embarrassment), but not crucial to the plotline. Jaehyuk’s idea of a fun evening doesn’t really involve a house party with people he’s spoken to a handful of times, although in all his ruminations over this plan, he’s come to the conclusion that it might do him good to step out of his comfort zone, and that the relaxed atmosphere of a party, if he could get himself to relax, might help him go up to you with more ease.
But his ruminations have also included reflections such as: I’m using this party as a decoy to get to know her more and avoid rejection, but wouldn’t it be better to know if she felt the same? If I ask her out on a normal date and she declines, I’ll know I should give up; if she accepts, I’ll know I can continue. But, big problem: if she declines, I’d also have to move out of the country and change my identity. Very impractical, I’d miss my family and my friends a lot.
Clearly, he’s had a lot to think over.
Now, he tells himself that only if you’re the next person who walks out, he’ll ask you.
Jaehyuk stares at the doorway to the building like he can manifest your appearance there out of his sheer willpower. Eyes narrowed, hands gripping the insides of his coat pockets, he stares, and stares, and stares, impatience and anticipation making his chest heave with every breath he takes.
Their supervisor walks out. Jaehyuk immediately turns away, leaning back against the brick wall and avoiding eye contact. A bearded, ironic t-shirt-wearing PhD student in his late twenties, the Comm Algebra tutor was a reassuring presence to have around during the exam, but not exactly the person he’s waiting for.
Now, he tells himself that if you’re one of the next five people to walk out, he’ll ask you.
Belatedly, he remembers he can’t not ask you—Jeongwoo made sure he wouldn’t chicken out by forcing him to send you a text, asking to wait for each other after the exam. You’d agreed and even added a smiling-with-teeth emoji at the end of your text, which Jaehyuk could only interpret as an immense step in the right direction.
Two more people walk out.
He knows that his logic is as reliable as picking the petals off a daisy and chanting she loves me, she loves me not, but it makes him feel better. Like this risky decision will pay off in the way he wants, i.e. you eventually becoming his girlfriend.
A third person steps outside. The odds are increasingly not in his favor.
Because the thing is, Jaehyuk doesn’t know whether you’ll say yes. Despite your little conversation after the library the other day, and his friends’ reassurances that you were waiting to be asked out, there’s still a big part of his head that doubts whether he didn’t dream it all up. You could be busy, or you could pretend to be busy, you could scoff and tell him there was nothing you wanted less than to go to a party of his, you could lose the pretty smile you always wore and suddenly become awkward, saying, “Uh, sure, I’ll see if I can make it,” and it would be obvious that you would, in fact, not be making it. There are a variety of ways in which you could react, and unfortunately, Jaehyuk’s nature forces him to consider the potential negative outcomes in more detail than they perhaps deserve.
He is so deeply lost in his thoughts that he only notices you’ve come out when you’re already standing in front of him, a grin on your face as you ask him how your exam went.
But instead of answering or making small talk to gear himself up to the real topic of this conversation, words tumble out of his mouth: “Do you want to come to my party this Friday?”
You freeze momentarily, and Jaehyuk waits for your reply with wide eyes and bated breath. This feels like the hardest, most terrifying thing he’s ever had to do. Finally, after about three torturously long seconds, you break into a grin again, familiar and reassuring. “You’re having a party? I’d love to come!”
An audible sigh of relief escapes Jaehyuk, and he is so over the moon that he doesn’t even think to be embarrassed. “Awesome. I’ll send you the details?”
“Sounds good.”
Only then is he able to relax and start chatting with you about the exam you just sat. You tell him you could really go for a brazen midday pint, and this time, he won’t let himself be a hopeless idiot: there’s a pub he likes a couple of streets away, so he offers to go there for a drink. He has to stop himself from victoriously pumping his fist in the air when you accept.
It’s early November already. The first quarter of Jaehyuk’s final year has flown by, and he’s scared it’ll be over before he’s even had time to take it all in. Sometimes, when he’s really happy, he tries to take a step back, to snap a mental picture of the moment and make sure he’ll remember it later. Those moments become tinted with nostalgia even as he’s living them, like he’s longing for a time that isn’t over yet. Apparently, he makes a particular sort of face, because his friends always tell him to stop being so sappy and, when they’re feeling a bit nicer, that they won’t leave his side anytime soon, so he doesn’t need to prepare himself for missing them.
Right now is one of those times—walking alongside you in the old streets of the city, the harsh wind biting at his exposed cheeks, he can tell this is something he’ll remember for a long time. The drop of adrenaline that comes after a stressful exam period mixed with the thrill of being with you. His stomach feels warm, and he hasn’t even had a drop of beer yet.
You shiver and wrap your arms tighter around yourself; when Jaehyuk asks if you’d like his scarf, seeing hesitance cross your features is enough for him to uncoil the fabric from his neck, fall a step behind you, and wrap it around yours instead. You don’t point it out, but if need be, he can blame his reddened face on the cold.
Jaehyuk smiles down at the ground like it’s the cause of his giddiness. The remaining minute of the walk to the pub is spent in comfortable silence, and he is glad for the sounds of the city that cover the loud thumping of his heart, a caged puppy begging to be let out.
As expected for a Tuesday lunchtime, there aren’t many patrons occupying the pub, just a table of what look like coworkers on their lunch break, a woman with two children and a solo diner sitting at the bar. The bartender tells you you can sit wherever you’d like, so Jaehyuk lets you choose a table for two by the window, far from any other customers. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it feels intimate. When the bartender comes over, you both order a pint of light beer as well as a plate of french fries to share.
Once it’s just the two of you again, Jaehyuk is racking his brain so hard for a topic of conversation that will make him appear simultaneously clever, funny and charming, that he doesn’t notice your gaze fixed on him—until he does, and it puts an abrupt stop to his thoughts. Your elbows propped up on the table, your chin resting on your joined fists, it isn’t just the softness in your eyes that takes the breath out of him, it’s the fact that it’s directed at him. The shy curve of your lips, the sight of his scarf still wrapped around your neck.
“It’s nice to see you outside of class,” you say.
How can you be so clever, funny and charming?
This time, he can’t even blame his reddened cheeks on anything other than his own nerves—the drinks haven’t arrived yet and the temperature inside the pub is just right. “It is,” he replies, unsuccessfully trying to conceal a grin.
You just smile at him for a few beats, a look in your eyes like you know something he doesn’t—or like you’re waiting for something. Whatever it is, Jaehyuk just hopes he doesn’t fall short of any expectations you might have for him. Then you lean back, and the moment is over.
“So, this party, is it to celebrate anything in particular?” you ask.
Funny you should ask. To see you outside of class, although I now realize there were more casual ways to go about it, he thinks.
“Just the end of midterms,” he says instead, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to look like organizing a party is an everyday occurrence of his and not the terrifying prospect that it really is.
“How many people have you invited?”
“I don’t really know. My friends and I just asked a bunch of people… I guess it isn’t an RSVP sort of situation,” he says, getting a chuckle out of you. “Twenty people might show up, or two hundred.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Two hundred? How are you going to fit everyone?”
“It’s at my parents’ house,” he says, then, frowning and speaking more to himself than to you, adds: “I hope two hundred people don’t show up, though.”
Jaehyuk has never been much of a conversationalist with people he wasn’t already close to, but with you, it’s surprisingly easy. Fun. Familiar, like long lost friends reconnecting, those twinges of awkwardness and reservedness mixed with trust and comfortability. He wants to tell you everything, eventually, not just yet.
And maybe, one day, he’ll be able to tell you about this stint he’s pulling, and you’ll laugh together over it.
Even the most surface-level pieces of information about you are like crack to Jaehyuk. He can’t get enough of hearing about your friends and flatmates, how you met them, whether you go out a lot, the latest argument you had over unwashed dishes with one of them. Just like the other day at the library café, it offers him a glimpse into your personal life, a taste of what he might be a part of if he plays his cards right. And with every little thing he uncovers about you, his feelings deepen, changing shapes from your typical campus crush to something at once more tangible and more elusive. More intense; harder to explain.
Something as simple as the way you recount the argument does him in—your flatmate left dirty dishes in the sink for too long, too often, so you calmly started a conversation about it. To most people, this would hardly count as an argument, but you tell him how worried you were to bring it up, how even this minor sort of confrontation was a lot for you. Externally, he’s nodding rapidly; internally, he’s picturing the two of you, months or years later, tampering your disagreements with soft words and gentle requests. He thinks you’re ready for married life.
This is what he’s like after two real conversations. He can barely imagine the state he’ll be in if things continue in this trajectory, but he doesn’t mind it one bit. He’s never been afraid of love—he has his share of fears like anyone else, not being accepted the way he is, wearing on someone despite his best efforts, but those fears seem to dissipate whenever he looks at you. Or rather, you’re worth discarding those fears.
Time passes like neither of you cares about it, your pints are drunk, your fries eaten, and you agree with Jaehyuk’s idea of a second round. When you tell him you can split the bill at the end, he frowns as though offended — and perhaps he is, a bit — and the surprised but delighted smile on your face lets him know he did the right thing.
He goes up to the bar to order; when he comes back, a sweating pint of beer in each hand, you’re typing and smiling down at your phone. Jaehyuk barely suppresses the urge to ask who you’re texting, although the question is heavy on his tongue, and as he sets down the drinks, you look up and put your phone away. Your smile widens, warming his heart through and through.
You thank him when he slides the drink towards you, and he shakes his head. “So, popping the big question,” you start, and in this moment he is sure that he’d unflinchingly say yes if you asked him to marry you. “What are you planning to do with your degree?” you ask instead. He ignores the pinch of disappointment in his stomach; maybe you’ll ask another time.
“Oh,” he says, chuckling. “Honestly, I’d like to stay in academia for as long as I can. I like it here.” You raise your eyebrows in a way that makes Jaehyuk think you don’t share the sentiment, but you also nod, silently asking him to go on. “It’s just… a perfect balance between being alone and socializing. You have classmates, then colleagues and students eventually, and conferences and all that, but when you’re working, you’re on your own. I could probably stay in my office and not speak to anyone for a week if I wanted to. Plus, I do genuinely love maths, so that helps.”
You smile, then take a sip of your drink, eyes peering at him over the edge of the glass. Jaehyuk gulps. “Is that something you do? Not speak to anyone for a week?” you ask.
He laughs. “No, not literally. I mean, my social battery does run out pretty quickly, and I need moments where I can be alone. Probably I’ll need a couple of days to recuperate socially after the party this weekend,” he says half-jokingly. “It’s different with my family and close friends. You’ve probably noticed that I’m not the most outgoing person ever.” At this, you smile, like you were caught red-handed thinking something he said out loud. “It can be a real effort talking to people sometimes. I’m sort of hoping that being in academia will help with that, but that I’ll still have moments where I can be alone.”
You nod slowly, studying his face like you’re figuring something out. Figuring him out. Jaehyuk feels nervous under your gaze, heart beating rapidly, the sweating glass between his palms cooling him down. He repeats his previous words in his head, scared he’s made a fool of himself, or painted an unimpressive picture of his personality. But he’s always been a terrible liar, and no matter how much he likes you, if he is to be liked back, he wants it to be for the person he really is, and not a version he’s created to be more attractive.
Your expression returns to normal so suddenly that Jaehyuk wonders if it was only playing a trick on him. “I could definitely see you as a professor. The other day, when we went over our answers together, you explained everything really clearly. And you did a much better job than me,” you say, taking a swig of your beer, mischief in your eyes over the rim of the glass. Jaehyuk shakes his head, and before he can reply, you add: “Half of your students would have a crush on you, though.”
Now, even if wants to reply, he can’t. Are you… flirting? The notion is so mind-boggling that his immediate reaction is to deflect. “I—I don’t know about that,” he says, looking down at his glass and scratching the back of his neck as an umpteenth flush creeps over him. Why, do you have a crush on me? he could ask, or even something like Does that make you jealous?
But no. Instead, he doesn’t know.
You grin even harder, like this is very entertaining to you. His stammering and blushy cheeks and evading eyes. “Oh, sure, who wouldn’t have a little crush on a hot young professor?” you continue. His eyes widen. “And nice, funny, knowledgeable… The right kind of awkward…”
What is this feeling? Jaehyuk feels as though he could soar through the sky, and yet he wants to be swallowed into the ground. He’s smiling so hard he can’t speak, meeting your eyes for a brief second, smiling harder, hiding it behind a fist. “The right kind of awkward?” he repeats, every word tinted with his disbelief.
You roll your eyes light-heartedly. “I said other things too, you know.”
“I know. I heard.” Loud and clear.
There’s a few beats of silence in which you smile at him and he smiles at his hands encasing his glass. He isn’t used to having so much of your attention at once, especially this kind of attention, so he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He wiggles in his seat, then, forcing himself to meet your eyes, asks: “What about you? What’s the plan for next year?”
Your smile dampens, and Jaehyuk is scared he’s unsolicitedly treaded into sensitive territory. “I don’t really know yet, to be honest,” you admit.
“That’s alright.”
“My parents would beg to differ,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.
“Oh. That sucks, I’m sorry,” he says, knowing these aren’t the most useful words but truly meaning them nevertheless.
“Yeah, well,” you say with a shrug and a wan smile, as though you’ve long resolved yourself to this reality. “I’m only majoring in Maths because it was the subject I did the best in at school and they absolutely wanted me to study something in STEM. My two older siblings are doctors, did you know? They wanted to keep the winning streak, I guess.”
This takes him aback, as always when he finds out someone has strict parents—as someone who grew up with the most loving and supportive parents a child could have, he cannot fathom putting a child into the world only to weigh it down with his own expectations. He especially cannot fathom having such an amazing daughter as you and not celebrate every little thing she does.
“What do you wish you were doing instead?”
You look surprised, like you aren’t used to being asked this question—then, your agape mouth morphs into a shy smile. “Art,” you say, voice quieter, like you don’t want to be overheard. You roll your eyes. “It’s silly, I know.”
It’s your turn to avoid Jaehyuk’s gaze, only glancing at him once as if to gauge his reaction. He’s frowning. “There’s nothing silly about that,” he says, sounding personally offended. He remembers his mom’s words from when he would be self-critical as a teenager: You’re talking badly about someone I love. “What kind of art do you do?”
You trace the rim of your glass, a small smile playing on your lips as you ponder his question. “Sketches, mostly. Watercolor when I have time.” You meet his gaze, and something in his expression seems to make you braver. “I actually go to an art academy twice a week. My parents don’t know, of course. I tutor middle and high school maths there, so they allowed me to enroll for a discounted fee. I don’t think I’m awful, at least that’s what my teachers say.”
Jaehyuk grins. You’ve opened another door of your life for him to peer into, and he loves the view: the glint in your eyes, your shy but excited smile, your agitated hands. “Your teachers tell you you’re not awful?”
“Okay, they’re a bit nicer than that. I’m not the next Picasso by any means, but… I enjoy it. A lot. I just wish that was enough.”
“Isn’t it?” Jaehyuk says tentatively.
“For me, it is. But not for my parents. They’re not wrong that it’d have been harder to find a stable job after art school. As much as I love drawing, I don’t know if the broke artist lifestyle is for me,” you say, smiling. “But I’d be happy as an art teacher. Or even a creative designer at some firm. But they want me to have a prestigious job, and since I’d rather cut ties with them altogether than put myself through med school, a professor is the next best thing, I guess.” You sigh, take a sip of your beer. “But hey, maybe we’ll teach at the same university later on. Only if it’s a good one, though,” you joke.
Jaehyuk laughs along with you, but your words pinch at his heart. If he could, he’d let you do everything you wanted without having to worry about things as trivial as a job and steady income. But alas, he is only a fourth-year undergrad himself. Would it be appropriate to show up at your parents’ house and give them a stern talking to?
He asks if he can see some of your art, and you hesitate but eventually agree—he hopes that shooting his brightest smile helped in his favor. You pull out a sketchbook from your bag, scouring the pages until you land on one you’re okay with showing him. It’s one of the few colored ones, depicting a scene that Jaehyuk knows well but never took the time to really look at: the trees that line the old part of your campus, the leaves turning all shades of red and orange and yellow, the brick buildings in the distance, a few students sitting out on benches or on the grass, unafraid of the October cold. You must’ve drawn this only weeks ago.
“It’s beautiful,” he says right as he thinks it, unable to contain his awe. The compliment might not mean much from someone as ignorant about art as him, but he means it. He can’t tell you anything about perspective, or technique, or composition, whatever that is, but he can tell you this: “I mean, you’d think it’s a picture, it’s so realistic. But even prettier. It makes me wonder how I never paid attention to it before, and I walk by there almost every day.”
“Thanks,” you say in a small voice, but your smile is radiant. You look at the drawing like it’s your first time seeing it, too. You flip through your sketchbook, showing him a few others of different parts of the city, of what looks like a snowstorm through a bedroom window, of a sunny day at a busy beach. A lot of them have scribbles underneath them, the date, the place, who you were with, how you felt. They’re all wonderful, and he makes sure to tell you that. You glow under his praise; Jaehyuk sees something of himself in the way your eyes scan his face eagerly with every sketch you show him, in the way your confidence is slowly coaxed out of you with every compliment he gives you.
If only your parents could see you now, beaming with pride and passion, maybe they’d agree to let you do this. Why would they not want you to be happy like this, always? Jaehyuk knows that he does.
The two of you go on like this, trading questions and anecdotes. Jaehyuk wants to know how you started drawing, you want to know what his hobby is, and when he sheepishly tells you he loves to cook, you make him promise to cook for you once. It isn’t hard to convince him—if anything, if he had a flirtatious bone in him, he would’ve invited you for dinner himself. His cheeks turn red at the thought of you in his apartment; you smile, and he wonders whether you’ve read his thoughts.
When you get up to go to the bathroom, you giggle, surprised at your unexpected dizziness: “Wow, I didn’t realize I was so tipsy until just now.” Jaehyuk extends a hand so you can catch your balance, and you say, “I’m alright, thank you,” but you take it nonetheless, squeezing it as you walk past him and towards the restroom.
He spends the next couple of minutes of your absence staring down at his hand, sure that there must be something, no matter how imperceptible, different about it now that it’s been touched by yours for the first time. You come back, soon followed by the waiter with two coffees and a large jug of water. “I thought we might need it.” It is only two p.m. after all.
Now that he thinks about it, it’s true that the alcohol has gone to his head, too; he was so engrossed with you earlier that he hadn’t even noticed. Being not much of a party-goer has turned him into a total lightweight, and a liter of beer is far past his limit. As he was ordering the second round of drinks, he thought this might have been a bad idea, but as it turns out, he’s managed to not embarrass himself. It’s actually allowed him to relax and to feel more like himself around you. He doesn’t hold back a laugh or a thought that passes through his head, or on the eye contact—he likes to think he is discreet as he details the shape of your nose, the curve of your lips, the lines that form when you smile or frown, but in all honestly his gaze must be very unsubtle. If you notice it, you don’t say anything. And at least, when you make a teasing remark, or your foot brushes his under the table — accidentally? — and his whole face heats up, he really can blame it on the alcohol.
Long after your cups of coffee are empty, you decide to call it a day. A voice at the back of Jaehyuk’s head reminds him of his exam in two days, but he really can’t bring himself to care. Not when you step outside together and you ask if you can keep his scarf for the way home. Like you want to stay with him for a little longer, he thinks wistfully.
“Of course. It’s yours.”
You gape at him. “Jaehyuk… This looks hand-knitted.”
He thinks for a second—then barks out an incredulous laughter. Is he that drunk, or just that willing to give away any of his possessions if you so much as ask for it? “You’re right, actually. My nana made that for me. I can ask her to make you one, if you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She’s always scolding me about not having enough friends that she can knit for.”
You laugh. He likes the sound of it so much he doesn’t even mind that it’s about his embarrassingly small circle of friends.
“Alright. Well, I’m just catching the bus from there,” you say, pointing to a nearby bus stop.
“I’m headed that way,” he says, gesturing with his head to the opposite direction. “But… I can wait for the bus with you?”
You grin. “Yeah.”
Standing underneath the bus shelter together, silence falls over you again. It’s as though the cold air has dispelled all of the warm, tipsy complicity created in the pub. Jaehyuk has reverted to his awkward self who can only steal glances at you from time to time, who rummages his brain for something to say and continuously falls short.
But maybe this is good too, enjoying the quiet midday streets next to you, his scarf around your neck, pretending like you aren’t standing so close, his arm sometimes brushes yours. After a minute or ten, you tell your feet: “I had a nice time today. Almost made having that dreadful exam in the morning worth it.”
Jaehyuk smiles. He’d completely forgotten about the exam. “Only almost?”
You meet his gaze. You seem surprised, happily so. “Yeah, only almost,” you tease back, nudging his shoulder with yours. The back of his neck burns despite the chill running through the air.
Too soon, your bus arrives, and with a squeeze to his arm, an excited See you at the party!, and a wave through the window, you’re gone.
“What the hell happened to you?” Asahi asks him as he steps inside their apartment.
Jaehyuk is still smiling so hard, he can barely reply.
.
.
It’s close to midnight, and you’re nowhere to be seen.
Jaehyuk lost hope about two hours ago, when the party was in full swing and you were still a no-show, but the disappointment hasn’t faded yet. He roams around his parents’ house and greets people, thanking them for coming, catching up with the classmates and friends he hasn’t seen in a while, always on the look-out for you. But every smile is a concerted effort, every word a distraction from the glaring fact of your absence.
Since the day he asked you about the party, until now, you’ve been the one thing on his mind. Not that that is a huge change from usual, but it’s gotten exponentially worse. His heart kept fluttering at the thought of seeing you outside of your usual context, of seeing you with intention—not because you happen to attend the same classes at the same university, or because you need a drink after an exam, but because you want to see each other.
He thought about what you would look like, if you’d do your hair or your makeup differently, if you’d choose an outfit in the hopes that he’d like it, just as he’d done when deciding what to wear, even if it just ended up being a striped white-and-blue shirt and a pair of black jeans. He thought about what it’d be like to see you, if you’d just say hi then spend the night with your friends, or if you’d indulge him in his awful attempts at making conversation. Maybe he’d manage to make you laugh, and you’d ask him to give you a tour of the house, and he’d oblige, of course he would, there was little he would ever refuse you, and in his wildest fantasies, maybe he would end by showing you his childhood bedroom, and there, you’d—he always stopped himself before he could get carried away.
What a waste of time, he thinks now. You seemed enthusiastic when he asked you in front of the exam building, and again the day after, when he texted you his address, saying, Hey! About the party, it’ll start at nine, feel free to bring whoever. Hope to see you there! You replied with a thank you and a confirmation of your presence, plus a smiling emoji and a red heart, which made him think it had been worth it, spending half-an-hour constructing a text that appeared as friendly and laid-back as he wanted you to think he was. It feels weird to be mad at you, because anger in itself is an emotion Jaehyuk doesn’t feel often, and even less so directed at you. But he can’t help but feel some sort of disappointment, or vexation—because you lied to him, or maybe you forgot, but in any case, you didn’t think to tell him you weren’t coming.
If he told any of this to his friends, they’d tell him he was being dramatic—and sure, even he might concede that he might be making this into a bigger deal than it was. But asking you to this party was huge for him, And if you can’t bother showing up tonight, just as a friend, or even just as a classmate, doesn’t that mean he should lose hope that your relationship would ever evolve past that?
It’s not like he even likes parties. It’s nice knowing all (or at least, most) of these people came for him (or for music and booze, more likely), but he still can’t shake the feeling he’d rather spend a peaceful evening in than be surrounded by booming speakers and increasingly drunk college students. And it’s not like he can get wasted, either—he needs to make sure nobody breaks anything or goes into his parents’ bedroom or lets the dog out of his house, in case he gets a fright and runs away. Most of all, he can’t risk drunk-texting you and causing irreparable damage to your budding relationship—if there even is anything left to damage.
He spends a concerning amount of time sitting on his lonesome on a swing bench outside, nursing a red solo cup of stale lemonade, the dark like a blanket around him, far from any party activity. It isn’t until a friend of his finds him there, a girl he was partnered up with in a second-year class, that he realizes he should probably head back in. They chat for a bit, he admits this party was essentially all an excuse to see you, she tells him about her own heart troubles, a sudden shift in her friendship to this guy she’s known her whole life. It snaps Jaehyuk out of his despondency—love doesn’t spare anyone, and he’s wasting away a perfectly good evening wallowing like this.
He eventually finds Asahi in the kitchen, laughing as Jeongwoo and Haruto duel each other to see who can down the most Jell-O shots in a minute, but even that isn’t nearly as diverting as it should be. He can’t bring himself to accept the beer Asahi hands him in fear that it will only worsen his mood.
His friend doesn’t need to ask to know what’s wrong. He simply pats his back twice and says, “She’ll come next time. She’s probably busy, or tired.”
“Or maybe she hates me.”
“I highly doubt that’s the case,” Asahi retorts gently.
“Dude, and if she hates you, then something’s wrong with her,” Haruto chimes in, words slurred by the red Jell-O in his mouth and the alcohol in his veins.
“Yeah, her loss!” Jeongwoo adds.
Jaehyuk’s lips quiver, a small smile appearing on them despite himself. “Thanks, guys.”
Haruto asks him why he isn’t drinking; after Jaehyuk explains his dilemma, his friend snatches his phone out of his hand and stuffs it in his back pocket. “There,” he says before Jaehyuk can contest. “Now you can get properly wasted, and not worry about her.”
And that’s exactly what he does.
.
.
It’s past noon when Jaehyuk wakes up the next day, and the grueling after-party task of clearing the house has been magically done for him. Asahi, Jeongwoo and Haruto are eating take-away pizza over paper napkins, not on the couch, or even the kitchen counter—no, at the actual dinner table, like a little family. A hungover family, perhaps, but a family nonetheless. Standing in the doorway, Jaehyuk watches them, a warm ball of affection for his friends surging in his stomach. Haruto notices him and waves him over before he can burst into tears.
“You cleaned everything?” he asks. The three of them mh-hm and nod, too preoccupied with their pepperoni slices to give full-sentence answers. “You guys are the best.”
“Ruto, can you pass me the hot sauce?” Jeongwoo asks, effectively ignoring him.
“Seriously, thank you guys.”
“You’re welcome,” Asahi mutters, like it takes everything out of him to utter those two words.
“I love you.”
“Dude, we’re eating. Cut it out,” Haruto says. Jaehyuk joins them at the table, but not before he’s gone around, kissing the top of their heads one by one, beaming despite their grunts of protest and disgust. He feels like a mom with three puberty-age sons.
The two younger boys head back to their shared dorm a couple of hours later, leaving Jaehyuk and Asahi to while away the rest of the day in front of Jaehyuk’s parents’ huge flat screen, playing the latest installment of Mario Party and watching Guess The Song in One Second! videos on YouTube. The sun has long set and they’ve put on a movie, some 90s cop flick that Jaehyuk didn’t catch the title of, when his doorbell rings, loud and strange because he isn’t expecting anyone. He doesn’t even know what time it is.
He and Asahi exchange a puzzled look, the blond shrugging, silently suggesting this isn’t his problem and Jaehyuk can go check who’s at the door himself. It is his house after all, and although he dreads it about as much as answering an unknown number on the phone or replying to an e-mail, he knows it falls upon him to answer the door.
He steps cautiously towards his front door camera, and the black-and-white live video he finds there takes him aback. Three figures stand at his gate, looking around the neighborhood, trying to peer through the bars to the house in front of them, asking Are you sure we’re in the right place? and bemusedly wondering why there isn’t anyone around or any music playing. In the middle, you check your phone, say, “I don’t know, this is the address he sent me.” One of your friends — Doyoung, if he remembers correctly from meeting him once when running into you at a café on campus — rings the doorbell again, and the sound is what gets Jaehyuk to stop staring at your face on his tiny security camera screen and actually slip on his father’s house shoes, a couple sizes too big but the first pair his feet find, then scramble his way towards you and your friends. The door opening makes your three heads swivel towards him, and your face lights up with a smile when you see him. If he wasn’t so confused by your presence at his house, he’d take it as a giant leap in the right direction.
“Jaehyuk!” you call. “See, I told you this was it,” you say, swatting Doyoung’s shoulder.
“Hi,” is all he finds to say as he opens the gate to let the three of you in. The evening only grows stranger as you bring him into a hug, your arms around his neck for a moment so quick his hands barely have time to brush your back. Your touch may go as quickly as it came, but the feeling it gave him doesn’t—as he greets Doyoung and your other friend, Haewon, he learns, the skin of his nape feels hot, a tingling sensation that starts there and spreads down to his fingers, intensified by the fact that he’s seeing you now, unexpectedly. Naturally, Jaehyuk remembers every time you’ve touched, accidental or not, and it’s never been more than a bump of your knees during a lecture, a brush of your fingers as he passes you a pencil, that gentle tap on his shoulder to wake him up when he dozed off at the library. He doesn’t know what it says of him that a simple hug from you can shake him to the point that he doesn’t think to ask what you’re doing here in the first place.
“Oh my God, are we the first ones here? It’s already nine p.m. though!” you say, looking around you at the empty front yard, at the lack of tipsy students behind his open front door.
“I told you no one actually shows up at nine for a nine p.m. party,” Doyoung says, sighing, and you shoot him an annoyed look that he returns tenfold. Jaehyuk feels an unwarranted pang of jealousy at this show of complicity between the two of you, but this feeling is immediately overtaken by guilt and shame—it is wrong for him to be jealous on so many levels, but he can’t help it.
At least, one good thing comes out of this small interaction: he’s able to make sense of your absence last night and your presence today. “The, um, the party was yesterday,” he says, wincing at the hesitance in his voice, at the awkwardness of this whole situation.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself as your mouth and your friends’ fall open. You gape at him, seemingly mortified, while Haewon and Doyoung burst into laughter. “Seriously, Y/N?” one of them says; “You’ve outdone yourself,” says the other. Even Jaehyuk can’t help the smile spreading on his lips, although he hides it behind his fist when you seem genuinely distraught by your mistake and annoyed by your friends’ teasing. You tell them to stop, then turn back towards him, starting to apologize profusely—should he feel bad for finding you so endearing, for finding even your furrowed brows and pleading look in your eyes adorable?
“I’m so sorry, Jaehyuk, I feel so awful,” you say, and he shakes his head, putting a hand up to stop you.
“It’s alright, it happens,” he replies, and when Doyoung says Yeah, only to Y/N, an involuntary chuckle slips out of him. Your apologetic expression morphs into shock, then fake anger when you realize he’s finding this situation just as entertaining as your friends.
“Alright, let’s all make fun of the girl who has a lot on her plate at the moment for mixing up a date, very funny.”
“Having two exams in one week is not having a lot on your plate, babe,” Haewon says before Jaehyuk can start to actually worry.
You roll your eyes, saying, “Whatever.” Already, Jaehyuk is seeing another side of you—how you react to being teased, what your pouting face looks like. Apart from that day at the bar, your interactions usually revolve around the classes you shared, rarely straying from typical university student talk—what your workload looks like this week, how you occupied a weekend, where you go for groceries, for a cheap but tasty meal, for drinks with the best price-quality ratio. You sometimes joke around about classmates or professors, but teasing is a territory Jaehyuk hasn’t yet dared cross into, even if he’s had many an opportunity to do so, often about the exact forgetfulness you’ve shown tonight. He’s seen you surprised about a professor change although it was announced at the beginning of the semester that the class would have three lecturers; you were confused by the first change, and the second one again. He’s seen you forget your textbook, your laptop charger, your pencil, your water bottle; when the building where your class took place was closed due to water damage, you showed up fifteen minutes late because you’d forgotten about the temporary classroom change.
So really, he isn’t so surprised to find you missing a party by a day. After all, Saturday was just as reasonable a day as Friday to have a party.
“I guess we’ll just go back to mine then,” you tell him. “What should we do?” you ask your friends. “I mean, he wasn’t expecting anyone, and he must be tired—”
“You guys should stay,” he interrupts. You’re right: he wasn’t expecting three guests, and he’s dead tired, but this is even better than his original plan. With as small a gathering as this, he’ll be able to spend way more time talking to you than at a large party like yesterday. “If you want, I mean. It isn’t what you came for, but it should be fun, even just the five of us,” he adds with a shrug, the picture of nonchalance in his head—but probably not in reality.
“Five?” Haewon asks, just as Asahi appears in the doorway.
“Hey. I was wondering why you were gone for so long,” Asahi says to his friend, coming to stand beside him, introducing himself timidly to Doyoung and Haewon. Even if it was crowded last night, Jeongwoo and Haruto were there to goof off with him. Jaehyuk knows it isn’t his friend’s idea of a perfect evening to spend it with two strangers and an acquaintance, but he also knows he is loyal, understanding, and definitely won’t be mad at him for inviting these people to crash their hang-out.
And anyways, Jaehyuk doesn’t miss the way Haewon’s eyes widen slightly when she sees Asahi, nor the way she tugs at your sleeve, saying, “Yeah, we should stay. We came all this way already, right?”
So when Jaehyuk nods and tells them to come on in, he reassures himself that he’s doing it for his friend, too. That way, maybe Asahi’ll learn to recognize when he’s being flirted with, finally at twenty years of age, and won’t dismiss every time he’s being hit on as the other person “just being nice.”
He steps aside to let everyone in: Asahi, then Haewon and Doyoung, but you stop in front of him instead of going inside, that furrow back in your brows. The tips of his fingers tingle with the urge to brush that frown away. You reach a hand to grab the sleeve of his hoodie, and his own hand below tenses. It’s a concerted effort to focus on your words when your hand is so close to his, when he’d barely have to move to intertwine your fingers with his. “I really am sorry, Jaehyuk. I know I’m bad with dates, I should’ve asked you for a reminder, and, well, I promise something like this won’t happen again, but if it does, can you call me?” You chuckle, a sheepish, self-deprecating sound that Jaehyuk doesn’t like coming from you. “When you’re a goldfish like me, you’re used to getting ready for things in like ten minutes, tops.”
His stomach sinks. Of course he should’ve called you last night, what was he thinking? He was so caught up in throwing himself a pity party, automatically assuming the worst of your intentions, already so mortified by your absence that he couldn’t fathom potentially embarrassing himself further by calling or texting you—basically to ask, Hey, are you not here on purpose or is it an honest mistake?
He gapes at you for what must be too long, because you start speaking again, quick, jumbled sentences, like you can’t get the words out fast enough. “I mean, you were probably really busy, and there must’ve been so many people you wouldn’t even have noticed I wasn’t there—”
“No!” Jaehyuk almost shouts, startling you and him. “No,” he repeats, softer this time, his cheeks heating up. “I definitely noticed you weren’t there.”
So, it isn’t his subtlest word choice. Jaehyuk immediately thinks he’s said too much, betrayed his feelings too clearly, made you uncomfortable. But when you beam at him with a smile that lights up your entire face, relief floods through him. He looks down at your hand, still holding his sleeve, and it gives him the courage to go on: “I was sad when you didn’t show up. I thought about texting you, but I was scared it would just make it awkward if you didn’t want to come…”
You shake your head. “I really did want to come. You can ask Doyoung and Haewon, I was looking forward to it for days.”
Jaehyuk’s heart skips a beat. Your gazes lock for a second, and it’s short, but it feels impossibly meaningful, like what either of you don’t dare to say in words, you say with your eyes. A smile he can’t bite back spreads on his lips, and you both laugh softly, eyes leaving each others’, the tension disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Your fingers drop from the cuff of his sleeve to his hand; you squeeze it once, and Jaehyuk thinks this is the right time to say something like, I’m glad you’re here, or even I only planned this party to see you in the first place, but he’s cut off by Doyoung appearing at the door, asking what you’re doing, inevitably seeing you holding hands, and heading back inside the house, obnoxiously whooping, exclaiming, “Didn’t mean to interrupt!” but of course that has Asahi and Haewon rushing to see what’s happening. You step away, a shy smile on your lips as you look at Jaehyuk and whisper, “Let’s go inside.” His feet follow you before his brain can register everything that’s just occurred.
The following thirty minutes are taken up with a tour of the house—the huge living space on the first floor that combines kitchen, dining room and a living room, the basement with the home cinema and pool table and his little brother’s room, upstairs with his parents’ master bedroom, his own room, and a couple of guest ones. If yesterday, he was daydreaming about showing you around everywhere with the same feeling he had when he moved into this house at fifteen years old and thought living somewhere huge like this was the peak of coolness, now, he feels almost ashamed of it, like he’s a show-off just by calling this place home, even if his parents haven’t decorated the place with furniture and decorations that manage to look cheap and gaudy no matter their actual worth. If anything, it is clear they have good taste: the house is furnished and bedecked in good taste, not blindingly over-the-top, not pretentiously minimalistic, but simply lived-in, with family photographs in old frames and shelves lined with everything from children’s books to legal textbooks that make it apparent this is not just a house, but a home.
And yet, it somehow all feels too much. The kitchen island too wide, the couch unnecessarily spacious, the basement bedroom too big for his thirteen-year-old brother. He’s self-conscious, perhaps unreasonably so, like this house is a direct reflection on his character, a feeling that only grows when you reach his bedroom. His dark gray bedsheets suddenly hurt to look at, every picture on his wall is an embarrassment, the large, brown leather armchair he begged his parents for as a teenager is now tacky. It’s like cooking a meal for the thousandth time, but now that someone else is eating it, it tastes offensively like cardboard. The worst part is it’s all in Jaehyuk’s head, you’re not even giving him any indication that you might hate any of this—if anything, you’re looking around in awe just like your friends are, complimenting how soft the carpet feels under your bare feet, making him promise he’ll host a pool party in the summer (and cheering when you find out it’s a heated pool, and that you can go in right now if you’re so inclined), stopping at all the family portraits and cooing at Jaehyuk’s baby pictures. Rather than this sudden harsh self-criticism, he tries to focus on your smile, and it goes a long way making him feel better.
He doesn’t really lead this house tour, rather lets you and your friends roam around as you like while he and Asahi hang back. This allows him to get a good but discreet look at you—it was dark outside when you arrived, but now, under the light, he notices your outfit, a black, body-fitting dress he has to force himself to look away from, your hair more done-up than you would usually wear in class. You look beautiful, something he makes a note of to tell you at some point, when there is no one around to eavesdrop. He looks down at himself with shame, sticking out like a sore thumb in the plain white tee and black sweatpants he’s been wearing all day next to you and your friends’ nice party outfits. At least, you didn’t catch him in one of the old, holey t-shirts he’s had since middle school but can’t bring himself to get rid of. That’ll be for when you’ve been dating eight months and he’s comfortable enough to not always look presentable—but he’s getting ahead of himself here.
When you and your friends are satisfied with your exploration of his house, Jaehyuk steers you back to the living room. Doyoung pulls out a full bottle of vodka and a two-liter bottle of orange juice, asks for some cups—eyes wide, Jaehyuk offers to start the evening off with beer instead.
“Oh, we’ve already pre-gamed.” Fifty people or five, it seems that Doyoung is set on getting drunk no matter what.
You tut at your friend, turning to Jaehyuk with an apologetic expression, saying a beer would be nice. He comes back with a whole tray of drinks and snacks, and is relieved to find all four of you engaged in conversation—even Asahi is laughing along instead of cowering on a corner of the couch. You smile and thank him when he uncaps a beer and hands it to you, holding eye contact for what feels like a second longer than necessary.
Jaehyuk has a good feeling about tonight.
“Should we play truth or dare?” Doyoung asks, a look on his face like he’s just had the best idea ever.
“We just got here, man,” Haewon replies. Her tone makes Jaehyuk think this isn’t the first occurrence of the sort. “So, how did you two meet?” she asks Jaehyuk and Asahi.
He’s glad for the change of subject—he has a feeling Doyoung wouldn’t hesitate to put you and Jaehyuk in a compromising situation all in the name of the game. Instead, he recounts he and Asahi’s first meeting with a nostalgia some might reserve for their lovers, the first-year apartment they shared with two other boys, the trip to IKEA for pans and bedsheets that cemented their friendship. Two shy eighteen-year-olds that immediately found a new home in each other. Jaehyuk can’t help but get sappy when he talks about it, to Asahi’s dismay each and every time.
Asahi rolls his eyes. “It was super awkward. We spoke in thirty-second increments then went silent for two minutes at a time.”
“I could tell it was the start of something amazing,” Jaehyuk says, ignoring his friend.
“What about you guys?” Asahi asks, ignoring his friend.
Jaehyuk’s heard the story: Haewon and Doyoung dating for almost a year before the latter realized it wasn’t girls he was into, staying friends throughout high school and meeting you at a party early into first year. Your little trio’s been inseparable since. Haewon and Doyoung’s retelling is much more dramatic than yours. They bicker over misremembered details, and it seems as though Haewon is still on the fence as to whether Doyoung didn’t fake being gay to get out of breaking up with her, despite the numerous dates he’s brought home since then.
He watches you watch your friends, laughing, smiling fondly. He’s surprised to see you take a step back—he’s so used to being the quieter one between the two of you, that he never imagined you would be the quieter one of your group. But it makes sense: Doyoung and Haewon are quite… boisterous after all, exuding a self-confidence and ease that at once intimidates and draws Jaehyuk in. It melts his heart, seeing you like this, makes him feel closer to you.
As time passes, everything continues to go well, so much so that Jaehyuk stops worrying about everything going well and actually lets himself enjoy the moment. The few beers he’s had wash over him pleasantly, makes him lower his guard and relax into his body. He feels warm, a flush already creeping up the back of his neck and that’ll soon flood his cheeks, too; his fingers tingling every time your eyes meet or you laugh at one of his jokes.
At some point, he thinks of how Haruto and Jeongwoo would’ve loved to be here, not because they love making new friends, but because they love to make the lives of the few ones they already have hell. As much as he adores them, he is relieved to spend this evening without their constant teasing—he is certain that all of their shyness would’ve left them the moment you stepped through the door, and would’ve done everything in their power to make this situation as awkward as they could, just to see Jaehyuk squirm. They’d probably dramatically read word-for-word his texts in their group chat about you, or the many times he’s crashed out mulling over a small interaction you two shared, and have the audacity to pass it off as being his wingmen.
But no later than he’s had this thought, his karmic imbalance restores itself—You’re glad your friends aren’t here? Great, let me send an even worthier opponent, it seems to tell him as his front door opens, his parents and younger brother spilling in.
Of course. His dad texted him earlier, letting him know they’d be coming back late from his sister’s house, Jaehyuk’s aunt that lives a three-hour drive away in the countryside. It hadn’t crossed his mind since you arrived.
“Oh, you’ve got friends over!” his mother exclaims, beaming as she shrugs off her coat and shoes, letting her husband and son do the work of ferrying bags back in. He doesn’t like the slight surprise in her tone, as though Jaehyuk having friends she doesn’t know about is an extraordinary situation. Admittedly, it is, but you don’t need to know that. “And the house is so clean, ugh, what an amazing son I have. Did you actually have a party or did you lie just to reassure us?” she asks, bending down to press her lips to her son’s forehead, a gesture he’s never minded until now. “Introduce me!”
Jaehyuk’s face burns, hot and red as lava. He doesn’t know what to be more embarrassed about—his mother’s words, or her actions, or, worst of all, her reaction to finding out your name. As soon as the syllables of your name leave his mouth, he wishes he could reel them back in. Because of course, Jaehyuk has told his mother about you. She’s known about the “pretty girl” in his classes since he first laid eyes on you, and when you sat next to him at the beginning of the year, she was the first to know about it. Her son’s love life is so lackluster that she’d have no problem remembering your name.
And with the way her eyebrows raise, her eyes turn curious, and her smile turns knowing, she doesn’t even try to be discreet about already having heard about you. Her facial expression is already so obvious that it feels overkill when she says, “Ah, Y/N. So nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ve heard so much about you.”
But maybe it only feels that way because seeing you and his mother in the same room was already overwhelming to Jaehyuk.
He hides his face behind his hands, regressing to a teenage state as he mutters, “Mom, seriously…” He still peeks out from between his fingers to study your reaction, and when you don’t seem put off, drops his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” you reply, mirroring her smile.
His mother gives Jaehyuk an approving look. “Very polite,” she whispers, like you aren’t sitting right there. He looks at you, hoping his desperate eyes convey his thoughts: I actually don’t know this woman, please don’t mind anything she says. You just giggle. His mother walks to the other end of the couch where Asahi sits, bending down to kiss his forehead, which he accepts with a lot more grace than her actual son. “Hello, son number two.”
“I’m literally right here,” Jaebeom, the younger brother, grumbles, hauling a bag of produce into the kitchen. Their aunt always sends them back with vegetables and fruit from her garden.
“Oh! I forgot about you,” she says with a disconcertingly honest tone, laughing as she presses a loud smack to his forehead, as though to appease him.
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, feigning an annoyance that the blush on his cheeks quickly betrays. He nods towards the beer in Jaehyuk’s hand. “Can I have one of those?”
Three answers arise at the same time.
Jaehyuk: “Hell no!”
Mom: “Are you insane?”
Dad: “Sure.”
Jaehyuk and his mom look at him like something is seriously wrong with him. “What? I had my first drink at his age,” he says before scurrying into the kitchen.
“Yeah, and your parents were both alcoholics,” Jaehyuk’s mom says, trailing after her husband.
“Alright!” Jaehyuk exclaims loudly, a decibel over his usual speaking voice. “Did you guys wanna try the heated pool out?”
Doyoung gasps. “Let’s skinny dip!”
Everyone groans—except Jaehyuk’s mother, who giggles, to his dismay. “I miss being young,” she sighs.
.
.
Jaehyuk is eating his words, hard.
He is no stranger to a little blushing, but this is getting out of hand. He can’t even look at you — can’t even think about you — without turning into a lobster.
This isn’t even necessary.
He has an older sister who’s left behind perfectly suitable swimsuits you and Haewon could’ve borrowed. But no—Doyoung’s suggestion to skinny-dip, while rejected, provoked the amazing idea of swimming in underwear. “We brought a change, anyway,” Haewon said, “‘cause you never know what might happen at a party.” She winked at Jaehyuk. He felt like dying.
He isn’t a prude. He’s thought about you in your underwear, he isn’t afraid of admitting it (to himself and no one else). But not like this. Not in front of other people, like it’s no big deal. And maybe it isn’t, and Jaehyuk is making a mountain out of a molehill, as he is wont to do. Even Asahi seems to be chill about it.
Of the five of you, he’s the only one still clothed, mixing drinks behind the mini-bar by the pool. He glances at your swimming figure, just a few feet away from him, ignores the hints of black lace underwater. He can’t help the thoughts racing in his mind, aided by Haewon’s earlier words—do you always wear matching underwear, or did you pick out the pair with him in mind? Whatever the answer is, he shakes the question away from his head. It won’t do him any good, pondering it.
After cannonballing straight into the pool, Doyoung yelped the moment his head resurfaced from the water. “It’s cold!” he exclaimed. Jaehyuk explained that he needed to turn the heating on first, that it’d take a few minutes. He felt vindicated—if it wasn’t for Doyoung’s idea that sparked Haewon’s, he wouldn’t have had to deal with the sight of you sliding your dress off, laughing as it got stuck over your head, asking your friend for help. The sight of your abdomen shaking with giggles. Of the curve of your waist into your hips into your thighs. Of the flimsy black lace thinly covering your breasts, leaving practically nothing to Jaehyuk’s imagination.
He hid behind the mini-bar, volunteering to make Brazilian lemonade for everyone. He’d found the recipe online, bought the ingredients to make you something fun to drink for the party, more fun than vodka coke, and was glad it didn’t turn out to be in vain. Maybe his amateur mixology skills would be the thing that made you fall for him.
As he pours condensed milk over blended limes, your voice reaches his ears. “Are you joining us?” you yell, arms crossed over the edge of the pool, feet treading water behind you. He hadn’t even noticed you swimming towards him. Behind you, Asahi, Haewon and Doyoung compete to find out who can stay underwater the longest.
He reaches for the white rum. “Yeah, in a minute,” trying but failing to mirror your smile. He should’ve joined you as everyone was undressing—now, he’s dreading taking his shirt off under your watchful gaze.
Time passes in slow-motion as you swim towards the pool ladder, climb it, and walk towards him. You must hate him, or share Haruto and Jeongwoo’s passion for making his life impossibly hard.
“Need any help?” you ask, joining him behind the counter, watching as he fetches five tall glasses from a shelf. He shakes his head. You take a seat on the marble counter, between the sink and the drinks Jaehyuk’s just made. You could’ve sat on a stool on the opposite side of the counter, or stood against the wall. Instead, you decided to sit as close to Jaehyuk as you could, his hand torturously close to your bare thigh as he gives each drink a final mix with a long-handled spoon. You’re dripping chlorine and water on the floor, the counter.
Doyoung comes up for air first, so disappointed with his third place that he doesn’t even notice the two of you.
Jaehyuk looks at the five drinks in front of him like they might give him some guidance. “Don’t be so shy,” you say, your voice so low, so suddenly unfamiliar, so unlike your usual chirp that he initially really does believe one of the drinks spoke to him.
Someone lifts their head out of the water with a loud gasp—Jaehyuk doesn’t register whether it’s Haewon or Asahi.
“You don’t have to be shy with me, Hyuk,” you say, just a little louder this time, as though you thought he might’ve missed your words the first time around. As though he could ever miss anything you say, as though his ears aren’t attuned to the exact frequency of your voice.
When Jaehyuk replies, it’s a second too late. He knows that you know that he’s lying. “I’m not shy.”
“Yeah? Why aren’t you in the pool, then?” you say, the corners of your lips curving upwards as two of your fingers play with the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it ever-so-slightly. He inhales sharply.
“I wanted to make these.”
You fiddle with the fabric for a few seconds that feel like an hour to him, then drop it, grabbing a drink instead, raising it to your mouth. Jaehyuk, hypnotized, watches your throat bob as you swallow. He gulps, his saliva suddenly out-of-place in his own mouth, body unconsciously mirroring yours.
Whether the third person makes their way safely out of the water, Jaehyuk doesn’t even notice.
You hum. “It’s good. Sweet and citrusy.”
If he kissed you right now, would he taste the drink on your tongue?
Screams erupt from the pool, How do you hold your breath for so long? You’re so quiet, I knew something had to be wrong with you. Asahi must’ve won.
Jaehyuk wrenches his gaze away from you. His best friend, triumphant, laughs with his head thrown back while your friends badger him with questions. “You know, the other day…” you start, and his eyes are back on you in an instant. He takes you in, your wet hair, the dark traces of mascara beneath your eyes. If he kissed you right now, would he taste chlorine on your lips?
“Yeah?”
“You were saying it was an effort for you, speaking to people, sometimes.”
He nods.
“Is this an effort for you?” you ask. Jaehyuk tilts his head, confused—”This,” you repeat, voice softer, more hesitant as you gesture between the two of you. Your lips are adorned with a small smile, but he doesn’t miss the glint of genuine worry in your eyes.
His eyes widen, hands coming up in front of him and shaking to signal his denial. “No, not at all,” he says loudly, tone so overly panicked it gets a giggle out of you. Jaehyuk relaxes at the sound, at the concern dissipating from your eyes. He doesn’t want you to believe for even one second that talking to you is difficult. Sure, it’s not effortless—it’s not like with Asahi, where he can say whatever goes through his mind, whether that’s a worry he’s been having or a bad pun he can’t keep in. He knows Asahi won’t judge him, or at least, not in any real, impactful way. Not in a way that’ll make him rethink their entire friendship. But it also isn’t like with other classmates or most of his acquaintances, where he’d rather say nothing at all than risk saying something stupid.
(Weirdly enough, he’s comfortable making small talk with older people. He’ll chat with the grandma behind him in the post office queue, with the cashier at any given convenience store; his hairdresser back home knows everything that’s ever happened to him from the age of five; the receptionist of one of the STEM buildings on campus always gives him candy because they managed to find out her husband is from the town Jaehyuk grew up in; he always stays in his dissertation supervisor’s office for two hours because they both can never stop talking. But with his peers, and especially with pretty girls like you, he’s so afraid he’ll say something wrong that he clams up instead.)
Jaehyuk knows you deserve his honesty, and so he says what he thought earlier: “It’s surprisingly easy talking to you, actually. Maybe it’s because we’ve been sitting with each other for a couple of months.” Even as he says the words, he knows they’re not entirely true. It’s because, from the very first time he saw you, he hasn’t felt the same way about you as he feels about most other people.
You smile, take another sip of your drink. “Maybe, yeah.”
“What are you guys doing?” Doyoung yells from the pool. Haewon slaps his shoulder. “What?”
You laugh. “We’re coming.” Then, to Jaehyuk only, “Come on.” Your fingers are back on the hem of his t-shirt for a second only, but the message is clear: Take it off, then follow me.
Jaehyuk doesn’t look at you as he takes his t-shirt off, then his sweatpants, but he feels your gaze burning into every inch of his exposed skin. He’s never felt so self-conscious, until you jump off the counter, suddenly back to your usual height of a few inches below him. Your hand is on his shoulder, warm, soft, thumb brushing back-and-forth across his skin. He finally manages to meet your gaze just as it drops to his lips.
If he kissed you right now…
You squeeze his shoulder. “Let’s go,” you whisper, grabbing two drinks, heading back towards the pool before he’s even comprehended everything. He grabs the remaining three, head spinning as he follows you. Asahi’s gaze is insistent, but he can’t answer it, can’t explain what just happened with a single look like they usually can. He’s flustered, and this is the only thing he can convey to his friend—or even to himself.
You sit side by side at the edge of the pool while your friends remain in the shallow water, only submerged up to their hips. “To new beginnings,” Doyoung offers as a toast; you and Haewon groan at his cheesiness, but when you clink your glasses together and echo Doyoung’s words, you look right at Jaehyuk, a small but knowing smile on your lips.
“To new beginnings.”
Doyoung downs his drink in two goes, only pausing to frown at it and exclaim, “This is good.” Immediately as he is done, he challenges Asahi to an apnea rematch. The blond shrugs, finishing his cocktail in two long sips before setting it on the pool’s edge.
“He’ll never win against Asahi. He’s been practicing ever since he came here for the first time,” Jaehyuk says as they waddle away. “It was apparently a childhood dream of his to hold his breath underwater?”
Haewon stares straight ahead. “Fascinating,” she says breathlessly, like a biologist finding out about a new animal species. She turns to him with destabilising focus. “Tell me more.”
Jaehyuk doesn’t need to be told twice. To Haewon’s great entertainment, he recounts every hobby and obsession his best friend has had since they met, from the time he only ate tuna bowls for a month straight to his brief astrology hyperfixation—to this day, he has an almost perfect success rate of figuring out people’s signs within a few minutes of meeting them.
As fun as sharing too much information about Asahi is, it doesn’t take Jaehyuk’s attention away from the fact of your body close to his. Inching closer and closer. Eventually so close that your bare thighs are pressed against his, your shoulder bumping his from time to time, your face taking up his peripheral vision. The heated water isn’t that warm, yet it’s as though you’ve just swum in lava, the way Jaehyuk’s skin burns where it comes into contact with yours.
For a naive second, he thinks you haven’t done it on purpose. Maybe he wasn’t speaking loud enough over Asahi’s and Doyoung’s splashing about or over the roar of the water heater and you needed to lean in. But when he makes the mistake of glancing over at you, the look on your face tells him there is nothing accidental about your proximity.
He does a double-take. Your lips are curved into a small smirk, like you’re perfectly aware of your actions and the effect they have on Jaehyuk. Maybe it’s the two beers you’ve had, along with the healthy dose of white rum he poured into the Brazilian lemonades, but your eyes are unfocused, pupils dilated.
Immediately Jaehyuk has to look away, to continue blabbering away about Asahi, to think of extremely unsexy things like the 9 a.m. class waiting for him on Monday or the dead mice that the street cats keep bringing to their building’s doorstep. But it’s no use, the image of your face looking at him like—like something he can’t even begin to describe, and the feeling or your warm skin against his, beads of water transferring from your leg to his, has already branded his mind. An unwanted ache suddenly hollows out his stomach—he interrupts himself by jumping into the pool, faking an excuse of wanting to go join the boys.
If you know that one simple look from you has managed to make Jaehyuk hard, you don’t show it. Your expression is suddenly benign, the picture of innocence as you follow him into the water.
In the thirty following minutes that you spend in the pool, Jaehyuk can’t untie the knot of nerves inside of him. If anything, it only tightens, only twists further around itself with every glance, every smile. He plays along with every stupid game that Doyoung comes up with, desperate for the distraction of competition. His efforts are fruitless. When you play shark and minnows, shark you invariably heads straight for minnow him. When you play chicken fight, the feeling of your thighs around his shoulders is akin to torture. He knows you have to hold on to his head, but wonders whether the way you thread your fingers through his hair is really necessary; when you go over strategy beforehand, your voice is low, your lips dangerously close to his ear, and he nods along but doesn’t register a word. Only one sentence sticks in his head: Don’t be afraid to grab on tight, said as your hands come to cover his on your thighs, pressing down so that his fingers dig deeper into your flesh.
You manage to push Asahi off of Haewon’s shoulders—she insisted on being the one to carry him. You celebrate by placing a loud, forceful kiss on Jaehyuk’s temple that your friends, even Asahi, holler at. Every inch of his body flushes.
This isn’t to say he doesn’t enjoy every second of it. It’s because he enjoys it so much that it weighs down on him like this, as though he doesn’t know how to like something — someone — this much. Doesn’t know what to do about his jumpy heart, about the constant up-and-downs of his stomach, the almost painful stretch of his smile into his cheeks. He can’t tell if this is heaven or hell.
No, that isn’t true—he knows this can’t be anything but heaven. The sounds you make, laughing as you push his shoulders down in a playful attempt to drown him, giggling when you play footsie underwater, gasping when he reaches for your waist and pinches the soft skin there, they’re all impossibly angelic. Jaehyuk wants to draw them out of you time and time again.
For all of his daydreaming about having you over at his party — more of a small get-together now — Jaehyuk didn’t expect this, the naturalness you exhibit in each of your interactions with him. He’d been holding back out of shyness and fear of rejection, but your confidence makes his grow. If you’re okay with touching him, you’re okay with him touching you, right?
One awful shot of rum later, he’s convinced of it.
A grievance his ex-girlfriend held against him during their relationship was his passivity. “You just never do anything,” she’d say. “From the beginning, I’ve always had to make the first move.” In hindsight, he doesn’t know how true that was. She was the one to ask him out, sure, but he distinctly remembers the many dates he’d planned, the regular texts, unanswered on her part, the invitations to dinner at his parents’ house that she always postponed.
Paradoxically, another one of her grievances was that he was too much. Too touchy, too needy, too sensitive.
As you all get out of the pool (after Doyoung’s complaint of getting hungry), he tries to focus on the first of these reproaches and forget the latter. If there’s one thing his therapist parents have taught him how to recognize, it’s the parts of himself that deserve amelioration, and the parts that deserve to be accepted by others as they are. Plus, you’ve just asked him to not be shy with you.
So, he won’t be shy with you.
There’s a cupboard in which his family keeps all the pool necessities. He grabs towels from there and hands one each to Asahi, Haewon and Doyoung; when it comes to you, he unfolds the soft piece of fabric and places it gently over your shoulders, lingering for no reason other than he wants to, a gesture so obvious in its deliberateness. His hands shake, and he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, but he does it nonetheless.
“Thank you,” you say softly. You ignore the childish giggling behind you, so he does, too. He can feel your eyes boring into his, demanding to be met. He does, but only for a fraction of a second, and then turns away to grab a towel for himself.
He wouldn’t be prouder of himself if he’d won a Nobel Prize.
Asahi, now loosened by the alcohol or by the common hobby he and your friends share, namely, making fun of the two of you, leads your group back into the house. You and Jaehyuk walk a few feet behind them, saying nothing, the silence saying enough. He lets you walk through doors first, a shy smile on his lips, too self-conscious to fully lean into the gentleman persona.
He’s relieved to find his parents out of the kitchen. Jaebeom is still hogging the couch, playing some game on his Nintendo Switch. There’s no reason for him to be there instead of in the comfort of his own bedroom, but Jaehyuk remembers being thirteen and hoping his sister would let him hang out with her cool, older friends, so he doesn’t send his little brother away.
“Is there anything that isn’t organic or plant-based in this house?” Doyoung asks, scavenging through cupboards like he’s the survivor of an apocalypse. Jaehyuk can’t even bring himself to be bothered; the combination of alcohol and swimming has also made him famished. All the food he bought yesterday was eaten during the party or throughout today, whenever he and Asahi got the hangover munchies.
He searches the freezer for anything his parents might have let slip by, like frozen pizzas or hash browns. To no avail. “We have… soy milk ice cream?” There’s a collective groan. “Sorry, my parents turned vegan after I left the house. Maybe we have tofu stir-fry leftovers in the fridge…”
“Don’t bother,” Doyoung says with an overdramatic sigh. “Let’s just order something.”
“I have ramen in my room,” a small voice then says from the living room. When Jaehyuk turns his head, his little brother is peeking out from over the couch. With everyone’s eyes on him, he clears his throat, sits up. “I keep a stash hidden for times of crisis like this.”
Jaehyuk walks over to him, clasps both of his shoulders. “Jaebeom,” he says, beaming. “Have I ever told you you’re the best little brother ever?”
In a drawer under his bed, Jaebeom keeps enough instant ramen and junk food to feed an army. All of you watch in awe as he counts out one packet of Shin Ramyeon per person, then adds another two at Doyoung’s request.
“Can we get those turtle chips as well?” he asks, shameless.
“No way,” Jaebeom replies, with such certainty that Doyoung doesn’t even try to fight him.
Back downstairs, Jaehyuk slices green onions and waits for the broth to come to a boil while the rest of you sit on stools around the middle island. The act of sharing his food so benevolently has put Jaebeom at the center of attention, and he is more than happy to answer to your and your friends’ neverending supply of questions for him. He probably can’t wait to tell his friends about the evening he spent with a bunch of college students. You ask him about school, Haewon about his hobbies, Doyoung about his middle-school drama (he’s very disappointed when it turns out that Jaebeom, just like his older brother, solely hangs out with three other nerdy boys and doesn’t keep up with any sort of gossip).
Asahi sets out bowls and cutlery just as Jaehyuk places the steaming pot on a wooden coaster. He takes your bowl to serve you, but you stop him, grabbing the ladle before he can. “You cooked, I’ll do this.”
“But—”
“I’ll do it,” you repeat, voice gentle yet firm enough to get Jaehyuk to sit down.
Doyoung puts on an exaggerated pout as he looks at the two of you. “Your first argument,” he coos.
“And resolved so quickly. You guys are perfect for each other,” Haewon adds, nodding along, wiping a fake tear from her eyes.
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Alright, guys.” Jaehyuk just sits there, failing miserably at holding a grin back. You set his bowl back in front of him—you gave him so many dumplings that there probably won’t be enough left for everyone else.
Jaehyuk has cooked this exact ramen with these exact ingredients a thousand times before. He knows he makes it well—when his friends crave ramen, it’s him they go to. And yet, it’s never really been a source of pride in his life. It’s all maths: the right ratio of water to soup powder, the right amount of time for the noodles to cook. But when you, Doyoung and Haewon slowly lift your heads from your bowls and look at him like he’s just changed your lives, he can’t help but feel a little satisfaction.
Okay, a lot of satisfaction, especially when Haewon asks him to give her the exact measurements he uses and Doyoung says, “This is the best ramen I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
Jaehyuk chuckles, a little shy, a lot ecstatic. “I think you were just hungry after swimming.”
Doyoung shakes his head vehemently. “No, seriously, this is amazing. I didn’t even know ramen could taste like this.”
“He also makes good Buldak,” Jaebeom says.
Doyoung grunts in a very inappropriate manner. “Y/N, you have to let him hit.”
The spicy broth goes down the wrong pipe in Jaehyuk’s throat, sending him into a coughing fit. You choke on a noodle. Asahi and Haewon laugh maniacally. “What?” you say, voice weak.
“Yeah! So he can come over and make Buldak for us!” Doyoung says, like his plan makes perfect sense.
“I can… I can make you Buldak without… you know. You could just ask, man,” Jaehyuk mutters, eyes fixed on his bowl. His face has probably turned as red as the soup—he sure feels as hot.
“Oh. Well, sure,” Doyoung says, frowning, like he’s not entirely happy with this alternative suggestion.
You nudge Jaehyuk’s knee with yours. “Don’t mind him. Gay people can never say something is just good.”
“That’s homophobic,” Doyoung says.
“And you’re annoying.”
Doyoung shrugs. “Can’t argue with that.”
There’s a small pause, then, you giggle like you’re preemptively laughing at what you’re going to say next. “Also, when I let him hit—” Jaehyuk’s spoon freezes in the air halfway to his mouth— “it’ll be for something better than Buldak ramen.”
Is there any way the ground might open up and swallow Jaehyuk whole into the earth?
Apparently not. He has to sit there and watch as the table erupts into laughter, even Jaebeom, who has no business knowing what “letting hit” even means.
“What for, then?” Doyoung asks, beaming. Clearly, to him, this is the peak of hilarity.
“I don’t know. What else do you cook well, Hyuk?”
When he glances at you, mischief is written all over your face. Jaehyuk doesn’t like to be teased—that’s why his friends do it so often. But coming from you, it feels different. Like he’s in on the joke. Like he doesn’t actually have to worry about you only wanting to have sex for him so he’ll cook for you and your friends.
“I, uh, I can make a pretty good kimchi jjigae." The blush on Jaehyuk’s face turns furious when you giggle and nudge his knee again; this time, your knee stays pressed against his.
Doyoung claps; Haewon nods slowly and snaps her fingers like she’s at church.
“No, but seriously, this is really good, Hyuk,” you say after the moment’s passed. Of course, a chorus of So good, Hyuk bursts out then, your voice and tone mimicked with varying success—not that your friends are trying to stay true to life. Even Jaebeom joins in—Jaehyuk tries to stare him down, but it’s no use. He has about as much authority over his little brother as he does over anyone else in this room.
He’s relieved when you turn the topic away from him and back onto his brother. He’s heard him talk about his Minecraft YouTube channel that has two hundred followers for hours already, so he doesn’t need to focus. It’s not like he can anyway, not with the way you alternate between gently bumping your knee and letting it rest against his. You’re talking and listening to Jaebeom, so he isn’t sure you’re even aware of what you’re doing.
Then, while everyone’s attention is elsewhere, you briefly turn and smile at him.
He’s relieved again when everyone’s finished their bowls and Jaebeom asks if they want to play a video game, clearly excited at the prospect of hanging out for longer. The relief lasts only a second, because when he hangs back to clean up, you stay with him. It’s somehow a blessing and a curse to finally be alone with you—there’s no one to tease the two of you now, but he’s overwhelmed with the weight of the attention you give him. As much as he enjoys it, he isn’t used to it, and now that he’s established with near certainty that you’re flirting with him, it feels like it takes all of his brain power to string proper sentences together.
You’re quiet as you bring the empty bowls and cutlery to the sink. You’re quiet as you rest your back against the counter and watch him wash the dishes. Already he misses the sound of your voice, wishes he could hear something other than the rush of water and background chatter of your friends, screaming as someone rides into the abyss of a Mario Kart map. He wishes you would say something, anything to fill this silence instead of staring at him like what you want to say is so clear, it doesn’t need to be said.
Nothing is clear to him when it comes to you, except for his own feelings. You could be thinking the same thoughts, or playing him entirely, he’d be none-the-wiser.
“You can go play with them, if you want,” he says eventually, for lack of anything better. His voice sounds strangled, unfamiliar to his own ears, not loud enough.
“I know,” you say, matching his tone. The sound of your voice, low and intimate, words spoken just for him, envelops his body. “I want to stay here.”
He washes another bowl before speaking again. “Why?”
Your eyes burn into the side of his head, but he’s steadfastly ignoring them. So much for not being shy. “You know why.”
“I wanna hear you say it,” he says, his tone absolutely not matching his confident words—but it seems to work.
You take a step closer. Jaehyuk’s heart feels like it’s stuck behind his Adam’s apple. “I just want to be with you for a little while.” You clear your throat—is your heart stuck there too? “If this was a bigger party, it would’ve been easier to… I don’t know, disappear. Kind of impossible now. They would be on our asses in a second.”
You chuckle, so Jaehyuk does too, but he isn’t laughing on the inside. What are you talking about, disappearing? With him? Where, and to do what?
He turns the water off, disheartened by the small amount of dishes and the fact that he has nothing to occupy his hands with now. He can only dry them and turn to face you.
“But I guess it’s also nice that we’re not surrounded by other people,” you say, taking a small step closer towards him.
Jaehyuk gulps. “Yeah, it—it is nice.”
There’s nowhere else to look now. You’re so close, he couldn’t look away from you even if he wanted to. His gaze stays planted on yours, while your eyes slowly trail down his face. It seems as though you’re trying to take all of him in—his nose, his cheeks, his jaw. His throat, where his breath hitches. Then back up to his lips, where your gaze lands.
He thinks this is it. The moment he’s barely dared to hope for, right in front of him. Something clicks inside him—for once, he won’t be a passenger in his own life, waiting patiently for things to happen to him. He’ll be the driving force.
So he ignores the tightening ball of nerves in his stomach, the shortness of his breath, the tremor in his fingers, and reaches out a hand to your waist, silently beckoning you to come closer still. You smile as you do, like you’re proud of him, or relieved, even, that he’s finally done what you’ve been waiting for him to do.
Time passes in slow-motion right in front of his eyes. It takes an eternity for your hands to find the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it down towards you, and another eternity for his face to inch closer to yours.
Doyoung’s voice is like a supercar driving through a peaceful countryside road: loud, sudden, and unwelcome.
“Jaehyuk! Jaebeom says you play this road well, come here so I can smash your ass!”
Immediately this is followed by a harsh slap, a loud “Ow!” and furious whispering that seems to come from Haewon but that Jaehyuk can’t decipher.
“Don’t mind him!” she yells. “Just come out when you’re ready!”
Rolling your eyes, you lean back with a tired sigh, almost as if you were expecting this interruption. “Sorry,” you say. “My friends can be a little… clumsy.”
Jaehyuk smiles. “It’s okay.”
You look like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but his mind is racing so fast that he can’t settle on anything worthwhile. So you let go of his hem, saying, “Let’s join them?”
He nods, almost robotically, but his feet stay planted where they are. He’s trying to wrap his head around what just happened.
If Doyoung wasn’t so competitive, he might have kissed you. He might be kissing you right now. He knows your friend wasn’t purposefully being a cockblock, but there’s still a pang of annoyance he has to squash down before following you towards the TV room.
Jaehyuk plays so badly, Jaebeom gets embarrassed—because he was the one to hype his brother up in the first place or because he feels genuine sympathy for him, Jaehyuk isn’t sure. In his defense, how he can be expected to focus on a stupid car game when he’s almost just kissed you is beyond him. He feels like he needs to sit in silence for at least ten minutes to process everything, so the fact that he’s even able to make his kart move around at all is a success in his mind.
It doesn’t help that you seem to be oblivious to his distress, curled up next to him on the couch, resting your elbow on his shoulder, your knee on his thigh. Again, there’s a possibility that you’re completely aware of what you’re doing, but for his own sanity, Jaehyuk prefers not to entertain it. You seem so comfortable, so at ease, like you’ve been here a hundred times before, like this is where you’re meant to be. Laughing when he drives right into a banana peel, like you aren’t the cause of his distractedness. Patting his head consolingly when he places tenth out of twelve. He doesn’t realize how tight his grip is on the controller, enough for his knuckles to have turned white, until he hands it to you.
Doyoung makes a teasing remark about his abysmal performance, something that Jaehyuk only robotically chuckles at and forgets immediately. He doesn’t need you to see him being a poor loser on top of a poor player. You shift next to him, sitting up straight as you face the TV. You’re not a great player yourself: you’re slow, you miss every drift, and you manage to drive between the floating bonus boxes. But you seem to be having so much fun, yelping when someone bumps into you, cheering when the cannon makes you advance a few spots ahead, and Jaehyuk is so endeared by it all that he finally feels himself relaxing into the couch and lets your touch be a source of comfort rather than of nerves.
After that, you both refuse the controller when someone offers it to you. This, of course, does not go unnoticed by your friends, but three hours into this gathering, they finally have enough tact to only give you an exaggeratedly knowing look, and not comment on it out loud. Thankfully, Jaebeom is so into the game he doesn’t seem to notice you’ve both stopped playing. He can take shit from his friends, but he’d have to die if it came from his own brother.
You seem to melt further into Jaehyuk’s side with every passing minute. You start out sitting criss-cross on the couch, your left knee resting in his lap, and at some point, your other knee follows suit, the side of your head rests on his shoulder, and you’re playing with his fingers. At first, he thinks it’s absent-minded: you reach for his hand with disconcerting familiarity and you keep on laughing at your friends’ exploits — or failures — on the TV screen. If you aren’t going to make it a big deal, he isn’t going to either.
At least, that’s what he tells himself. In reality, he feels like he’s developed hyper-sensitivity in his right hand, like he can suddenly feel every single nerve ending in his fingers. And once he gets past feeling like his hand has been set on fire by the cutest arsonist he’s ever seen, it actually turns out to be a very pleasant sensation. You take his fingers in yours, folding and unfolding them at the knuckles like you’re studying a skeleton for an anatomy class, brushing over his nails with the pad of your thumb, tracing the lines of his palm like you’ll discover some unknown truth about him there, gently stretching the skin between each of his fingers. After ten minutes of this, Jaehyuk’s hand must be more familiar to you than to him. He warms at this, the thought of being known so intimately by another person, finds himself hoping your knowledge might eventually extend to the rest of his body.
For a while, his movements are reduced to the steady falling and rising of his chest. He doesn’t dare budge an inch for fear that you might mistake it as a sign to stop. Then, when the others have grown bored of Mario Kart, Haewon proposes to play Twilight Bingo, wherein you must all take a shot whenever an iconic scene, of which there are many, plays. Jaebeom sends himself to bed—one look from his older brother lets him know there is no way in hell he’ll be allowed to play a drinking game. Haewon bustles excitedly around the room as she sets the movie up, gets five shots of vodka ready, and dims the lights. Only in this new relative darkness does Jaehyuk find the courage to finally move.
As you both settle back into the couch after downing your first shot, he takes the opportunity to lift his arm and wrap it around your shoulders. You’re clearly much better at this than he is, because whereas he would’ve frozen, you simply find your previous position against him, this time without the barrier of his arm. After some time, your hand reaches across his middle to rest above his hip. Your head is nestled in the crook of his neck, your hair tickling his jaw. He fights the urge to bend down, to try to figure out the scent of your shampoo or, God forbid, press a kiss to the top of your head. His hand feels awkwardly limp against your shoulder, so he starts to tentatively play with the strands of your hair, then, when you make no move to stop him, lets his nails graze your scalp gently. Slowly, your head grows heavier on his shoulder, your knees inch further into his lap until your legs are practically on top of his. Miraculously, no one notices, or at least no one says anything, not even when you both stop taking your shots after the third one. You don’t move to grab yours, so neither does he. It seems like Twilight is the only thing more entertaining to your friends than Jaehyuk’s attempts at flirting.
At this point, you’re effectively cuddling. It takes every last bit of Jaehyuk’s willpower not to short-circuit. He laughs along at Bella’s antics, but he finds himself relating to her. Maybe you’re the mysterious, glittery-skinned vampire to his awkward, self-conscious teenage girl.
Sometime during the movie, he realizes you haven’t moved in a while; when he bends down, he finds you asleep. A mix of affection and pride swirls in his chest; he feels like the most precious of treasures has just fallen onto his lap, and he needs to protect it with the utmost care. He wishes he could wrap you up in a blanket, bring you upstairs to his room, and hold you throughout the entire night.
You don’t stir when the movie ends. When Doyoung, eyes on his phone, comments on the ridiculous prices of nighttime Ubers, Jaehyuk offers for them to stay the night, gesturing with his head towards you. He’s mortified when Doyoung and Haewon exchange a look, then smile wickedly at him. “It’s not like that!” he whisper-shouts, careful not to wake you.
“Whatever you say,” Haewon replies. Then, before Jaehyuk can defend himself, she adds: “She’s out, anyways. She sleeps like a log whenever she’s had a drink.”
His heart breaks a little when he has to get up. He does so slowly, helping your upper body down onto the sofa. He frowns when he sees your friends’ amused expressions. “What? I don’t want to wake her up.”
“I’m telling you,” Haewon says. “You could throw her down onto the floor and she’d still be sleeping.”
“That’s not a theory I want to test.”
He brings blankets down for the three of you, then gets ready for bed himself, ignoring Asahi’s inquisitive stare in the mirror as they brush their teeth side by side, answering none of his silent questions.
He doesn’t know how long he spends staring up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom. He thinks of you downstairs, so close by, thinks of the way you fell asleep against him. Were you just that tired, or could it be that you found comfort in his embrace?
Sleep reaches him as he wonders what you’re dreaming about.
.
.
Everything and nothing changes after that evening.
After Jaehyuk drives you and your friends back to your shared apartment near campus, he doesn’t see you until the next afternoon for your Tuesday lecture. Time seems to stretch between those two moments, every second filled with thoughts of you, Jaehyuk rehashing every interaction you had until he isn’t sure what really happened and what is a figment of his imagination.
He doesn’t know what he expects to happen when he sees you again. For the nature of your relationship to have changed in an obvious, tangible way, maybe. For a look or a word that would let him know you feel it too.
His heart races as you step into the lecture hall, spot him in his usual seat, and join him. You smile as you sit next to him, rambling about the classes you missed yesterday because of your hangover. He manages to make small talk with you, but in the back of his mind, he’s waiting. Not even two days ago, the two of you stood close enough to kiss. You fell asleep on his shoulder. Surely business can’t go on as usual after these life-altering events.
And yet—”I’m just glad midterms are over. I know finals will come around soon enough, but at least we can breathe for a couple of weeks,” you say. It isn’t that Jaehyuk’s disappointed—if you so much as utter a word in his direction, he’s happy. He just hoped for the rapport you seemed to have built on Saturday evening to continue to grow. By the time the lecture starts, he’s gaslit himself into thinking he’s misunderstood everything.
He has a hard time concentrating on the slides today, even though this new module goes over a topic he’s been looking forward to all semester. As you step back outside together, the cold late October wind feels particularly bitter on his face. Like every week, he tells you he’s heading over to the library now; like every week, you ask him whether you can tag along. But this week, your pace is slower, like you want to take as long as possible before reaching the library.
The wind blowing in his ears, students milling all over the place, a protest in front of a building named after a problematic historical figure: the campus is so loud around him that he doesn’t hear you at first.
“Jaehyuk?”
“Hm?”
“I said, I had a nice time on Saturday. Sorry again for showing up on the wrong day.”
Suddenly, the breeze isn’t enough to keep him cool. “Oh, that’s alright. I’m glad you had a nice time,” he says, glancing your way, excited and nervous that you’re finally breaching this topic. “I did, too.”
You nod, smiling down at the ground, suddenly shy in a way he isn’t used to seeing you. Instead of going directly into the library, you stop in front of the building. You seem to hesitate saying something; Jaehyuk waits patiently. “I guess I was a bit tipsy. A lot, actually,” you say with a chuckle. You meet his eyes, look away quickly. “I hope I didn’t do anything embarrassing.”
Jaehyuk’s insides twist. “Do you not… remember?”
“No, I do!” you exclaim, eyes widening. “I wasn’t that drunk. I just… I guess what I want to say is I didn’t do anything that made you feel uncomfortable. I know alcohol has a tendency to make me more… straightforward, I guess.”
His shoulders relax. For a second, he was afraid you regretted your actions from that evening. If you were just feeling flustered, he could handle that. “You definitely didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,” he says, his voice coming out firm and assured, surprising even himself.
Your expression freezes before a grin takes over it. “Good.”
There it is, the word Jaehyuk needs.
.
.
There are many things you like about Yoon Jaehyuk. His inability to take a hint is not one of them.
You like the whisker-like dimples that appear in the apple of his cheeks when he smiles. You like the way his hair always looks soft, as though he has shampoo and conditioner built into his scalp. You like the way he stands up straighter whenever you walk into the room, the way his ears redden whenever you so much as look in his direction. You like the way he listens attentively, the way he’s grown more comfortable around you these past few weeks, the way his eyes don’t dart around nervously when you have a conversation anymore. The way his sleeves have consistently been rolled up to his elbows ever since that one time he caught you staring at his forearms.
You really like the look on his face when yours is only inches away, and you can see the cogs turning in his head. He always seems so worried about everything that it allows your own thoughts to quieten—like he’ll do the overthinking for the both of you, and you’ll take care of the relaxing. You want to be the one who calms him down so much that it ends up calming you down.
You used to like the way he seemed to have no idea you liked him as much as he liked you; you were just better at hiding it. Now, it’s starting to worry you. You usually manage to shut up the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you you’ve imagined all the signs and that he isn’t into you—and when you can’t, your friends do it for you. They might stand too far on the opposite side of the spectrum, assuring you the man is practically ready to marry you, but you whole-heartedly welcome the self-confidence boost that comes with listening to their delusions.
It’s been a couple of weeks since the party, which you expected to be a turning-point in your relationship but has ended up having had little impact on it. You’re constantly rummaging your brain for an excuse to see him outside of class, a reason to prolong every moment spent together, but you keep on falling short. There’s nothing pressing to study for, no exciting event at any of the Societies you attend, no house party on the horizon. If you want to see him, you’ll have to be forthright about it—what a terrifying thought.
A part of you waits for him to make the first move. You’re forever stuck between thinking that if he wanted to, he would, and remembering that you want to, yet you don’t. But didn’t your tipsy alter ego come out on Saturday and make herself very clear about how she — you — felt? Embarrassment floods through your body every time a memory of that night surges, your lack of subtlety, your clinginess, your suffocating, obvious desire. You’re surprised Jaehyuk hasn’t run the other way, following in the path of other men that came before him whenever you showed too much affection. The only time you briefly mentioned your drunken antics, he seemed to be saying he hadn’t minded it, which allowed you to be hopeful, at least a little bit.
His elbow bumps into you once in a while as he takes notes during your Advanced Methods lecture. Whereas he would’ve apologized and scooted away once, he now seems to barely notice it—or to simply let it happen. You keep your arm exactly where it is.
You lean back in your seat and glance at the back of his head, that now-familiar dark flop of hair that your palms are always itching to feel. What is he thinking about, you wonder? He always seems so focused during your lectures, the most ardent enjoyer of mathematics you’ve ever met, whereas to you his presence is a distraction from everything, even your own boredom. You’re over here losing your mind over the reason why you haven’t made out yet, and he’s listening to the professor and taking notes diligently. Maybe you can tell him you’re having a hard time with this module, which wouldn’t be a complete lie, and that you need his help. Surely, once you have him seated at your desk, your bed waiting for him just a few tempting meters away, you’ll have him where you want him.
But as you, Asahi and Jaehyuk walk out of class, to your surprise, it’s Asahi who speaks before you get the opportunity. “Jaehyuk is making us kimchi jjigae for lunch. Do you wanna join?” he asks you like it’s the most normal thing on Earth. Like having you over for a meal is a usual occurrence and not a complete novelty.
Clearly, this is as much news to Jaehyuk as it is to you. Eyes wide, he stares at his friend like he’s just confessed to murder.
But does that deter you in the slightest?
“I’d love to!” you reply with a wide smile.
The boys’ apartment is much tidier than you expect it to be, as well as astonishingly stylish. You guess it makes sense, since they’ve been living here for three years, but you certainly didn’t imagine for their living room to have mood lighting and furniture that looks like it’s been handpicked to fit together, rather than a landlord’s old things they didn’t know what to do with. Compared to the living arrangements of some of your male friends, this could be taken straight from a home design magazine. There are no half-empty takeaway boxes and beer cans littering the coffee table, or clothes in varying states of dirtiness strewn across the couches; instead, the carpet is soft and clean under your socked feet, dishes are drying next to empty sink, and their cupboards are filled with food and ingredients that contain actual nutrients. Surprising how the bare minimum goes a long way—whether he knows it or not, the smile you give Jaehyuk as he gets everything he needs out of the fridge is one of approval.
You offer him your help, but he declines, telling you to relax on the couch and make yourself at home. You know he probably doesn’t mean it that way, but you can’t help but feel like he’s chasing you away from the kitchen.
“But the couch is in the other room,” you say as you think it, words coming out unfiltered from your mouth, a slight whine to your voice as if you’re doing the worst ever impersonation of girl-trying-to-flirt. You even catch yourself pouting, and force your lips back to normal the moment you notice.
It’s too late—Jaehyuk’s head snaps towards you, his expression making it clear that he’s caught off-guard. Then, his agape mouth rearranges into a smile, and for a second you’re afraid he’s about to make fun of you. But the way his ears redden and his eyes dart back to the chopping board tells you he’s just flustered, as usual. “Okay. You can hang out in here,” he says.
He still won’t let you near any cooking utensil, so you settle on resting your lower back against the counter, watching him as he deftly moves around the kitchen. You got a glimpse of his skills when he made ramyeon, but this is far more impressive—he chops the vegetables and meat quickly and makes the broth by eyeballing every ingredient, yet when he asks you to taste it, it’s perfect. You ask, so he tells you that he learned to cook because he used to follow his mother around so much as a kid, she ended up enrolling him as a sous-chef.
“Then the habit stuck and we would make dinner together most nights,” he continues with a soft smile that you find yourself mirroring. “This is her recipe, actually. I used to follow it to a tee but I practically know it by heart now. Here.”
From a row of recipe books propped against the wall next to the cereal boxes, he pulls out a worn-out notebook, full to the brim with pages that have been added. He hands it to you, sheepish, like he simultaneously wants and doesn’t want you to hand it to you. Inside, in a messy, boyish handwriting that you recognize as Jaehyuk’s, dozens of recipes have been scribbled out, mostly Korean. Stews, side dishes, stir-fries—you bet your favorite dishes must be in there, and you wonder how much tastier they might be if cooked by Jaehyuk. Neon tabs stick out here and there, probably to mark the recipes he most often comes back to.
“I collected a bunch from Asahi’s and Haruto’s families when we visited them,” he explains as you flip through Japanese recipes.
“This is so cool, Hyuk,” you say. “I had no idea you liked to cook this much.”
He shrugs your compliment off, but you can tell it touches him. “What about you? Do you cook?”
You shake your head. “Not really. I guess my parents were too busy, food was never a huge deal at home. Just rice, store-bought side dishes, meat if they could be bothered to cook it. At least I learned how to make a mean omelet early on, but that’s about it,” you say, trying to keep the mood light. You’re glad when Jaehyuk doesn’t press.
“I can teach you,” he says instead. “To cook, I mean.”
For some reason, this goes straight to your heart. Maybe because he spoke so gently, so genuinely. Maybe because he’s giving you a reason to spend time with him. Maybe because it sounds like such a nice, simple idea, standing with Jaehyuk in his brightly-lit kitchen, his hand around yours as he shows you how to properly cut vegetables, the smell of fragrant spices and oil in the air. Or, as you’re doing now, to just watch him, to be there to keep him company through everyday tasks.
Maybe because it feels like an invitation to step closer into his world.
“I’d like that,” you reply. And, to deflect from the tears pooling behind your eyes, you add: “You’ll have to let me touch a knife, though.”
He grins. “Next time. I should at least treat you like a proper guest the first time you’re over.”
Of course, the kimchi jjigae tastes amazing. The flavors are well balanced, the meat is perfectly cooked, the kimchi is still slightly crunchy, just the way you like it; it feels odd looking at Jaehyuk knowing he’s the one who made this and not a grandma who’s been running a hole-in-the-wall restaurant for forty years.
When he blows on his spoon, his glasses fog up from the steam rising from the bowl; laughing, you reach over to pull them away from his face. You like to think the blush on his face afterwards isn’t due to the spiciness of the stew.
After lunch, the three of you spend a while sitting and talking at the table, and you’re so happy about the relaxed atmosphere and the way Jaehyuk seems to be completely at ease next to you that you don’t even notice how much time goes by. Only when you check your phone do you realize that if you don’t leave quickly, you’ll be late for your three p.m. seminar.
While Asahi washes the dishes in the kitchen, Jaehyuk holds the front door open, waiting for you to be done tying your laces. When you stand from your crouching position, you don’t expect for him to be so close; his chin is at your exact eye-level, and the proximity forces you to look up a few centimeters to meet his gaze, which betrays the same surprise you feel. And yet, neither of you steps back. The three seconds that you spend standing there in silence, simply staring into each other’s eyes, feel like an eternity. Your stomach flips, your nape tingles, your fingers tense; you suddenly feel so aware of your body, of his, of his plump lips so close to yours.
Fuzzily, you remember the time, the seminar you’re about to be late for, and still peering into his eyes like you’re under some sort of spell, mumble, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you later for class.”
“Yeah,” he replies, but his voice comes out frail. He clears his throat, and it clears your mind at the same time. You pick up your bag, step out of the apartment. “Yeah. See you later, Y/N.”
The door closes a few seconds after you’ve reached the staircase. You wonder if, behind it, Jaehyuk releases the same shaky breath you were holding.
.
.
The following Wednesday, it’s Jaehyuk who goes ahead and asks you over for lunch again. Then again a week later, and again. By the fourth time, none of you says anything, you just walk with the boys back to their apartment as casually as if you’re their third roommate.
Apart from a few library study sessions, this new Wednesday lunch tradition is the only time you see Jaehyuk outside of class. And although it is clear that you couldn’t like each other more, nothing really happens. Every Wednesday evening when you come home, without fail, Doyoung and Haewon ask you whether any progress was made, and without fail, when you reply in the negative, they roll their eyes and shake their heads. But can a girl be blamed for being unsure of how to go about these things? You’ve had one real boyfriend in your life, a boy you saw at summer camp every year between the ages of 12 and 18 and forgot about for the better part of the rest of year. Since then, you’ve had your share of flings and unsuccessful first dates, but nothing that came close to whatever it is you have going on with Jaehyuk.
“Just ask him on a date,” Doyoung says. The three of you are spending Friday night in the living room. Gilmore Girls is playing on the TV but no one pays it attention. “Asahi’s always there. Unless you plan on being a throuple, you should hang out with him one-on-one.”
“You can send Asahi my way if you don’t know what to do with him,” Haewon interjects. “I know.”
“That’s great, Haewon. You ask him on a date, then,” you grumble.
Your friend shrugs, too busy painting her toe nails a deep purple to deal with your sarcasm. “I will. I’m just waiting for you to seal the deal with your boy. I don’t wanna steal your spotlight.”
“How kind of you…” you mutter, cramming a handful of popcorn in your mouth like it’s personally offended you. You know your frustration is the sole reason for your being so cranky, but your friends are used to it. Frustration against Jaehyuk, for doing nothing, and against yourself, for doing even less. At least he’s held his promise of teaching you how to cook, even if it consists of him doing most of the work and you asking whether what you’re doing is right every two minutes. After he visited his parents, he brought you back some vegan gluten-free cookies baked by his mom. Even his texting has upgraded: instead of replying ten minutes after he’s read your message, he now sends you back a selfie or a picture almost immediately after you’ve asked what he’s up to or how he’s doing: him at the library or on a walk, him and Asahi watching a movie, him and Jaebeom playing a video game. He even sends them unprompted once in a while.
One afternoon, after you asked him how his meeting with his dissertation supervisor went, he sent you a voice note instead of a text message. Of course, you’d heard his voice a thousand times before, but it made your heart race nonetheless. You replayed his message at least three times, barely even listening to his actual words, just happy to have a small part of him locked inside your phone that you could return to. You ended up exchanging voice notes throughout the entire evening and way past your bedtime. Many times the phone button blinked at you questioningly—surely, at this point, you could just call him. You’d have the exact same conversation, without the two-minute delays between your answers. But you weren’t brave enough, didn’t want to disrupt the fragile advancement you’d made.
“I just don’t get it,” Doyoung says. “You guys really had something going on at his house. Now it’s like you’re back to square one.”
“Yeah, because there was alcohol involved back then. I don’t usually bring vodka with me to class.”
“So that’s it,” he replies.
You frown. “What, I should bring vodka to class?”
He huffs out a laugh. “No, you idiot.” Then, with a smirk, he says: “Let’s throw a party.”
.
.
Standing outside of the art academy, Jaehyuk’s eyes dart around the street, heart racing as though the police might turn up any second and arrest him for loitering. He knows he’s allowed to be here, and not just legally—he offered to pick you up after work and help you prepare for the party, and you had the courtesy not to point out that not much preparation is needed for a college house party. As always, he’s just looking for an excuse to spend time with you and to get into your good graces, which is why he’s holding a plastic bag full of takeaway from a Chinese place you said you like. And a bar of your favorite chocolate. And a small bouquet of daisies, which might be overdoing it, but he passed them by in the grocery store and couldn’t help himself.
There’s no hiding his feelings anymore, not even from you. He hasn’t quite mustered the courage to speak them out loud just yet, so in the meantime, he does his best to show them.
Your class must be running late; in the five minutes that Jaehyuk spends waiting, he’s convinced himself that this is the worst idea he’s ever had. It doesn’t help that once you do step outside, the smile on your face as you chat with your students falls the moment you see him, your expression shifting into one of surprise.
He watches as you wave everyone goodbye and head towards him, bringing your coat tighter around your figure against the biting wind. Jaehyuk suddenly thinks: It’s the last November of my undergraduate degree. I’m running out of time.
You go in for a quick but warm hug; when you greet him, your voice is muffled against his shoulder. “Hi, Hyuk. What are you doing here?” you ask, leaning back. In an oddly domestic gesture, your hands find their way to his scarf, tighten it around his neck.
“I thought we agreed I’d meet you here before the party,” he says, voice coming out slightly pouty—had you forgotten about him?
You frown. “That’s next week.”
Jaehyuk’s head drops, a sigh leaving his mouth, while you giggle. “When you said next Friday, I thought you meant this Friday.”
“No, I meant next Friday when I said next Friday,” you say, a grin dancing on your lips.
“I see that now.”
Your hands are still playing with his scarf, grabbing at the soft fabric. “Let’s double, triple check the date the next time we plan something. We can’t keep doing this.”
Jaehyuk nods, both embarrassed and amused by his mistake. “Do you still want to eat together?” he asks, lifting the bag.
“Of course. Let’s go,” you say, threading your arm through his as you lead him in the direction of your apartment. Jaehyuk looks down at your intertwined arms, at your hand holding onto his clothed bicep as if to make sure they’re really there, and not just a ghost sensation, a figment of his imagination. You follow his gaze, then look up at him. “This is okay, right?”
He grins. “It’s more than okay.” Bolstered by your uncharacteristic shyness, he reaches across you for the straps of your tote bag resting on your shoulder. “Here, let me take this,” he says gently, ignoring the protests that follow; they’re short-lived anyway. He carries every bag in one hand, and untangles his arm from yours. With his now free hand, he grabs yours, heart racing, thankful he’s wearing gloves so that you can’t feel how sweaty his palm is.
When he dares to look at you, you’re wearing the same smile he is: small but clearly pleased, your lips pursed as if fighting it, your eyes bright. You meet his gaze and, perhaps flustered by his staring, you bump his shoulder with yours lightly. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you mumble.
He laughs. “Should I?” he teases back, already reaching for his phone in his coat pocket—but the instant his hand leaves yours, you grab it again, not even letting him play out his joke. If he wasn’t so elated, he’d tease you even more for it.
And even as you reach the front door of your apartment building, you give him an apologetic look before letting go of his hand, as if letting him know you’re just as sorry as he must be about this. You tell him that it’ll be just the two of you: Doyoung is home for the weekend and Haewon works until ten p.m. on Fridays.
Jaehyuk tries, and probably fails, to be discreet in his excitement upon entering your apartment for the first time. There isn’t much to look at in the hallway, but still, he searches for traces of you in the shoe rack, in the posters and polaroids covering one of the walls. He gets distracted by a picture of you, Haewon and Doyoung, taken three years ago, as the caption suggests: first year. Now more than ever, he regrets not having been brave enough to approach you earlier.
“Come on!” you call from the living room. He joins you on the couch, where you’re already flicking through the Netflix catalog. “What are you in the mood for?”
“A rom-com,” Jaehyuk replies unhesitatingly.
Your head snaps towards him, a look of barely repressed giddiness on your face. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I choose which one?”
He smiles—he didn’t know you could get more endearing than you usually were until now. “Sure.”
When Jaehyuk reaches inside the plastic bag for the food he bought, his hand instead meets flower petals—he forgot to give you the daisies on your way here. He glances at you to make sure you’re busy with your movie selection, then proceeds with setting the table. He wasn’t sure what you liked, so he got a little of everything—soon, your coffee table is covered with warm takeaway boxes, an appetizing smell wafting off of them.
You click play on 13 Going on 30. Hand around the bouquet still hidden inside the bag, Jaehyuk’s heart beats uncontrollably as you take in all the food in front of you, thanking him happily and promising to treat you next time. Your expression shifts when you notice his stillness and his wide-eyed stare fixed on you: “Are you—”
“Here,” he interrupts, his movements quick as he raises the flowers out of the bag and extends them towards you. Surprised, you take them without a word, and instantly he fishes out the chocolate. “And this, too.”
A smile breaks out on your face. “Thank you, Hyuk,” you say softly, looking down at the offerings in your hands. “This is so sweet of you.”
Jaehyuk just shrugs, suddenly feeling shyer than ever before, even though this is his own doing. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I really do.” You press the pause button, get up from the couch. “I’ll put these in a vase.”
You disappear into the kitchen, and Jaehyuk takes a few seconds to calm his breathing. This is one for the history books: he gave a pretty girl flowers and lived to tell the story.
“Looks nice, right?” you ask, holding up the daisies nicely sitting in a transparent vase.
He nods, humming his assent—he doesn’t trust his voice to not come out wobbly just yet.
You join him back on the couch, press play; then lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. Jaehyuk’s head barely has time to register the softness of your lips, their warmth—as soon as he feels them, they’re gone already.
“Thanks,” you whisper. You don’t linger, just settle back into your position, breaking apart your chopsticks as if nothing happened, eyes pointedly fixed on the screen in front of you.
To his surprise, he lives to tell this story, too.
All he can do after that is to turn his attention to the movie. It’s a good thing the plot isn’t hard to keep up with—Jaehyuk’s brain is not working at its full capacity right now.
Even after eating to your hearts’ content, there are enough leftovers for another meal. You stack the empty boxes, cover the rest, then lean back more comfortably on the couch, grabbing a throw blanket to cover your laps. Unlike 13 Going on 30, this is a movie Jaehyuk has seen before: the way you start out with your knee over his, then slowly — although less so than last time, like you’ve grown more confident since then — inch closer to him, until your legs are practically resting in his lap. The moment your head falls against him, he lifts his arm and puts it around your shoulder, bringing you closer. You nestle the top of your head in his neck, right below his jaw. He hopes that this close to his heart, you can’t hear its loud hammering in his chest.
One of your hands reaches across his body, settling just above his hip, playing with the bottom hem of his jumper. Once in a while, your knuckles brush against the thin fabric of his t-shirt, making Jaehyuk’s breath catch in his throat—what will become of him when, or if ever, your fingers touch his bare skin? That might be a story he doesn’t live to tell.
It’s not very late when the movie ends, barely nine p.m., even if the darkness outside makes it feel otherwise. Jaehyuk wonders if he should offer to watch another movie, or for him to leave. He peeks down at you to find your eyes riveted on the screen, but there’s something distant in them, like you’re not actually looking at it. When a few seconds of obvious staring don’t get your attention, he says your name, thinking you’ve just gotten lost in your thoughts.
Your answer is at once the last thing he expects to hear, and the one thing he’s been dying to.
“I like you a lot.” Your voice is so soft that it barely reaches Jaehyuk’s ears over the music of the ending credits—he’s imagined your words, he’s only hearing what he wants to hear. Then, you look up at him, a pout on your lips at his lack of response.
His heart freezes, and his brain with it. And his ability to speak, apparently. “Hm?”
Your pout intensifies. “I said I like you a lot…”
Slowly, the cogs start turning again. “You like me?” Jaehyuk whispers, incredulous.
You hide your face in the crook of his neck. “How many times am I gonna have to tell you?” you whine, but he hears a smile in your voice.
“Many, many times,” he says, and you hum in response, tightening your hold on his jumper. “I like you a lot, too. I like you so much.” His lips move against your hair, then press a kiss there.
He’s wanted to for so long—now, he can.
And, because he can, he kisses your forehead, then your temple, then your cheek, delighting in the sound of your giggles. You lift your head, and, before Jaehyuk has time to get nervous, he feels your lips against his. For a second, it’s so soft, just a whisper of a kiss, that he almost wonders whether it was an accident. But neither of you moves away—instead, you lean in closer, the press of your lips against his still cautious but intentional now.
As Jaehyuk’s eyes flutter closed, his lips part ever-so-slightly, and this seems to be what you were waiting for. Your lips start to move against his, setting a slow, searching pace that he is all too happy to follow. With your legs thrown over his lap and his arm around your shoulders, Jaehyuk holds onto you tightly as if to make sure you won’t evaporate from his grasp, his free hand pressing your knees towards him. You cup his face in your palms, fingers threading through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. Stars blink brightly behind his shut eyelids; his head feels light, and maybe it’s the increasing lack of air, but he can’t contain his smile.
When your teeth clash gently, you lean away and immediately hide your face again, soft giggles pouring out of you and against his neck. Caressing your calf, he leans his head back against the couch and smiles contentedly up at the ceiling. You rest your forehead against his shoulder, whispering, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
Warmth spreads through him. He’s probably beet red as he lifts his head to look at you again, but for once, he doesn’t care. For once, he wants you to see just the effect you have on him. “Me too,” he says as you brush his hair back from his forehead.
You reply by meeting his lips once more. The initial sweetness of the kiss remains even as it deepens, your shy exploration of each other’s lips turning more certain, bolder. Jaehyuk adapts to your rhythm like it’s second nature. It’s slow but sensual, and he couldn’t handle anything more right now. He already feels so faint with happiness to get to hold and kiss you, like the couch has turned into a cloud and the two of you are floating away; if the kiss turned any more passionate, he’d be at risk of actually passing out.
This time, when you break apart for air, you don’t hide your face. He gets to look at you, to see the hazy glimmer of your eyes and the contented smile on your lips, like you’ve just had a glass of wine and are feeling really good about yourself. Jaehyuk thought it impossible, but you’ve never looked prettier.
You pepper his temple, his jawline, his neck with soft kisses, and his heart fills to the brim with affection for you. Like a balloon pumped with too much helium, he feels he might explode any second. “Aren’t you glad I got the date wrong?” he asks playfully.
The sound of your giggle against his skin is music to his ears. “I am.” Then, after a pause, you add: “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
You take a deep breath. Maybe Jaehyuk should worry at the sudden confessional atmosphere, but he can only be endeared by your bashful expression while your fingers play with the hair at his nape. “The party was only an excuse for me to get drunk so I’d have more courage to make a move on you,” you say in one breath. Jaehyuk is taken aback for two seconds, then bursts into laughter. “Don’t make fun of me…” you mutter, finding refuge in the crook of his neck once more.
“I’m not, I promise I’m not,” he says, incapable of repressing his chuckles.
“That’s not very convincing,” you reply, although you also sound more amused than you pretend to be.
“It’s just, well, I did the same thing.”
That gets you to look at him. “Hm?”
“Well, not exactly, but you know the party you also got the date wrong for?” You nod. “That was an excuse to see you outside of class.”
Now that you know, you can’t help but laugh along with him. “Why not just ask me on a date?”
Jaehyuk shrugs. “Why not make a move sober?”
“Fair.” You kiss his cheek, press yourself closer to him. “Let’s not be silly like this anymore. Let’s just tell each other what we want.”
“That sounds good. Easier.”
You lean back just enough to raise your fist between your bodies, little finger lifted. “Way easier,” you say as he intertwines his pinky with yours. “So what do you want?”
Without hesitation, Jaehyuk replies, “I want you.” But when your eyes widen, he hears how that must’ve sounded. “No!” he immediately exclaims, body freezing over as you crack up. “I mean it, like, I want to be with you, not— Well, that, too, but that’s not what I meant, not right now… Okay, now you’re making fun of me,” he trails off, a little hurt by your amusement at his expense.
You don’t even try to contradict him. “Sorry, baby, you’re just so cute,” you reply, still laughing—you don’t even seem to have noticed the nickname slipping out of your mouth for the first time, but Jaehyuk surely did.
Suddenly, he’s not mad at all. “It’s alright,” he says with a delighted sigh.
“I also want to be with you,” you whisper once you’ve calmed down.
If Jaehyuk is sure of one thing, it’s that he’s never been this happy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He takes a deep breath. He knows there’s nothing to be afraid of now, but he can’t help the nerves that overcome him as he gets ready to ask the question that he’s been dying to ask for weeks now: “Then, can I be your boyfriend?”
Your hug tightens. Jaehyuk patiently waits one second, two seconds, three seconds, then you say: “I don’t know, can you…”
“Y/N!”
“Sorry,” you laugh. You sound so happy that he can’t bring himself to be upset—even if he’s just signed up to a lifetime of teasing, if it’s from you, he’ll gladly put up with it. “Of course, Hyuk. I’d love for you to be my boyfriend.”
“Then it’s settled.”
Somehow, the touch of your lips against his feels even better this time around—now that he’s had the confirmation, verbal and physical, that you feel the same way, all that’s left for Jaehyuk to do is enjoy. And enjoy he does: the gentle tugs on his hair, the smile unwavering from your lips even as you kiss him, the dart of your tongue against his, shy at first but quickly more daring. He barely even remembers the last time he made out with someone like this, and yet, it all comes back to him naturally. His hand travels up the expanse of your back until it settles at your nape, and you arch under his touch, pressing your chest impossibly closer to his.
Minutes pass like milliseconds. Jaehyuk could swear you’ve only been at it for ten minutes, but when the sound of your front door opening startles you away from his embrace, it all hits him at once: the raw sensitivity of his lips, plump and wet when he brings a hand to them; the dryness in his throat, the slight dizziness in his head; the realization that if Haewon’s home, at least an hour has passed already.
It’s Jaehyuk’s first hour of being your boyfriend, and he barely saw it go by. At least he enjoyed it.
You’re untangling yourself from Jaehyuk and brushing hair away from your face when Haewon steps inside the room, but he assumes it’s no use—to him, the world has shifted on its axis. Even the air around him feels different. Surely, even the thickest person would know what you were up to just seconds ago.
And indeed, she freezes when she sees him on the couch. “Hi,” she says, eyes ping-ponging between you and Jaehyuk.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Haewon’s eyes dart to the TV. “You’re watching… The Kissing Booth?”
You both follow her gaze. It must’ve auto-played when you were otherwise engaged, but for some reason, Jaehyuk replies, “Yeah, great movie.” His voice is shaky and unsure, convincing absolutely no one in the room.
Haewon smirks. “Sure is.” She heads for the fridge, grabs some food. “Well, I’ll be in my room. Enjoy the movie,” she says, voice dripping with so much heavy-handed sarcasm that she might as well bid you happy fucking.
“Thanks,” you and Jaehyuk reply at the same time.
Silence hangs heavy in the air even once Haewon has closed her bedroom door behind her; the intimacy you shared just moments prior is gone, and Jaehyuk doesn’t know how to retrieve it. He watches the screen without paying it any attention; even Jacob Elordi’s face doesn’t make him feel better. He’s desperately waiting for you to say something, so when you do, he reacts immediately.
“Should we go to my room?”
“Yep.”
Once in the safety of the four walls only you two have access to, your body tucked in his arms, he relaxes once more. You gave him no time to browse, led him straight to your bed without even bothering to turn on a light. Only thanks to the moonlight filtering through your open window is he able to make out your face in the darkness, the outlines of the items in your room. Forehead against his chest, arm around his waist, leg nestled between his, you tell him about the small crush you harbored for him in first year. “I thought you were the most handsome out of everyone in that lecture hall, and it was like, almost two hundred of us. I didn’t even know you but every time I caught you smiling or laughing with Asahi, it’d make me smile too.”
You recount how you always hoped something would give you an excuse to talk to him, yet you always told yourself that you only liked him because he was a good-looking guy in a Mathematics class—in other words a rare specimen. “I swear you were one of the only ones who wore clothes other than graphic t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans,” you say, the annoyance lining your tone making him laugh.
But then, with every semester and every new class, you found yourself searching for him in crowded lecture halls, disappointed when he wasn’t in your seminar group. “I thought you disappeared during third year until I remembered study abroad programs were a thing. Would you believe me if I said I missed you?” you say, chuckling. “I didn’t even know your name, but I was sad I didn’t get to see you for a whole year.”
Jaehyuk smiles. He tries not to beat himself up over the fact that this basically means he missed out on three years of being with you—if it happened now, perhaps it was meant to be that way. “I would believe you. More than once I wondered what the pretty girl from the Maths department was up to. I know Asahi had a class with you but he never had anything to tell me.”
The night goes on like this: Jaehyuk wants to know every single thought you’ve ever had about him, and so do you. Your conversations are interspersed with cuddles and kisses—you’ll be recounting an anecdote, stop to make out with him for five minutes, then pick your story back up like nothing happened. Gradually, your kisses grow more languid, and you start mumbling rather than talking. When you trail off in the middle of your sentence and suddenly quieten, Jaehyuk looks down at you to find that you’ve dozed off. He says your name quietly a couple of times just to make sure you’re asleep.
Your reply comes in the form of a low, barely audible hum, as you nestle your body closer yet to his and huff out a breath. Whether you’re doing it unconsciously or as a way of saying, “Shut up, let’s sleep,” Jaehyuk doesn’t know, and doesn’t mind either way. You look so cute like this, the image of peacefulness as you sleep in his arms. He can’t even start explaining how special it makes him feel to be the one you’ve chosen to put your trust in.
He checks the time on his phone: it’s two a.m. already. He’s tired, but he doesn’t think he could fall asleep right now. He’s too aware of your presence, of the steady rise and fall of your chest against his, of the warmth emanating off your body, of your scent enveloping him and clouding his thoughts. Indeed, it’s a while before he dozes off himself, and even then, every little thing wakes him up. But it doesn’t bother him: every time he comes to again, he’s reminded of you, of his luck to be with you.
So even though he’s exhausted by the time you wake up the next morning, when you ask him how he slept, he says, “So well, angel.”
.
.
The progress you and Jaehyuk make is not a straight line, growing at the same speed throughout. If you started out slow, the more time passes, the faster your relationship advances. It took three years between the first time he saw you and the first time he talked to you; after that, it took almost three months before you admitted to your feelings for each other. He never thought that within a week of dating, he’d already be sitting in your bed, his back against the headboard, you straddling his hips.
Your kisses now are worlds apart from the first one you shared on the couch the other day. These are more desperate, more intense, hungrier, revealing in Jaehyuk a kind of appetite he didn’t know he possessed until now, heat swirling achingly in the pit of his stomach.
Things were tame before this. You both kept your hands from wandering too much; it seemed you were both keen to take your time. But, true to your word, one heavily-poured cran vodka and you’re excusing the both of you from your own house party, practically pushing him inside your room. You still need a little liquid courage to make a move on him, although it’s a different kind of move than either of you expected.
Even in his head, to the best of his abilities, he’s stayed respectful towards you. It was as though he liked you so much, he couldn’t even envision what it would be like to be your boyfriend, let alone kiss you, let alone go any further than that. The intensity of his feelings made you unattainable—until a few weeks ago, whenever he daydreamed about you, he only pictured moments that had happened. His mind would go blank when it tried to come up with new scenarios. In the week you’ve been dating, every one of your touches, small or not, has been so overwhelming that he hasn’t even started to think about what might come next.
But once in a while, late at night when thoughts of you kept him up, questions would pass flittingly through his head, and he’d discard them—he didn’t want to work himself up all for nothing. Now, these questions are being answered.
What sounds would you make?
Small sighs at first, right against his lips, as if breathing oxygen into him. Then whimpers, when one of his hands runs through your hair, the other holding tightly onto your hip. At the first touch of your tongues, you buck your hips against his in what seems like an involuntary, instinctual gesture. But when you both release a moan at the sensation, you roll your hips again, tentatively at first but quickly growing braver.
How would you hold onto him?
You have a death grip on the back of his neck—it’s possessive in a way that surprises him, but that he is far from disliking. It should hurt, the way your nails dig into the skin of his nape, but the pain only registers as pleasure. Your fingers are tangled in his hair; as the kiss deepens, they start to tug at the strands. When a particular roll of your hips against his seems to hit just right, accidentally or not, you pull harshly on his hair, sending Jaehyuk’s head back. A groan is wrung out of his throat, and with his neck exposed like this, your lips waste no time in finding the skin there, pressing warm, hungry kisses everywhere they can reach, teeth gently scraping his Adam’s apple—which is how Jaehyuk, and you, find out how sensitive he is there.
What would you look like?
Jaehyuk only has the force and the presence of mind to open his eyes once, when you take a small break to catch your breath. Your pupils are dilated, gaze somehow unfocused and firm at once, like you know exactly what — who — you want, but your love for him softens the edges of your sharp hunger. The sight of you like this does him in. If he wasn’t all the way gone before, he definitely is now. He hardens beneath you, the ache in his stomach turning molten.
He would never have predicted either of you would behave like this. He prides himself in his good manners, fancies himself a gentleman, yet here he is, aiding your movements as he holds onto your waist, bringing you back-and-forth against him, inadvertently rutting into you when it all feels a little too good.
He’s never kissed anybody like this, like his life depends on it. He can’t bear for it to end, and yet, he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to take it, to feel your body moving against his with so much fervor and undisguised want without losing total control over himself. He’s already so loud, much more than he usually is, unable to repress his moans and grunts and sighs. This only seems to egg you on further, your hands sneaking their way underneath his jumper to find bare skin as you press wet kisses along his jaw. It’s a good thing music blares in the living room through Doyoung’s speakers; it hides any sounds that might escape the privacy of your bedroom.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, voice a broken moan, as your nails dig into the skin of his upper stomach, then gently scrape their way down, throwing his head back at the unexpected pleasure surging in his body. He’s not strong enough for this.
You seem amused by his reaction. He can’t see it, but he hears the smirk in your tone when you ask, “Does that feel good, baby?”
Jaehyuk feels like his third eye has just opened—your words, the pet name, the atmosphere shift they provoke, inconspicuous but there nonetheless. He had no idea he might like being spoken to like this. “Yes,” he breathes out, and you hum in approval, continuing to bring your nails up and down his stomach, treading lower every time.
He’s entirely at your mercy. You’ve got him in a state where you could do anything you wanted to him, and only in a matter of, what, ten, twenty minutes? He’s lost total track of time, and he can’t think how he’ll be after an hour of this; he can’t think, period. He’s in a state of near bliss, longing for nothing more than to sit back and let you take what you want, and give what you feel like—and you’ve barely even touched him.
Not until the movement of your hips starts speeding up does he understand that you’re not faring much better yourself—you’re effectively rubbing yourself against him, chasing your pleasure, moaning right next to his ear as your grip on his hair and on the back of his neck tightens, as if you don’t realize — or don’t care — that it might be hurting him.
To be fair, he doesn’t care either. The opposite, actually.
The pitch of your moans goes up. They grow whinier as you grow more desperate. Part of Jaehyuk’s soul ascends and watches the scene from above as your grip around him tightens, tightens, tightens, until you’re practically crying out, your orgasm washing over you, the first ever Jaehyuk gets to witness, gets to be the reason for. He’s so focused on you, on studying the expressions your face takes on, that he forgets how close to the edge he is himself.
But you remind him quickly of it, embarrassingly so. You’ve barely come down from your release when your hand finds his erection, painful and straining at his trousers. He knows he should, but he doesn’t even try to fight it. All it takes for him to come undone is half a minute of your hand rubbing against his bulge and praises whispered straight in his ear: “You’re doing so well, baby, made me feel so good, want you to feel good too. Let it all out for me, Hyuk, show me how good I make you feel.”
He needs some time to cool off before heading back out into the party. Neither of you are really eager — of course, a week in, all you want to do is be alone together — but it would be impolite not to. You tame his hair so it doesn’t look too dishevelled; he helps you straighten your clothes and wipes the smudged mascara beneath your eyes. Sheepish, he asks you to look elsewhere as he cleans himself with tissue, making you laugh with a comment about this particular male physical disadvantage.
He makes sure the blush has left his face, but as soon as he meets his friends’ amused gazes back in the living room, he turns beet red. But when you wrap an arm around his waist, reaching up to kiss his cheek before making a face at his friends, for once, he thinks, Let them laugh.
You’re pushing him back inside your bedroom an hour later anyway.
.
.
Jaehyuk has been waiting all day for this. He could barely contain his excitement during his classes; he only realized he was tapping his foot repeatedly against the floor when the person sitting next to him sent a dirty look his way. He got an embarrassingly little amount of work done in his four hours at the library, the equations on his screen blurring into nonsense as his mind drifted to the activities planned for tonight. He was so unfocused, he might as well have gone home, but you were getting off work at five, and he would’ve wasted time pacing the living room. So instead, he wasted time daydreaming about you, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by students trying to get work done.
Every time he checks his phone and sees today’s date, butterflies swarm his stomach and his giddiness intensifies. An exact year from the day you mumbled a love confession to the end credits of 13 Going On 30; an exact year from the day he felt your lips against his for the first time and finally became yours.
A whole year, and it’s been nothing short of a dream.
Every day, he gets to show you just how much he loves, and he gets to feel that love in return. You’re not just the last thing he thinks of before falling asleep, and the first thing he thinks of after waking up; you’re the last and first thing he sees. He gets to feel your arms wrap around his middle as he makes dinner for the both of you, and every night, he gets to fight you for trying to do the dishes. He knows you’re tired after a long day of getting three-to-ten-year-olds to listen to the instructions you give them and of making sure they apply paint to their canvases and not their classmates, so he’s happy to take on the chores while you relax or simply keep him company. He rolls his eyes when you teasingly call him your housewife, but in secret, he loves it, the domesticity of doing these things for you and of knowing he’s the one you rely on. Of knowing that thanks to him, there’s one less thing on your mind.
From an outside perspective, moving in together less than a year into the relationship might have seemed rushed, but the timing was perfect and, in all honesty, you spent most of your free time together anyways. Only one or two nights a week were spent apart. Asahi’s moved temporarily back to Japan; Haewon landed the internship of her dreams in New York; when he was hired at a big company in the city, Doyoung decided he was too good to still have roommates, his words. Meanwhile, Jaehyuk was accepted into a Masters program at the same university you all attended, and you’re now working full-time at the art academy, saving up to get into a proper, state-recognized art school in a couple years, since your parents are hellbent on not helping you out. It made sense for the two of you to find an apartment together.
As soon as the clock at the bottom of his laptop screen hits 16:30, he’s bolting out of the library. He first stops at the local florist to pick up his order: a bouquet of daisies, which you told him became your favorite after he got them for you the first time, although these are much fresher and prettier than the ones he’s gotten on a romantic whim from the grocery store. Then he heads for the art academy and waits for you there. When you step out, looking as beautiful as ever even with slightly dishevelled hair and a smudge of red paint on your chin, it all feels so very much like that day exactly a year ago that Jaehyuk feels tears rising to his eyes. He closes his eyes when you hug him, warm relief washing over his body even though he last held you nine hours ago.
“Happy one year anniversary, angel,” he says when you lean back, handing you the bouquet. They were the first words he spoke to you that morning, but the sound of them makes him so giddy that he can’t help repeating himself.
You pout at the flowers, seeming to be fighting tears yourself. He chuckles when you fall back into his arms. “Happy one year, Hyuk.”
“It has been a happy year, hasn’t it?”
“A very happy year.”
You loop your arm inside his and start making your way home. Jaehyuk feels like he’s travelled back to your first days together; he’s struck with the same nerves of that time, the same excitement, the same eagerness to do well. He’s never felt so clumsy, walking the streets he’s walked a hundred times before, looking at the girl he’s looked at a thousand times before. He listens as you tell him about your day, but in the back of his mind, he wonders whether you’ll like what he has planned for the night, whether it’s not too much, or too little, whether you’ll like the outfit he has in mind.
But you don’t seem to share in his nervousness, you just seem happy, telling him with a sly smile how excited you are to see what he planned and to give him his gift. You assuage his worries as you always do, without even being aware of it.
Back home, after a quick joint shower that miraculously doesn’t tip into something more time-consuming, to say the least, you both change into more proper date attire, and he watches as you put on make-up and do your hair. He doubts he’ll ever get tired of this scene, the both of you staring at your reflection in the mirror, him in pure awe of your beauty while you mechanically apply mascara. Some mornings he’s so amazed by your mere existence that he forgets he’s brushing his teeth in the middle of it, too busy contemplating your sleep-swollen eyes and lazy smile to do anything else.
You both feel a little silly taking the bus in your fancy outfits, but you agreed it wasn’t worth wasting money on an Uber when you could easily commute to your first destination: a temporary exhibition by an artist you like at the modern art museum. Of course, you understood where you were going the moment Jaehyuk told you what your stop was; you’re practically bouncing on your seat the entire ride. Jaehyuk holds your hand, just glad to be affirmed in his knowledge that he chose well. You’ve already been to see the exhibition, but this was the special evening guided tour with the kind of insight about the work that you craved, followed by a dinner at the museum’s starred restaurant. In passing, you told Jaehyuk how much you’d like to experience it, but that the price was barely justifiable. You could go to the exhibition yourself for a fiver then have your boyfriend’s cooking for dinner.
But if there was one night to pay for things that were barely justifiable, it was tonight. Jaehyuk doesn’t understand anything about modern art, and he’ll eat fried chicken from a food truck as gladly as he’ll eat a five-course meal; he’s just happy to see you happy.
On the bus ride to the museum, you tell him that you’d made that comment about the guided tour so casually, you hadn’t realized he’d remember it. He thinks that a year into your relationship, you ought to know he remembers everything you say like your words are the verses of a sacred text. He doesn’t say it so eloquently, but he gets his meaning across.
He does his best to listen to the guide, he really does; but for all the artist’s best efforts, she never created anything as striking as the sight of you, completely enthralled by the artwork and the reasoning and stories behind it. Even in the middle of an art gallery, he spends more time looking at you than at anything else.
Even if you look the part, the two of you feel a little out of place in the restaurant. A little too young, a little too starry-eyed. Everyone here is middle-aged if not straight up a senior citizen, and they look like they’ve been in such ostentatiously luxurious places dozens of times before. They barely give the crystal chandelier a proper look, but you and Jaehyuk are entranced. You laugh at the cutlery, wondering what on earth you each need two forks for; you don’t laugh when your waiter introduces himself, sounding like he would lay his life down if it meant you two had an enjoyable evening.
Dinner humbles him. Living with you has meant that his cooking skills have been praised almost every day, and after hearing that whatever dish he’s made that night is the best thing you’ve ever had, Jaehyuk has developed somewhat of an ego. But here, face to face with perfect arrangements of perfectly seasoned meat and perfectly cooked vegetables, he can only swallow his pride and watch as your eyes widen with every perfect bite you take. His compliments to the chef, or whatever.
It isn’t that late when you’re done eating; after Jaehyuk pays for the meal, you go for a stroll around the museum grounds, then catch the bus home once you both start craving something a little stronger than simple hand-holding.
You and Jaehyuk had an agreement: if he took care of organizing and paying for your anniversary date night, he wouldn’t get you a gift. He’d sulked and pouted and argued, but you remained steadfast. You already felt bad about him paying for the better part of groceries and date expenses, and no matter how much he waxed poetic about how you paid him back everyday tenfold with your love and affection, you wanted for tonight to remain somewhat even.
You’re back on the couch now, comfortable in your matching PJs, and although Jaehyuk feels a little odd about receiving a gift when he has nothing material to give you back, his heart races like a kid on Christmas morning as he unwraps your present. The leatherbound notebook he uncovers at first doesn’t look like much; its value lies in the pages, full of your handwriting and sketches.
It’s his recipe book, but infinitely prettier and more precious—you’ve copied almost every recipe in your much neater handwriting and accompanied each one with a drawing of the dish. Some pages are entirely taken up with a drawing, of the view outside of your living room window, of Jaehyuk’s back while he’s preoccupied with a pot on the stove, of the table when your parents first came over and Jaehyuk, keen to show them he was taking good care of you, cooked up a storm for them. Under these bigger drawings — memories, really — you’ve written the date and a small sentence. It’s been so nice to watch the trees outside go through the seasons while you remain steady by my side; I remember how nervous you were but you did so well—my mom said you’re everything they could ever wish for in a son-in-law.
He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you touch his cheek, wiping a fallen tear with your thumb. “You like it?” you whisper.
Jaehyuk makes a weird, choked-up noise, something between a sob and a chuckle. “I love it, angel. This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”
A bright, relieved smile takes over your features. Emboldened, you flip through the pages, pointing out the ones you’re particularly proud of and the ones drawn by Asahi, whose help you enlisted for the Japanese recipes. You flip to the blank pages at the end, telling him those are reserved for any future recipes he collects or comes up with. When he wonders at how much work must’ve gone into this, you shake your head. “The hardest part wasn’t doing it, it was keeping it a secret from you. I never want to not tell you anything ever again. I had to take pictures when you weren’t looking and work on it at the academy.”
Jaehyuk gasps. “Is that what those times you said you needed to stay behind were about?” he asks, and you nod. He looks back down at the notebook in his hands. He’s so fond of it already, can tell it’ll be one of his most prized possessions when he’s old and gray.
And, because it’s the only thing that can even start to convey what he feels, he says: “Thank you, Y/N. I love you.”
You smile. “I love you more, baby.”
.
.
If anyone saw Jaehyuk in his current state, all dishevelled hair and puffy lips, his breathing short and quick, his eyes screwed shut as if in pain, and grew concerned for him, he’d tell them: Don’t worry. I’m exactly where I want to be.
You’re in one of your moods tonight. You start off by teasing him for so long, kissing and touching him everywhere but the part that aches for you the most, whispering filth straight into his ear as you tug at his hair and plant your nails in his bicep. Once you judge he’s begged hard enough, tears of frustration already threatening to spill down his cheeks, he lasts an embarrassingly short thirty seconds before coming in your mouth.
When he tries to reach between your thighs, you slap his hand away and grab the silk rope from your bedside table drawer. “You think I can’t take care of myself?” you ask as you bind his wrists together. Then you straddle one of his thighs, knowing it’ll drive him crazy to have you so close by but not right where he needs you, and rub yourself until your panties are soaked through. Your knee sometimes brushes against his dick, and that flimsy touch, paired with the sight and sounds of your orgasm washing over you, is enough to have his seed spilling across his stomach. You laugh when you notice he came a second time. “That’s pathetic,” you say, and Jaehyuk’s dick twitches, already on its way to hardening again.
Then you decide you haven’t teased your poor boyfriend quite enough, and start up one of your favorite bits, because you know it drives him insane every time. From that godforsaken drawer, you pull out a dildo and, as if you don’t have a perfectly fine dick at your use right in front of you, start fucking yourself with it. You sit across from him, legs splayed out and offering him a full view of your ministrations, then push the toy as far as you can inside yourself, throwing your head back and moaning theatrically when it hits a deep spot Jaehyuk knows all too well. His tip is leaking again, his wrists struggling against the soft fabric, his chest swelling with jealousy from the sight of a fucking piece of plastic making you feel good when that’s his role. And yet, as if entranced, he can’t take his eyes off of the sight of the bright purple toy repeatedly disappearing inside your dripping hole. It’s not like there’s anything else he can do—he can’t reach for you and show you how much better his fingers or his cock would make you feel, and neither can he relieve himself of his growing problem. You’ve trapped him there, and if the smirk on your lips means anything, it’s that you have him exactly where you want him. Although, to be honest, even without the restraints, one pointed glare from you and he’d have behaved.
That doesn’t stop him from pleading with you to untie him the entire time, begging for you to untie him or to at least stop and use him instead. You either ignore him or straight-up tell him to shut up, and the humiliation hurts more than the indifference, which unfortunately for Jaehyuk, only turns him on further.
Your hands do everything his own are desperate to do: they push your t-shirt up and over your tits, fingers playing with one of your nipples, then the other; they travel back down and circle your swollen clit until you’re coming undone. Jaehyuk’s heart beats wildly in his ribcage as he watches you fall apart, helpless. His tip is red and begging for a morsel of your attention, but still, you take your time catching your breath, ignoring his pleas as you clean yourself and the toy, then make slow work of removing the last articles of clothing remaining on your body.
Then, finally, you position yourself on top of him, and it feels like salvation—even though the fake sympathetic pout on your pretty lips lets him know this is far from being over. He takes a sharp intake of breath when you press yourself further down on his lap. You’re soaking wet against him, your slick coating his erection. With every second that passes and he isn’t inside you, he feels a little bit of his sanity withering away.
You react immediately. “Is it too much, baby? Can’t take it anymore?” you coo. He whines, shakes his head, even bucks his hips up into yours to show he’s ready for more. By now, he should know that won’t satisfy you. One of your hands sneaks up to his throat, without applying pressure, simply making its presence known. “Words, Hyuk.”
His voice is hoarse when he speaks, struggling to find its way out of his throat, dry from moaning and panting. “I—I can. I want more.”
You chuckle, an endeared, almost condescending sound, and it goes straight to Jaehyuk’s dick. “Is that right? Coming twice isn’t enough for you?” Again, he wordlessly shakes his head, and is immediately punished for it. Your hand squeezes around the base of his throat, cutting off oxygen for a few delirious seconds. “What did I just say about using your words, hm, baby?”
“I’m sorry—” he chokes out.
“Why should I give you what you want when you can’t even listen to basic orders?”
With a roll of your hips against his, you dangle what he could have right in his face, what he desperately wants, while keeping it just out of his reach. It’s a reminder that you’re the one in control here, that you decide who gets what and when. You’re right, coming twice isn’t enough for him, not when you have him like this. And in a way, you’re to blame—you’re the one who’s trained him to need as little time to grow hard again between orgasms, to take and take and take until he physically can’t go on any longer.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, please,” he begs. Finally, you seem to be appeased. You sigh the way one would at a disobedient child who’s finally learned his lesson.
“Okay, then, baby,” you say, then lift your hips a bit, just enough to line his tip with your entrance. You sound as though you’re doing him a favor, but Jaehyuk, even lost in the depths of his lust, knows that’s far from the truth. He knows you enjoy this as much as him—he sees it in the way your hungry eyes stay alert for every one of his reactions, the way you grow wetter the more he begs, the way your strict facade always seems to slip towards the end when you’re just as far gone as he is.
Both of you are exactly where you want to be.
His head lolls back against the headboard, his jaw going slack as you slowly sink yourself down onto his length. Even months into this, you always need a little time to adjust to him, and he’d be lying if that wasn’t a source of pride for him. He watches you through lidded eyes as you slightly lose command of yourself—hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your chest heaves with every breath you take. You both release a sigh of contentment when Jaehyuk’s buried to the hilt inside you. You press your chest to his and tangle your fingers through his hair. His own hands tingle with the urge to reach out to you; he whines when he’s physically reminded that he can’t.
“Can you untie me, please? I promise I’ll behave,” he breathes.
“Mmh. Only because you’ve been so good, baby,” you reply, giggling when his dick twitches inside you at the praise. Your hands make quick work of the rope around his wrists, and finally, he’s free to wrap his arms around you, to bring you closer to him, to feel the familiar and intoxicating warmth of your skin against his palms.
After two orgasms each, you’re both so sensitive, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your hips until only his tip is left inside you, then slamming them back down. You start off slow, but your rhythm soon turns punishing for both of you, as if you want to take him to the limit with you. The room fills with the sound of moans, heavy breathing, and skin hitting skin. Jaehyuk feels sticky and hot all over, in the best way possible. His head is light but his limbs are heavy, practically melting into the mattress beneath him; he’s overstimulated and in desperate need of a break, but he also never wants this to end.
After doing all the work yourself for an hour, your thighs give out within a few minutes—when you whisper in his ear to show you how good he can fuck you, he’s quick to comply. He gathers all the energy he has left and, grip tight on your hips, emulates your regular, breakneck pace as he fucks up into you. The angle allows him to hit that spot deep inside you. Your hold on his bicep is so strong, he might have to check for bruises there in the morning, but he couldn’t be further from caring. If anything, the sight of your mark on his flesh will probably have him aching to do this all over again. He drinks in every one of your moans and matches them with his own as he feels the both of you edging closer to your respective releases.
If his first two of the night felt brutal and sudden, almost wrenched from him, this one is a long time coming. For a neverending minute, he feels the knot in his stomach tighten and tighten, almost painfully so. He loses control over his vocal cords; it’s a good thing the walls in this building are thick. Miraculously, he manages to hold back until he feels you pulsing around him as your own orgasm washes over you—then, finally, the knot unravels, stars appearing behind his tightly shut eyelids as he fills you up.
He isn’t sure how long you stay there, unmoving even as he softens inside you, taking the time to catch your breath and simply enjoy each other’s embrace. You press soft kisses to the top of his head and the side of his face when you come to, whispering: “You did so well for me, baby. You always do.” Jaehyuk burns hot, pleasantly so. He caresses your back just to feel your skin, a reminder that this isn’t a fever dream.
You always turn so soft after sex, running your hands through his hair and smiling sweetly at him, that he marvels at the fact that you were calling him pathetic and choking him out just moments prior. The duality of woman.
A shower is necessary after this. These are some of Jaehyuk’s favorite moments, when you’re sleepy and high on each other, laughing at everything, a weirdly-shaped soap bubble, a singular hair on Jaehyuk’s jaw that his razor missed in the morning. You spend more time talking and lathering each other with body wash than really showering, only turning the water off when your fingers start to prune and you’re so tired you can barely stand straight.
You don’t bother with clothes as you make your way back under the covers; you both know that one of you will wake up at some point during the night with a need that only the other can fulfill. It’s Friday night, after all, and neither of you has plans for the weekend. Knowing that this was just a prelude for what was to come over the next two following days, Jaehyuk falls asleep with a smile on his face and the love of his life in his arms.
SYNOPSIS. not everyone is good at playing obby’s on roblox, and you’re no exception to this rule: after a particularly nasty encounter with another player on roblox’s altitorture, you log into twitter only to find out that the very same player who publicly dunked on your gaming skills turns out to be anton lee, a well-known streamer who also happens to be a friend of a friend. fed up with his fans bombarding your dms with teasing remarks or jealous musings, you decide to end it once and for all by appearing on his next stream with a promise to get through an obby successfully. however, you realize that the only thing you’ll be successful at is falling for anton lee instead.
GENRES. non-idol au, streamer!anton au, crack, strangers to friends to lovers, rivals to lovers(?)
WARNINGS. profanity, violent jokes, sexual jokes, y/n is horribly bad at games so that deserves a warning of its own
stop writing fics with mutual hopeless pining challenge FAILED.
contains: loss of virginity
“are you going on a date next week?”
you tried to sound even as you asked the question. you hid behind your phone while you spoke, only turning your head to the side to see anton’s reaction. you swore you could feel him tense beside you on the bed before he went back to his phone, swiping away on some social media app as he nodded his head.
“i didn’t know you knew about that.” anton said simply.
you went back to your own phone, trying desperately to ignore the way your stomach dropped.
“your mom told me.” you responded.
you could hear anton sigh beside you, mentally cursing himself for trusting his mom with such personal information.
“we are going to go eat.” anton slid down his notification window on his phone, probably too see if his soon to be girlfriend had texted him “then we are going to watch a movie at her place.” he said.
knowing the details of the date made the pain significantly worse. it was already bad enough that you felt perpetually stuck in the friend zone with anton. the two of you were always like this—at one point in time all you wanted was to be his friend. but you grew up and so did he, and as your personalities began to differ you saw him as less of a friend and more as a partner.
it didn’t help that skinship with anton never changed. you two would still hold hands like you did when you were kids, and you two laid in beds and sat so close together on couches that your thighs would touch. one day you saw it platonically and one day you did not. you felt your body become hot when anton would get too close, and you would hesitate for no reason. anton was oblivious to it all, so much so that he started letting himself be pursued by girls. you had no choice but to watch it happen, girls that didn’t pay attention to anton talked to him now couldn’t get enough of him. you sat quietly, forced to seem as neutral as possible when they would curiously ask you what anton’s type was.
one girl was able to break through, giving anton his number and eventually asking him out on a date. this is what you gathered from his mother, atleast. she took you aside when you first came into their house, curiously asking you what you knew about a girl named belle. you remembered her, one of the more recent girls that tried for anton’s attention. you told her what you knew, that she was a girl who seemed nice. anton’s mother gave you a knowing smile as she told you anton had a date with her next week. she always had that smile on her face when she spoke to you now, especially when she caught you and anton sitting next to eachother on the couch when there was so much room left on the sofa.
you couldn’t hide your shock, quickly walking up to anton’s room as his mom was on her way out. something about running low on groceries and picking up anton’s brother from practice. everything was lost on you, the only thing occupying your mind was the thought of anton going on a date next week.
you tried to keep it to yourself, atleast until anton decided to tell you himself. but as you laid next to anton on his bed watching him scroll wordlessly on his phone you felt the question bubbling in the back of your throat. when you saw a notification from her pop up on anton’s phone you couldn’t stop yourself from bringing it up.
“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.
anton only shrugged, clearing the notification from the top of his phone before turning off his device. he let his phone rest on his chest as he covered his eyes, an awkward laugh coming from his lips. he took his hands away, not making eye contact with you as he confessed.
“i’m embarrassed.” anton said.
he was still laughing lightly, even as the tips of his ears turned red. you shook your head, propping yourself up from the bed to look down at him.
“you’re my bestfriend, anton.” you try not to focus too much on his lips or his eyes as you try to remain neutral. “you don’t have to be embarrassed to tell me anything.” you say.
anton props himself up on his elbows, his face coming closer to yours. he is significantly worse at remaining neutral. anton’s eyes immediately go to your glossy lips and stay there. he swears they sparkle in the light of his room, and our eyes stare back at him so intensely he can’t look at them for too long.
too many times you have been stuck in this position with anton. you above him, your lips dangerously close to touching his. in times like this, almost always someone would interrupt this moment. whether it was his mom coming to tell you two food was ready, his brother barging into his room unannounced, sometimes even a notification on anton’s phone would bring you two back to the present. each time there was an outside force that would pull you two apart, acting as a buffer so you two could go back into your normal habits without mentioning what happened moments earlier. but now there was nothing to break the tension or to pull you two apart. it was only you, anton, an empty house, and unresolved feelings that existed in the space between your lips.
when you shifted on the bed and your hand got closer to anton’s body he couldn’t stop himself.
“i’ve never been with anyone before.” he rushed.
you blinked, pulling away from anton to sit up on the bed. you looked around the space of his room, until you circled back to him.
“is that why you’re nervous for your date? because you have no experience?” you asked.
the fog in anton’s mind almost made him ask you what date you were talking about. it wasn’t until anton’s phone rang from another texting notification that he remembered his obligation next weekend. maybe antoon was reading too much into the moment he shared with you, the shimmer on your lips distracted him. so anton nodded at your question, still feeling dizzy after being so close to kissing you.
anton sits up on his bed, leaning against his headboard as he draws his knees to his chest. he focuses on his knees, a habitual shy smile across his face as he avoids your gaze.
“i’m not prepared at all, if we go further.” anton brings one hand to scratch at the nape of his neck. “if she has experience i’m screwed.” anton says.
he can only bring himself to look at you when he feels you look away again. you look past anton to stare at his window, deep in thought as his eyes roam your side profile. you look so pretty like this, he wishes he had the nerve to tell you. part of anton wants to reach out and caress your soft cheek, something he hadn’t been able to do in so long. he has to hold himself back when you turn your head to look at him again.
“what about this.” anton sees the figurative bulb light up over your head as you shift on his bed. “what if i help you. like if i tell you what to do when you’re in that situation with her.” you say.
anton tilts his head when you paused before sayign her. the two of you have been going to school with anton’s future date for as long as he could remember. you knew belle’s name, you were her partner in a project together last week. why was belle suddenly her?
“what do you mean?” anton asked.
anton sees you feign annoyance, how even you realize what you’re proposing is ridiculous. regardless, you lean forward and move in front of anton. your balled up fists hold you upright on his bed, dipping the mattress as you try to justify your reasoning.
“i want to help you not be embarrassed.” you lean back, sitting on the back of your legs as you gently smooth out anton’s sheets with your hands “so you can become confident in expressing your feelings.” you say.
what you say fully sinks in for anton. he feels heat blossom in his chest and spread across his body like a wildfire. he doesn’t know if there’s enough confidence in the world to help anton. he can’t even bring himself to confirm what you’re offering.
“do you mean—” he stutters.
“we can go as far as you’re comfortable with.” you put your hand over anton’s quickly as if you’re trying to compensate for coming on strong. “i don’t want you to mess it up with her.” you reason.
there’s that her again.
“with belle?” anton specifies.
you don’t say her name, only nod your head as you keep your hand on anton’s. he doesn’t know if he should believe you, the situation is too confusing for anton to navigate. you were unpredictable in this way, sometimes so non-assuming you didn’t know what you were hinting at. anton had to be direct, but he had to let his heart calm down first. his eyes went back to looking at your hand resting over his. you were squeezing him at first, but your grip loosened to the point that anton feared you were going to pull away. he had to keep you there, he had to keep feeling your soft hand on top of his.
“just a friend helping another friend out?” anton asks, looking up at you from your hand.
anton sees you hesitate before you nod.
“completely as friends.” you confirm.
anton nods his head, bringing his knees down to sit criss crossed on his bed. now that you two have agreed, neither of you knew how to proceed. it was almost awkward. you felt the urge to go back on your word.
“should we start with kissing?” anton asked.
you nodded your head, scooting closer to anton on the bed. he got closer too, you could see his chest raise and fall quickly as his hands moved towards you. anton talked himself out of touching you, his hands falling back onto the top of his mattress.
“you should touch her first.” you look down at anton’s hands, wishing they were on you instead. you bring wide eyes back to anton, trying to blink away how wet they already feel. “it’s hard but making the first move from the start matters.” you say.
anton nods, bringing his hands up to your shoulder. it’s awkward, you can tell he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he hesitates on where to put it. he squeezes gently and shakes you softly, smiling at you. you smile at him for a second before a shy laugh slips out. anton does the same, giggling as he brings his free hand to cover his toothy grin.
“i don’t know if i know how to kiss.” anton giggles out truthfully.
you nod, and when your laughing subsides you bring anton’s hand from his mouth to rest on your cheek. instantly he’s caressing your skin, light as a feather as you fit into his hand perfectly.
“you can still bring her in.” anton begins pulling you in, his mouth slightly opening as his lips get closer to yours. before they can touch, you speak, desperate to cut through the tension. “let her guide you once you start and you’ll get the hang of it.” you say.
you look up to anton’s eyes one more time, and he nods again before going back to his previous position. he brings you in an you follow in closer, screwing your eyes shut your your lips finally touch.
anton melds to you like it’s second nature. he follows the curves of your lips, and only stumbles for a second before following your lead perfectly. your hand finds its way to his hair, holding the soft strands for comfort. when you tilt your head anton follows, and when you move to the other side anton does the same.
you go from pecks to lingering wet kisses. the sound of your lips parting fills the room, the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. it’s soft like anton’s hand on your cheek, how he got the courage to tilt your head up to his liking. you submit instantly, reveling in anton taking the reigns. it’s him who slips a tongue into your mouth first, and you let him explore your mouth. when his tongue presses against yours you do it back, swapping spit between eachothers mouths.
you’re the one that has to pull away for air first. you almost stay there, intoxicated by the way anton sighs contently into you. but you feel your heart is about to explode. when you finally pull away you’re breathless, looking at your fast learner in awe. anton looks at you with wide eyes, running his tongue over his glossy lips to see if he can taste you again.
“you’re a natural.” you say breathlessly.
“thank you.” anton says back.
he’s just as rattled as you, his mussed hair reflecting his scrambled mind. anton pulls you back in with both hands while you still try catching your breath, placing one last wet kiss on your lips. your hands go to his shoulders and stay there even when he pulls apart from you.
you two still hold eachother, huffing in air like you both just ran a mile. anton comes back first, eyes determined as he takes his hands away from your face.
“what’s next?” anton asks.
you have to sit there and think, not because you don’t know what comes after passionate makeout sessions. you have to gather your thoughts, thinking how you can be normal about your friendship with anton if the two of you go any further. you decide that’s something for later when anton puts his hands on your legs and gives you a look that has your heart leaping in your chest.
“she might only let you finger her since it’s the first date.” you start reaching for your pants. “you have really nice hands so that’s a plus. definitely play into that.”
you wanted to cringe at how you sounded, saying something so lewd so casually. anton was all ears though, not teasing you for the compliment you have wanted to tell him a million times before. his phone was long discarded as he sat up on his bed in front of you. he had his fisted hands pressed into the mattress beside him, flexing his fist as he listened to what you were saying. he nodded at everythin, eyes focused on new parts of your body that were exposed as you got yourself undressed. first it was your thighs and then your calfs as you struggled to take your pants off.
anton was too shy to offer his help, but something inside of him liked seeing you struggle and liked seeing you get undressed for him. before you could expose your stomach, you paused. anton’s eyes went from your thighs and how they were pressed together to your face.
“this is a disclaimer, before we go any further.” anton clenched his fist again when you let go of your shirt, letting it drape down your body again. “she might want you to do things a different way. not all girls are the same.” you say matter-of-factly.
“just show me what you like.” when your eyes got wide anton quickly defended himself. “i can figure out the rest with her when the time comes.”
you nodded your head, agreeing with his reasoning. you and anton sat like that for a minute in complete silence while you gathered your thoughts. anton was patient and he was obedient, giving you his hand instantly when you reached out for it.
you brought his hand to your face, using your own hands to bring his ring and pinky finger to his palm. when only antons thumb, index finger, and middle finger were left you guided his hand to rest on your lips. you slowly opened your mouth and anton understood, shivering while he pushed his fingers past your plush lips.
when his fingers were inside of your mouth he left them rest on top of your tongue. you nodded approvingly, and anton nodded back as he let his thumb rest underneath your chin. he took charge slightly, pumping his fingers in and out of your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks.
what you truly wanted anton to do was stick his fingers so far into your mouth that you gagged on them. but you settled for his large fingers pressing lightly on your tongue. you could see his mouth fall open as you made a show of sucking on him.
“okay now pull them out” you mumbled around his fingers.
anton nodded his head, but before he pulled out his fingers out he brought your chin forward with his thumb, eyes focused on his fingers as he stuck them further into your mouth. the entranced look in anton’s eyes distracted you, and before you could prepare yourself his fingers went too far. you gagged pathetically when anton’s fingers went past your tongue.
anton’s gaze went from his fingers in your mouth to your eyes. he had a look you had never seen, so different from the your shy bestfriend. he kept them there for a beat too short, before you could ease your throat to stop your eyes from getting glossy anton withdrew his fingers slowly. when he saw your eyes get glossy he pulled them out slowly. both of you looked at the the string of spit that connected your lip to his fingers.
“sorry” anton said sheepishly.
as fast as you saw the look in anton’s eyes it was gone, replaced with the same shy expression you were used to seeing. he kept his two fingers together in the air, waiting for your next instructions. you look down at your legs, how they pressed together. the image of anton prying them apart while he had that look in his eyes flashed across your mind. you closed your eyes before looking back up at anton with a thinking look. anton shifted on the bed as you leaned back, following your movements until you moved your legs from underneath you.
when your legs were bent in front of you, anton stayed still. his wet fingers were still in the air, drying from the cool air in his room. you smiled before reaching forward and grabbing his hand, putting it on your knee.
“make sure you always ask if everything is okay, especially if it’s the first time.” you say.
you start applying light pressure to anton’s hand on your knee, showing him to lightly spread your legs apart. he understands immediately, bringing his other hand to your other knee to part them.
“is this okay?” anton asks.
it’s genuine, the way he looks at you with big eyes. you wordlessly nod your head, leaning back to prop yourself on your hands while anton continues spreading you apart.
when you add resistance against anton’s push, he stops completely. you can see him remembering the distance between your parted knees. she is so lucky.
when a sigh slips from your lips anton’s gaze snaps up to you. you play it off well, moving your shoulders slightly to feign contemplation. before anton can ask you what next, you point your feet.
“help me take my underwear off.” you say.
any attempt to sound bossy is hindered by the hush in your voice. you’re being too soft but you can’t help it. you’re lucky anton is too focused on getting you undressed he doesn’t notice the way you bite at your lip nervously.
anton’s hands are timid as his fingers go underneath your waistband. he thinks it would be easier if he approached the situation like ripping off a bandaid, but it’s slow as he pulls your panties up to your thighs and down your knee. your pointed feet helps anton in the end, he leaves the pair next to him on the bed, dropped gently from his hand.
anton sees the first definite crack in your composure when he can’t take his eyes away from your core. you glisten and seize around nothing. the pornos he’s watched and the stories he’s heard falls short—nothing can compare to you.
“wow.” anton sighs.
your knees wobble as you try to close them in subconsciously. anton keeps them apart, slotting himself between your legs to stop them from closing completely he will fight anything that tries to obstruct his view of you. anton looks down at you to watch you change your pleased expression a beat to late.
“flattery will get you very far, anton.” you say.
you try to be sarcastic, but anton is serious as he shakes his head. one of his hands leaves your knee to press on your pearl that protrudes at the top of your cunt. you jolt from the feeling, fists balling the sheets. maybe the pornos got some things right. anton looks at your face, watching more and more of your resolve crumbles in from of him. you are stubborn, clearing your throat to try and bring back some volume to your voice.
“i’m wet already. feel it.” you say.
anton’s finger that presses your pearl drifts down. he can feel you wet and slick against his fingers. he pulls his hand away from you and rubs it between his thumb and index finger.
“that’s how you know you’re doing something atleast a little right.” you shift your hips closer to anton, inviting him to touch you some more. anton went back to touching your folds, pressing in slightly. you could tell he was looking for your hole, and you let him find on his own. you shivered as anton got closer and closer, going further down your cunt. when he found he he pressed in slightly. you showed him he was right by sighing and arching your back.
“it’s lower than i thought.” anton laughed quietly to himself.
“yeah.” you said breathlessly.
you were caught up in the feeling of anton’s probing fingers so close to being fully inside of you. you almost forgot you had a job to do as anton’s bestfriend.
“start off with just one finger. your hands are big.” you say.
anton pushes in a finger, looking up at you as he eases in. you clamp around his fingers before relaxing, allowing him to go all the way inside of you. anton pulls his finger out before pushing it back in, watching the way his digit disappears inside of you.
“holy shit.” anton whispers.
you clench around his finger, before telling him to put another finger in. anton heeds your request, adding his middle finger to sink into your cunt. you can’t stop your hand from grabbing his bicep. anton stops, and you guide him to a faster pace.
your hold on anton’s bicep doesn’t falter as he picks up the speed. when he takes it upon himself to face his palm upwards the discomfort in his wrist is gone immediately. his fingers can fuck you smoothly when he faces his palm upwards. the confidence anton gets when you close your eyes and turn your head to your shoulder makes him add another finger. he can hear your toes crack as you flex your feet, and anton sees your free hand ball up in the sheets.
“do this with your other hand if you can.”
the words fly out of your mouth at your hand on anton’s bicep goes to your clit. you show anton the speed you like immediately, touching the pearl gently in comparison to anton’s hasty pumping fingers. his free hand goes to your hand, mimicking the movements. when you’re satisfied you move your hand away, letting anton take your place. he falters for a little bit, trying to synchronize his pumping fingers to his gentle hand on your clit. soon enough he can feel you squeezing tightly against his fingers, and your eyes are screwed shut.
“i’m so close.” you say around the teeth digging into your lip.
anton nods, wishing he was good enough at multitasking to kiss your turned cheek. instead anton only nods, sitting down on his bed to get a better angle.
without his body between your legs, your knees close in on eachother. it’s pathetic, the way you whimper and withhold moans as you come undone around anton’s fingers. you’re so quiet he doesn’t know you came. so anton continues, waiting for you to call out his name and announce to him how good he’s making you feel. anton doesn’t know you came until near cries come out, and your hands go to his wrists to stop him. anton looks at you confused, until he sees the tears dotting your vision again and your shaking shoulders. anton experimentally presses a finger harshly to your clit, you jolt and whimper again.
“sorry.” anton says unapologetically.
you fall onto your back, looking up at anton’s ceiling fan. it’s completely turned off, you imagine the blades are spinning to try and occupy your mind. your knees are still closed on eachother and you tremble occasionally. you put all your brainpower into the nonmoving blades to distract yourself from anton’s hands on your thighs that spread you further apart. you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. when his breath fans your center you shiver, still dealing with the after effects of your orgasm. when anton comes so close that his nose pokes your fold you pinch the covers on his bed between your two fingers.
“what should i do?” anton asks.
even if you are not looking at anton, you can tell he’s not all the way there with you. you can feel his eyes boring into your heat, you can almost hear him bringing in your smell. you have to clear your own thoughts to focus getting words out from your dry throat.
“you have to tease first.” you swallow on nothing. “to like build the tension, ya know?”
you don’t know when you’ll drop the act of trying to remain nonchalant. hiding your moans requires self control you don’t have anymore. when anton presses a kiss to your thigh you let him hear the sighs you tried so hard to suppress. anton smiles against your skin when he kisses the other side.
“how should i eat you out?” anton asks.
you prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at anton. he’s curious, eyes filled with you as he presses a kiss closer to your cunt. you bring your your legs to rest on his shoulders.
“pretending like you’re making out with me.” you whimper.
anton’s eyes widen at your desperate voice. you can’t bring yourself to care anymore, you can’t hold back when anton keeps eye contact with you as his tongue gets closer and closer to your heat. he looks down at your pussy like it’s his next meal, latching his lips to your clit and sucking.
instantly your back is pressed into the mattress again, squirming as you try to stop yourself from thrusting into anton’s mouth. he’s a step ahead, putting hands underneath your ass to prop your lower half up. he goes into his own groove, letting his tongue occasionally poke past your hole to taste you. when anton compares your noises, he finds himself driven to continue sucking on your clit. he knows he made the right decision when he hears your moan rip through his room for the first time. he looks up to your with satisfaction, when he starts using his fingers to fuck you again your hand grips his hair tightly.
“are you sure you’re a virgin?” you ask genuinely.
when anton’s laugh vibrates against you, you dig your back into the mattress. you pathetically lift your suspended hips into anton’s mouth. you feel euphoria building over you again, and you push antons face back from your pussy with a hand to his forehead.
anton looks at you like a man starved before licking his lips.
“is everything okay?” anton asks.
you nod, a hand going to your face as you wipe sweat away. you close your eyes to save yourself from the stimulation, remaining quiet until your foggy mind can form full sentences again. you sit up fully on the bed and anton’s meets you, bringing you in to kiss him again. you can taste yourself on his lips, and you can feel his wet fingers touch your face. when you pull away you still keep your lips against his.
“do you want to wait until next week—” you look at anton unsure, feeling his hot cheeks underneath the pads of your fingers. you don’t want to assume his feelings for you, or take something he might’ve been saving for someone that isn’t his bestfriend. “do you want to wait until next week to go all the way?” you ask
anton shakes his head, both of his hands going to the side of your head to force eye contact. you look him in the eyes before he brings you in for another big kiss.
“i think i found the confidence to tell you how i feel now.” anton says.
“i’ve wanted you for so long.” you say.
anton nods his head, telling you he’s felt the same way.
“we are a mess.” anton says laughing.
you laugh with him again, your head going to anton’s shoulder as you recall all the moments you both chose to ignore. the fleeting looks, the accidental touches, the almost kisses. it’s almost embarrassing that it took you guys this long to come to terms and to confess, under these circumstances nonetheless. it would’ve been embarrassing if it wasn’t so funny.
anton pulls you from his shoulder and kisses your forehead again, and you grab his face to kiss his forehead back. anton smiles and pecks your lips.
“i’m ready.” anton says.
you nod your head, trying to sound as assertive as possible.
“the guy should always bring a condom.” you say it matter-of-factly, holding up a finger like it’s a fact.
anton laughs at you again, before reaching to his drawer. he pulls out an unopened box of condoms, mouth opening getting ready to ask anton a question.
“my dad.” when your eyes widen anton only shakes his head. “don’t ask. please don’t ask.” he says.
you nod your head, grabbing the box from anton to open it. you pull out the first one, tearing it from the foil like and the opening the package. anton watches you pull out the rubber, small in your hand. you look at anton, still clothed, clad in tight jeans that strain against his dick and a shirt that is too hot on him. as if on cue he stumbles over the edge of the bed, taking off his pants and shirt leaving him in his briefs.
when he gets on the bed in the same position, you still hold the condom in your hand. you look at anton twitching in his boxers. you resist the urge to pounce on him when you see the wet patch in his underwear.
“can i see it?” you don’t hide the desperate lift in your voice. anton is nervous, hands pressed flat to his thighs in efforts to wipe off the sweat. “please?” you beg.
anton nods, leaning back on the bed the same way you did when he took your underwear off. you lean forward on the bed, handing the condom to anton and you gently pull his waistband down his legs. you imagine anton wanted to be treated the same way he treated you, slow and gentle like you’re made of glass. by the time his underwear is off his face is red in splotches, the tips of his ears hot to the touch. you would’ve seen anton’s face get more red by the second if you weren’t staring at his dick, it was thick, shooting straight up without the confinements of his briefs. his tip was pink and soft like his lips, and beading endless with precum. the translucent pearls made his dick look like porcelain. you smile at anton before sticking touching his leaking tip gently.
“so pretty.” you coo.
anton shakes his head, his large hand clasping around your wrist when you tried pumping his dick. his sensitivity went without saying, and you didn’t want to waste it either. you tapped on anton’s wrist to make him open his eyes, pointing to the condom in his clenched hand when he looked at you.
“sorry.” anton said.
“don’t apologize.” you pinch the tip of the condom, sliding the band down until anton’s dick is covered completely. “you don’t have to apologize to me.”
anton hisses, bucking his hips up when you experimentally squeeze his length.
“and why is that?” anton asks.
“i’m your bestfriend.” you say casually.
when friend falls from your lips anton scoffs and shakes his head. he checks to see if the condom is on securely, touching his length to see what contact feels like.
“think we are a little more than that now.” anton says under his breath.
you coo at him, pinching his cheeks before letting your hands explore the rest of his body. when you reach anton’s shoulders you gently tug at him, bringing him to you. you let yourself lean back on anton’s bed again as you continue pulling him by his shoulders. when your back is against the sheets anton is hovering over you, and he’s so close that his hair touches your face. he moves a hand to plant into the mattress beside your head to hold himself upright. his other hand grips your hip, a hold so tight like anton thinks you’ll slip away. you’re the same, a white knuckle grip on his shoulders.
you look up at anton, and he swears he sees your eyes soften. they’re gentle and welcoming, like your pupils have become heart shaped. anton uses his hand planted into the mattress to move some hair from your face. you pucker your lips and make a kissing sound, signaling to anton to press his lips against yours. when he pulls back you take a hand from his shoulder and trail it down his body. you look at him with each inch you cover. when anton bites his lip you hesitate, worried that he might suddenly decide he’s not ready. but anton hangs his head low to look between your two bodies, how close your hand is to grabbing his dick again.
he whimpers and instantly goes to the crook of your neck, his sheets balling up in his clenched fists. you pump his dick a few times, wishing to yourself that a condom wasn’t separating the two of you. there will be plenty of time for that later you have to tell yourself. you focus instead on anton, how he hopelessly sucks on the skin of your neck as you jerk him off.
“i really won’t last long.” anton says.
his words are hushed and fan across your skin in warm huffs. you nod, moving your other hand to the back of anton’s head.
“it’s okay.” you continue jerking anton off until he lets out a shaky exhale. you stop pumping, pulling his head from the crook of your neck so you can look at him. “can you help me?” you ask sweetly.
instantly anton nods his head.
“what do you need me to do?” anton asks.
for a moment he thinks he might be crushing you underneath his body weight. before he can pull back your hand that moved to his shoulder blades keeps him in pace. you’re sheepish, the hand that was on anton’s dick goes to his hand that’s on your hip. you wrap your hands around his pinky finger, holding tight as you tug at his hand slightly.
“let’s put it in together.” you say.
anton swallows, both of your hands are slow going back to his dick. the anticipation has you both ready to leap out of your skin, and when you put your hands to anton both of you gasp. it’s a new feeling, your hand over anton’s as he guides his tip to your cunt. you already feel your hole fluttering around nothing, pulsing like a heartbeat. anton has to take his hand away when he gets too close, instead propping his elbow beside your head so he can hover above you.
his lips are already parted, and you see the glossy look in his eyes as you pump his length a few more times.
“are you ready?“ you ask.
you feel nearly out of breath yourself. when you move lower down on the bed anton’s tip prods your entrance, almost inside of you.
“i’m ready.” anton says.
you almost close your eyes when you feel anton push his hips against yours—the only thing that keeps them open is so your can look at anton above you. his eyes shut in euphoria as he pushes deeper into you. you don’t tell anton to stop while taking all of him, you revel in the stretch and the way his eyebrows furrow and his lips part even more. a whimper slips past anton’s lips and he lets his head hand when he’s all the way in. he whimpers again when you seize around him, and a big hand squeezes on your waist.
“so big.” you whisper to anton.
he stays like that above you for awhile, falling victim to your warm wet fluttering walls and your sweet voice. his grip on your waist is rough but it the only thing keeping him grounded. anton twitches inside of you and he clenches the first next to your head. each attempt to move fails, it’s almost like you’re pulling him back in.
“can i move?” anton asks.
when he lifts his head back up, he sees you wide eyed nodding vigorously. you lift your own hips slightly, giving anton room to pull back to meet you again. he draws a shaky breath as he feels his dick dragging out of you. when he slides back in slowly anton’s head goes to the crook of your neck. your hand goes to anton’s back, pressing gently to bring him closer.
“what does it feel like?” you draw your hips back and forth, giving anton shallow thrusts.
“warm and wet.” anton’s voice shakes as he slowly starts thrusting into you. “like a really nice hug.” he says.
you hum at anton’s observation, desperate to know what it feels like to him. you want to tell anton how good he’s being, how he fits perfectly inside of you and makes you feel full. but this is about anton, you have plenty of time to tell him how he makes you feel later.
you wedge your hand between your bodies and press on your stomach, letting out a sigh when you feel your stomach tighten. anton keeps the slow deep thrusts, panting into the crook of your neck. when he snaps his hips a particular way, an unexpected choked whine slips past your lips. anton pulls away from your skin looking down at you.
anton’s blown out eyes look down at you. you can already see his face becoming red and splotchy as he takes you in. he looks at your lips, where a sound he’s never heard before came from and to your eyes that were wet just like his. the previous accidental thrust becomes purposeful, anton snaps his hips the same way he did before while looking at your face. the sound falls from you again, and you have to fight to keep your eyes open. anton does it again, and you can see his hair and the apples of his cheeks move from the force. the fourth time anton snaps his hips harder, and your back arches off the bed.
“so big.” you say into anton’s ear.
you press your hand deeper into your stomach, ad anton presses his forehead to yours to look down between your two bodies. he looks only for a second before his hooded eyes go back to yours.
his mouth opens as he looks down at you, words caught in his throat as he focuses on thrusting inside of you. but you already know what he’s going to ask. you press your hand deeper into your stomach while nodding your head.
“so deep.” you whine.
anton’s parted lips turn into a smile, a quick smirk that reveals his perfect teeth. you only see it for a second before anton goes back to feeling weak. anton switches his snapping hips to something more languid, trading the harsh slapping for the smooth and wet sound you two make together.
anton’s hair is wet with sweat as you fist it, pulling it away from his face so you can see all of him. you keep his head against yours, pressing gentle kisses to his plush lips.
“you feel so good inside of me, anton.” you tell him.
he can only nod quickly, drops of sweat falling onto you as he picks up the pace. your hand that pressed into your stomach moves to your clit. when you touch the bundle of nerves the moans fall from your lips, moving anton to do the same thing. his sounds are airy gasps, almost crying while yours become pouty.
the two of you no longer speak while you chase your instincts. anton’s languid thrusts turn to rutting hips, and all your reservations flies out the window as you bring your knee to your chest. anton’s hand on your hip helps you, applying force to the back of your thigh to press it closer. the new angle makes anton fuck you deeper and harder, you give up circling your clit to put both hands on anton for stability. he lifts his body from yours slightly, looking down at all of you. when you feel his eyes drift down from your face to your chest, you arch your back to come closer to his mouth. anton gives you a quick look of uncertainty and you soften your features to show him how desperate you feel, how close you are. you don’t get the chance to beg for something more when anton bends his body to attach his lips to your nipple.
you’re quick reacting to anton wet tongue that laves your senstive skin. you’re propping yourself up on one of your elbows in a second, forcing your hand to grip anton’s sheets to find stability. you arch your back and fist anton’s hair, the stimulation from his rutting hips and teeth grazing your sensitive skin makes you pull his hair at the root.
“i’m so close.” you whimper.
you look down at anton, how he is so content sucking on your chest. when he looks up at you with little hearts swimming around in his big brown eyes you let your head lean back.
it’s too fast, you can’t announce you’re cumming before it hits you in full force. your leg twitches as anton’s grip on your thigh tightens, pushing you further to open you up more. he hits deep, and your cries bounce off the walls in his room. you are nearly crying when anton stills inside of you—he didn’t get the chance to warn you either. one moment he had control the next he didn’t, emptying into the condom as your name falls from his parted lips in pants and high-pitched whines. anton has to screw his eyes shut from the relief that takes over his body, and when he finally comes down he slumps against your body completely.
you let anton crush you, loving the feeling of his sweaty body pressing into yours. you can still feel him twitching inside of you and you can still feel your walls flutter around him.
neither of you move until you hear the front door open and anton’s mom call you both down to help bring the groceries inside. the two of you were so caught up in your own world you forgot other people existed. you nearly kicked anton off of you, pushing him backwards so you could put your clothes back on. anton’s door was left open, and you could hear his brother making his way up the stairs. the two of you rushed trying to become decent. you threw on anton’s shirt and almost put your jeans on backwards. anton ended up grabbing a completely new outfit, tripping over his feet as he put his shorts on.
the steps were getting closer to anton’s room when you guys started to desperately smooth out eachother’s features, trying to lay anton’s hair down straight while anton time making his shirt on you not look like his shirt.
his brother did a once over of you and anton, standing in the middle of his room looking frazzled. he decided he didn’t care, walking out of sight as he went into his room.
“mom said to come downstairs.” he said over his shoulder.
“okay.” when anton’s voice sounded too hoarse he cleared his throat. “be down there in a second.” anton said.
im currently in desperate need of soft gut wrenching anton fluff like to the point i may sob i can barely find anything on tumblr for riize it makes me wanna cry!!!!
tummy . anton lee
pairing: bf!anton x gn reader
warnings: gut wrenching fluff, kissing, a bit of play fighting, not proofread!
synopsis: anton can't bring himself to stop giving you tummy kisses even though you're ticklish.
a/n: a lil apology for my activity :( school is kinda draining and i now spend most of my time working and watching tv to relax :3 anyway, pls enjoy !! ♡
you hear a sigh as the door to your bedroom opens and your boyfriend walks in.
"aaaaaanton!" you let your phone plop down beside you on the bed and sit up, making grabby hands towards him.
anton drops his bag on the floor and jumps onto the bed with you, nearly crushing you in the process. you giggle as he presses wet kisses to your face and neck.
"your mouth is wet!" you squeal, leaning away from him.
he blushes, realizing what he's doing, and backs up a bit. you watch him, still laying down, as he sits up and takes in your outfit.
"i love this top on you," he says softly, moving down the bed. wrapping his arms around your waist, your boyfriend rests his cheek against your stomach. his long legs move up to intertwine with yours as his hair tickles your tummy.
you giggle, attempting to push him away from your stomach, but his grip is solid. "baaaabe, that tickles!"
he just laughs softly and takes your hands in one of his, pressing kisses to your tummy. you squirm and squeal, but it's pointless, as you know he won't let you go anytime soon.
after a while of playing like this, he finally releases your hands and stops his assault on your stomach.
you catch your breath, staring at him with a playful pout.
"whaaat?" he pokes your face. "your tummy is just so cute, i couldn't help it..." he mutters the last part under his breath, but you can still hear him.
you smile at him, moving to lay with him - or so he thinks. you roll on top of him, caging him in with your body and pinning his arms down.
anton brainrot is literally so real you guys im a victim
contains: breaking up, resolution, oral (fem. receiving), missionary, soft dom anton if you squint, reader is a pillow princess (good for her)
it was one of the few days during summer where everyone stayed inside. the usual cool breeze that came with the season was replaced with harsh winds that could knock anyone over. the clear sky was replaced with clouds and soon a rain that threatened to flood your city would come.
you loved when it rained. the inclement weather gave you an excuse to stay home and lay in bed all day. you wanted to use this day to recharge—your social battery had been running dangerously low since summer had started. you don’t know if it was because of your recent breakup and everyone taking pity on you but suddenly everyone had plans once it got warmer outside. it didn’t help that your roommate was a dj. giselle spent more time outside than in the apartment, various clubs being her place of work. and being giselle’s roommate came with its perks, you automatically getting to skip the lines to get in because you “know somebody”. you made it your personal mission to exercise this benefit almost every night.
being outside took your mind off the breakup. you couldn’t hear anton’s voice when music blasted in your ears or think about him when you were dancing around. you loved being out, but it started weighing heavy on your bones. between work and seeing your friends, you had been out almost everyday for the past month. you were grateful when you saw that a big storm was coming, like the weather gods wanted you to have a day off.
you don’t remember the last time you were able to lay in bed past 10AM. you wanted to thank the rain that pelted your window and the wind that made your apartment building creak. because of it you got to be underneath the comfort of your sheets. giselle must’ve felt the same way, because this was the first time you had seen her in pajamas relaxing on the couch. you found her laying on the couch in the living room when you went to the kitchen to get some food.
“any plans for today?” you asked giselle sarcastically.
giselle laughed and looked from the television to you.
“probably gonna work on some mixes for upcoming sets.” giselle says.
she turns back on her show and the sound of the television fills the room. you hum in acknowledgment as you open the fridge. you grab some leftovers to put in the microwave. after getting your food you head towards the couch and giselle lets her legs rest on the coffee table so you can sit down.
“grateful for a day off.” you sigh contently.
“oh i bet. you’re like a little party animal now.” giselle laughed.
you sat with giselle for a little bit before retiring back to your bed. giselle did the same as you about half an hour later. you could hear the television in the living room shut off followed by the sound of your roommate closing her door. soon after you could hear the low sound of music coming from giselle’s room as she went through several tracks.
you let yourself relax in bed as rain continued to fall. it came down sideways and in sheets, and you knew it would only be getting worse for the rest of the day.
as you looked outside at the rain, it was hard to not start thinking about anton. when your mind got the chance to slow down, you couldn’t stop it from thinking about him. he loved when it rained too, and loved napping the day away with you too. you had stopped crying about the breakup a long time ago; you knew that first loves were meant to fail. but if you thought about anton for too long or how warm he always felt you could feel a hole start to form in your chest. so you did your best to clear your thoughts and treated the weather outside and giselle’s music as white noise before drifting to sleep.
anton was in your dreams often. you thought it was always unfair how he occupied your mind so heavily he managed to infiltrate your subconscious and dreams. after the breakup it only got worse. sometimes you would dream about him curled up next to you, getting up from the bed just to come right back to you. he would always snuggle into you closely and pull you into his chest. you would dream about him being the little spoon, laughing at how your arms wrapped around his large frame. you would dream about him turning you around to make you the little spoon, bringing a warm hand to trace shapes over your stomach. the mind was an evil thing. there were times when you would wake up in the middle of the night thinking it was real, that anton had come back to you in the middle of the night. but the vacant space on your bed was still empty and cold when you opened your eyes.
although it was painful dreaming about anton when he was no longer in your life, you truthfully wouldn’t have it any other way. you loved dreaming about you two laying on beds of gold or in a meadow running around in the tall grass. the dreams were usually pure and shrouded in a deeper meaning that you couldn’t decipher. but sometimes the dreams were less innocent. this time when you dreamed about anton you dreamed of him above you and panting into your ear while his strong chest was pressed against yours. you could hear the faintest whisper of his voice in your ear and you could see his wet hair sticking to his forehead. you dreamed about anton’s hands holding your hips down and you leaving marks down his back while you took all of him, his dangling chain above your eyes. just as your lips were reaching towards his ear to say something your brain suddenly woke you up, making you shoot up in your bed.
it felt like you woke up from a nightmare the way your body felt all clammy. your chest heaved and you shot a quick look to the empty side of your bed. moving so suddenly didn’t help either and you could feel a headache coming on as your eyes adjusted to the darkness in your room.
after gaining some of your bearings you reached to your bedside table to check the time on your phone. it was eight in the evening. giselle hadn’t stopped mixing her songs, music still coming from her room. you sighed and stretched, not sure how you felt about sleeping the whole day away.
following the aftershocks of your dreams, it was impossible to not think about anton. you regretfully think about him, if he is sleeping right now or if he dreams of you the same way you dream of him. he’s only a phone call or a twenty minute walk in the rain away. you decide against it, the thought of not getting a response scares you away from your phone.
you get out of bed and stretch your limbs again, you can’t deny that the rest was much needed. maybe you would watch something and eat until you got tired again. it would give you time to process your dream, maybe if you thought about it enough you could have another one like that again.
as you round the corner of you room to go into the kitchen you stop dead in your tracks.
you know it’s anton before he turns around. after spending so much time with him, you could probably identify him from his hair, or his voice. you see one of the most obvious of anton’s traits—his broad back that is covered with one of your towels. even if something covers his back you can tell it’s him by muscle memory, something you’re sure will never leave you. but you also know it’s him because who else would be sitting at your kitchen island this late at night. you still can’t control the shock in your voice as you call out his name.
“anton?” you say.
he turns around quickly to face you and his eyes go wide. anton has always been so expressive, every emotion shows on his face in an instant. he gets up from his chair like a reflex but he says nothing, just looking at you from across the room.
“what are you doing here?” you ask.
anton still looks at you without saying anything. it’s like your speech is delayed getting to anton, because it takes him almost five seconds before he swallows to answer your question. during the time it takes for him to speak you see a bouquet of the flowers you like laying on the kitchen island.
“i was riding my bike and i was coming to get the rest of my stuff but i got caught in the rain,” anton swallows again. “giselle let me in.”
anton points to your roommates closed door. it would makes sense that giselle would hear him, she must’ve stayed awake the whole day. music still plays in her room as you turn back to anton.
you are both met with more silence. you know that you should probably kick him out, or scold him for showing up at his ex girlfriends house unannounced. it’s hard to be mad at anton because he used to show up like this when you two were just friends, popping in just to hang out. and you do remember that you both promised the other that nothing would change if you two broke up. it was a lie then and you knew it. you wondered if anton knew it too. you could assume he did by the clenching knuckles at his side, or how he cleared his throat awkwardly.
“i tried to get home i really did but—” anton said.
now it was time for you to clear your throat and reach a hand out to him.
“no i prefer you stay here until the storm dies down.” you say.
you have to force yourself to remember that this isn’t a dream, that anton is real and standing in your kitchen. you want to be a good host and offer him food or ask him if he’s okay but all the words are caught in your throat. instead you gesture to the living room, showing anton it’s okay to step into your apartment further.
you’re sure that his ears tucked into his beanie turn red as he walks over you. he’s slow with his steps, like you’ll change your mind at any moment. you can still hear giselle music coming from her room as you go to sit on the couch.
when anton comes to the opposite end, his eyes find yours. he’s looking to you the whole time, waiting for you to give him the permission to be close to you. anton has always been too nice for his own good, letting you make all the moves and initiatives in the relationship. so he waits for you to nod at him before sitting down on the couch too.
you focus on the sound of rain and giselle’s house music as you look to anton. he looks the same except for his hair that has gotten a little longer. the necklace you got him for his birthday is still around his neck, rested on his chest. you tried not to look at the pendant too hard, because then your eyes would wander to the black shirt that clung to his chest. your mind flashes back to the dream you had of and you have to lightly shake your head to get rid of the image.
“how are things?” he ask you.
you hate that this is what your relationship with anton has come to. he used to be the person you were must comfortable around but now he sits on the opposite end of your couch asking you questions you both know the answer to.
“things are good.” you say.
you think about telling him everything would be better if you guys got back together. you hold it back by picking at the hem of your shorts.
“what about you?” you ask.
you can barely bring yourself to look at anton. you see that he isn’t looking at you either, his eyes focused on your hand that is holding the bottom of your pants. when you move your hand, his eyes stay there as he says nothing.
“i miss you.” anton says. “so much.”
you can feel the couch give underneath anton’s weight as he comes closer to you. the couch dips from you, almost causing your body to lean into anton’s. he bends down to be in your line of sight. you’re forced to look into his large brown eyes as he looks for something in your eyes.
“you miss me too, right?” anton says.
his hands reach for yours and you let him grab them. he squeezes his hands in your palms and you still have to remind yourself this isn’t a dream. anton continues to look at your face while massaging your hands. it keeps you there with him and you know he knows the answer to the question.
“we aren’t together anymore anton.” you whisper.
you know you should pull your hands away, maybe even tell him to leave your apartment. but you can’t bring yourself to do anything to him while he looks at you like that.
“that doesn’t matter. do you even remember why we broke up?” anton asks.
you shake your head; you truthfully can’t remember. you’re sure it was something stupid, something that easily could be fixed. you both were clumsy throughout the whole relationship, so confused why everything felt so different from when you were friends. maybe you two got tired of stumbling through the motions of everything and called it off. but the way anton looks at you makes you want to take everything back and make you try again.
“i want to try again.” anton says.
he shakes your hands slightly to really give emphasis to his words. maybe you keep dreaming about him because you should try again, maybe that’s what your subconscious has been telling you.
“i’ll have to think about it.” you say while nodding slightly.
anton responds to you by smiling. you can’t help but smile too, and you can feel tears that threaten to fall from all the emotions going through you. you can’t stop yourself from bringing anton in for a hug. he pauses only for a second before hugging you back twice as hard. you are happy you’re able to stop yourself from sobbing onto anton’s shirt, but you almost lose it when he rubs up and down your back gently. you go deeper into the crook of his neck and he holds you a little tighter.
“i came in the rain on my bike to be all romantic with flowers but you were knocked out.” anton says into your shoulder.
you start laughing loudly, the image of anton peddling on his dingy little bike through torrential rain. anton finds it funny too, he starts laughing as he goes into the details of him almost driving into a ditch while trying to get to you.
you know you’re both laughing too hard when you hear the music in giselle’s room shut off. you realize that she is basically at her job right now, and you and your ex ex-boyfriend are disturbing her. so you get up from the couch and motion for anton to follow you. he gets up from the couch and rubs his palms on the front of his pants. suddenly he’s the shy anton again, so different from the bold anton that told you he wants to get back together.
anton follows you into your room and you close the door behind him. you don’t move again until you hear giselle’s music turn back on.
you laid down on the bed first. anton stayed in front of your closed door, looking at the you laying on the bed. you can make out his figure even in the darkness of your room, broad and almost as tall as your doorframe. even in your dreams anton doesn’t look this good. you don’t beat away the image of him above with a stick this time, instead you welcome them with open arms as you tap the empty space on your bed.
you watch anton come over to the bed, stopping so he can take off his beanie and jewelry to set on your dresser. it’s just like old times, hearing the familiar sound of his rings landing on the ceramic dish. you wonder if he’ll take off his shirt too. he keeps it on as he lays on the opposite side of your bed.
he didn’t dare to move any closer to you, staying on the other end. you wish you could fold the covers and bring him closer to you, or have anton pull you into his chest like he always did when he spent the night. he was too nice to do move any further, and you realized that nothing would happen if you didn’t make a move first. so you swallowed whatever was holding you back and let your hand glide across the cold sheets towards anton. he turned towards you almost immediately and his hand grabbed your bicep.
anton first lightly tugged your body towards him twice. it was gentle and inviting like he always was. you scooted your body to anton’s, moving only a little across the sheets that separated you two. anton then exerted some of his strength o pull you the rest of the way, wrapping his other arm around your body to bring you into his chest. you laughed at how fast he pulled you across the covers as he tucked your head underneath his chin. he brought his hand that was on your arm to the back of your head—it had been too long since anton surrounded you like this. you nuzzled into his neck and sighed contently.
“we should probably move slow” he said. you could hear the smile on his face.
you hummed in agreement but then moved closer into him. he wrapped his arms tighter around you before kissing your cheek. it was quick and light before anton tucked your head underneath his chin again. you weren’t shocked by the kiss, you were actually beaming at the feeling of his lips on your skin again.
you weren’t sure when you fell back asleep, but it was hard to not doze off with anton like a weighted blanket on you. you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and hear his quick heartbeat slow down overtime. it was an inexplicable comfort having him behind you and to feel his arms wrapped around your frame.
you didn’t wake up again until well after midnight. the rain still fell and the wind still blew harshly. you woke up in anton’s amrs, curled into his chest to be the little spoon. you had turned at some point during the night, and anton’s hand rested on your stomach to gently trace shapes on your exposed skin. you don’t know how it was possible to miss someone so much.
you turned your body to face anton’s. you found that he was already awake, looking into your eyes with the same look you dreamed about. you closed your eyes as he placed a wet kiss on your cheek. his eyes are still bleary, you imagine he must have woken up around the same time you did. you brush some of his hair out of his face and let him leave a wet kiss on your lips.
“what time is it?” you ask.
“not sure. has to be pretty late though.” he says.
anton sounds distracted as he talks to you. his eyes are on your lips as he puts a hand behind your back so your body arches into him. you can feel how broad and solid anton’s chest is underneath the thin material of his shirt. you lean more into him and instinctively wrap your leg over his to bring him closer. you wrap your arms around his back to press your palms flat on his shoulders.
“i thought you wanted to move slow?” anton says.
he places another wet kiss to your lips before pulling back. you missed the smirk he got on his face when he knew you wanted it. it made you bashful, heat spawning from the places his body touched yours. it blossomed from the small of your back and spread to your finger tips that pressed against anton’s back. the feeling made you lock your leg in place, bringing anton even closer to you.
“we can move slow tomorrow.” you say hastily.
anton comes back to your lips, and you waste no time pushing your tongue into his mouth. anton must be just as desperate as you are the way he lifts you up like you weigh nothing. he almost crushed you in his arms, you have to tap on his shoulder to remind him of his strength.
“sorry.” anton whispers after pulling away from your lips.
his lips are plump and glossy, you run your tongue over yours to try and taste what’s left of him on your skin. you missed kissing his lips until they were red and a little swollen and the way he’d gather you up in your arms when you two made out. you try to get on top of anton but he uses a hand to keep you in place. you let out a little whine at not being able to move, you wanted to show anton how much you really missed him.
anton sits up on your bed to pull his shirt off. he does it with one hand and while he is busy taking off his pants you start to take off your own. as you lift your hips to take off your pants anton stops suddenly.
“wait. don’t move.” he says shyly.
you listen to his weird request, not moving while anton takes off his pants.
when his pants hit the floor anton guides your body to sit up. you do as he says, eyeing him to see what his plan is with you.
“put your arms up.” anton tells you.
his sweet and quiet voice betrays the authoritative words. you listen to him regardless, filling to the brim with excitement of anton telling you what to do.
you lift your arms as anton pulls up your shirt. he does all the work even guiding your arms through the opening of your shirt. anton looks up at you from your collarbone, placing a wet kiss on the taut skin as his hands go to your bra strap. you nod and anton brings both of his hands to your back to unclasp your bra. he is gentle releasing your chest from its confines, his big hands covering the area of your breasts.
no matter how many times anton sees your breasts, his breath is taken away each time. he kneads your doughy skin, lightly gripping a boob to place a kiss directly on the areola. anton missed your content sighs and breathless whimpers when he does things to you. he missed seeing your face crease with pleasure, the way you prop yourself on your arms and lean your head back to feel everything.
“i missed holding you.” he whispers.
anton can’t stop himself from taking a nipple into your mouth. you instantly arch your chest into his mouth, your free hand petting his head.
“i dreamed about this.” you whimper when anton goes to the other breast.
anton guides your body back down to lay on the bed. you lay your head on the pillow, looking down at anton as he trails kisses down your body.
“should’ve called me.” anton says, smiling into your stomach.
you can’t bring yourself to tell him why you couldn’t, something stupid as pride keeping you from feeling pure bliss as anton takes your shorts off. he lifts your hips off the bed all on his own, any more you try to make anton puts a gentle hand on your stomach to keep you in place.
“let me show you how sorry i am.” anton says.
he looks at you with sincerity as he continues pressing kisses to your body. he works down one leg and works his way up the other, even kissing your feet earnestly. anton makes eye contact with you as he presses a kiss to your folds. the contact alone has you lifting your hips off of the bed, trying to chase after the kiss. anton puts a hand underneath your ass to lift your bottom off the bed. you bend your knees until your thighs lightly press against the sides of anton’s head. you are still reeling from the dream you had, you know you won’t last long.
just from the kisses anton gives your pussy you’re lightheaded, gripping the sheets trying not to lose your composure too fast. it’s a lost cause when anton looks up at you again as his thumb starts rubbing your bundle of nerves.
“my little princess,” anton whispers. “you’re sensitive?”
you whimper in response and nod your head. anton sticks his thick middle finger inside of you, bending it once he’s inside all the way. you open your mouth in a silent moan, lifting your hips off the bed even more. anton places a kiss on your thigh.
“just lay there for me,” anton says. “i got you.”
“okay.” you whimper.
anton’s soft voice completely opposes his lewd actions. the way he takes his finger out of you to spread your folds apart. you can barely manage to look down at him as he makes work of your heat, on his hands and knees to get closer inside of you. his nose bumps your clit as he eats you out, alternating between making out with your pussy and sticking his tongue in your slit.
“feels so good anton.” you whimpered. when he hums into your pussy your legs close in on him, locking him in place. “i missed you so much.”
anton starts eating you out with a new vigor. the sound of him slurping and placing sloppy kisses on your cunt fills the room. you can’t stop you hips from bucking into his mouth and anton welcomes it. he guides your legs to rest over his shoulder and sits up slightly on the bed. anton uses his strength to bring your lower half up with him. you can’t stop yourself from grind on anton’s tongue while his arm behind your ass supports your weight. his free hand reaches out to yours and you let go of your hold on the sheets to grip his hand. you are moaning loudly, watching anton watch you.
he is entranced by your tiny cries and the way your heels dig into his back. you look so beautiful like this, not having to do any of the work to get to your peak. anton loves the way you grip his hand with all of your strength. he wants to take a picture of this moment to remember it forever. he wishes he could take a video to immortalize your whiny voice.
“i’m close.” you say.
you turned your head from the bed to look at anton. he goes back to tongue kissing your slit, purposely using his nose to bump your bundle of nerves. this way he can stimulate you adn you can take up all of his five senses.
he loves the way you smell, the way your whole body tenses when you cum unannounced. anton thinks it must’ve hit you like a freight trin the way. you cried out his name and squeezed his head between your thighs. sound is lightly muffled through your plush skin, but he can hear you loud and clear. you will definitely have to apologize to giselle in the morning.
anton takes all of your slick, slurping and getting so messy to the point. that he can feel the dribble of spit mixed with your slick come down his chin. you body turns to jelly in his grasp, your legs becoming pliable. anton comes back down to the bed and guides your ass down slowly.
your legs are flimsy and your knees unbend themselves, sliding down the covers of your bed. anton goes back on his haunches slotted between your legs, looking at you laid out for him like a five course meal.
anton is starving when he licks his lips, the glossy sheen of you still evident on his face. the intensity that he looks at you with has you squirming, and you can feel your body getting ready for a second round. you try sitting up, to grab anton’s hard member that bobs in the darkness of your room but a hand stops you.
anton keeps you down, but you can’t stop yourself from looking at him. the hand that pushed your shoulder back down goes to your slit, gathering slick from your orgasm. anton using the wetness to jerk himself off. you are enthralled by the sight, the way anton’s hair covers his eyes but you can still feel his hard gaze. his breath comes out in huffs as he picks up the speed and muscles underneath his taut skin move in tandem with his hand. his body looks so large from this angle, the way looks down at you while beating his dick. you don’t know how much control anton wants tonight, but you can’t stop yourself from using a hand to grip your breast.
anton increasing the pace tells you that he likes it. your massage the supple skin the same way anton does, the same way he does it to you in your dreams. it’s the real deal when he leans his body over, his hand falling beside your head.
he still beats his dick while he’s above you. his chain jumps from the inertia of the action and you can’t choose between looking at anton or his necklace.
“what do you dream about?” anton murmurs.
“us running around together in a meadow.” you say truthfully.
“what else?” anton asks.
his hand thaat was jerking himself off went back to your clit. he puts two fingers in, making you listen to the low squelching sound of your arousal already coming back.
“i dream about you fucking me, too.” you say.
that’s all anton needs to hear before guiding his dick to your heat. he goes down to his elbow beside your head and in one swift motion you bring your hands to his back and wrap your legs around his waist.
anton is just as big as you remember. you have never felt this full before, your walls clamping around him before he can bottom out. anton loses some of his strength at the way you’re already milking him. his large sweaty frame presses against your chest and you welcome it. your breasts are squished against him, both of you moaning in ecstasy.
“i missed you so much.” anton says into the skin of your neck.
you can practically feel his face heating up and you can imagine his flushed face as he gives you another slow thrust. you think you’re close again already. when anton gives you a deep thrust your nails dig into the expanse of his back.
“i missed you too.” you say.
anton focuses on hitting you deep and slow. he hits the spot in the back of you that you both discovered together—the spot that leaves you clenching and anton twitching inside of you.
“just like this?” anton says, hitting the same spot again.
“just like that.” you whine.
anton spends time hitting that spot over and over again. he kisses any part of your body his lips can reach before turning your head to give you a kiss on the lips.
his other hand hold your hips done. his strength brings you pain, the type you revel in. you let anton forget his own strength as he continues to fuck you into the mattress, his slow and hard thrust making you bed creak rhythmically.
you can feel anton getting close to his peak, feeling him get closer has you hurtling towards the edge as well. you move one hand from his back to grip his arm, your nails digging into the flexed muscle. something about seeing someone so big and strong fall apart above you has you clenching uncontrollably around anton’s dick.
you break apart from anton’s lips to look down between the middle of your squished bodies. anton does the same, lifting his body so you can see where you two meet. you rest your sweaty foreheads against eachother to watch the show.
“i’m close.” anton whimpers.
“me too.” you say back.
“where can i—” anton’s voice is broken up by pleasure, trying to keep it together for as long as possible.
“inside me. please.”
“alright baby.” anton says.
he brings his chest back down to yours, and he brings an arm underneath your body to bring you close. you’re surrounded by him, nails rake down anton’s back as he picks up the speed.
anton whimpers your name into your ear before pulling back to look you in the eyes. he curses from your blown out pupils and the way your walls close in around him. anton grips your shoulder as he spills into you. you milk him dry, the sensation of him throbbing pushes you off the edge again. you pushed off into anton’s arms as your legs around his waist pulls him in. you grind into him when his hips still, loving the sound of anton inside of you. he whines and laughs a little from the overstimulation, his whole body sensitive.
you still move you hips until anton pulls out of you. you can feel his cum dripping from you and you fight the urge to push it back in. anton’s large body loses its strength above you, pressing your body into the mattress. he catches his breath in the crook of your neck, hot puffs of air fanning your skin.
you let anton’s large body crush you a little more. you missed him so much you would risk the suffocation. when anton’s breath finally steadies, you tap his back. anton understands immediately, picking his head up from your neck.
“oh my god i’m sorry.” anton says.
he slides off of you to lay beside you on the bed. you waste no time turning to him. now you’re the one tracing shapes on his chest. anton turns to you and smiles.
the rain outside is almost as comforting as the feeling of anton pulling you back into him. you doze off to sleep again, this time knowing you’ll be waking up to anton next to you.
“can you hold my hand?” you whimper to his necklace.
you could never bring yourself to request such intimate things to wonbin’s face. you had come to terms with the fact that everything you did with wonbin was strictly business. you both met up with the mission to only make the other feel good, and then not speak until someone’s service was requested again. it was an ideal situation most of the time, you believed that you didn’t need something romantic.
you were also sure at the time you started your arrangement wonbin was seeing half of the girls on campus and had the other half chasing after him. your mutually beneficial situation happened randomly too, wonbin coming to you at a frat party. out of the crowd of pretty faces surrounding him, he came to you.
you would’ve never thought that him asking for your name would lead to you two dry humping on a secluded couch while the party raged on downstairs. bass from the music shook your skull as wonbin’s soft hands guiding you in a makeout session. it was passionate, biting lips and teeth clashing. you were basically fucking him on the couch as he kissed you, rubbing against his thigh that had slotted between your legs. you whimpered into his mouth as he kissed you when he’d purposely flex his leg for you.
he had you pent up to say the least, getting off without him having to stick a hand in your pants. you thought the fleeting looks was delusion, your mind making things up to spice up your mundane life. but you found out it was real and it was in front of you, and apparently it was in your face the whole time. wonbin moaned into your mouth about your beauty and talked about your body in between kisses. he sucked on your skin asking you why you were the one person to never give him what he wanted. unbeknownst to you he came in his jeans seeing you get high off of him. when your knee rested on his crotch he didn’t stand a chance.
that night set the dynamic for your relationship. you thought it was a one time thing until you got a message request on instagram from someone you didn’t follow. it was wonbin, asking for your number. you didn’t ask how he found you, or why he was thinking of you in the daytime. you only answered his question, giving him your contact information a little too quickly. you met him again and he fucked you properly in his dorm. you didn’t know anything else but his touch by the time you left his room, and when you were stressed about a paper you did the same to him. you rode his dick until he was a mess underneath you, nothing like the nonchalant man you saw walking around campus.
the arrangement was ideal, but you caught yourself thinking about wonbin and what he was like outside the bedroom. you didn’t think you would catch feelings. you blame it on his awful habit of kissing your cheeks sweetly while he was buried deep inside of you, or cooing to you affectionately and grabbing your hands when he’d slide in. it was better when he would fuck you senselessly into the mattress and you would sneak away when he went to the bathroom to clean himself up. that’s how it was in the beginning. after the act it was always like the veil was lifted and the intimacy was sucked out of the room. but over time something changed. you still remember the night when wonbin’s hand went to your balled up fist instead of your chest. even in your state of bliss you opened your eyes in confusion. all wonbin had to do was whimper a please and you opened up your hand to intertwine with his. after that night, something shifted. he used his lips for more than just pressing to your heat or neck, he would kiss you with a purpose and kiss your cheeks sweetly. you tried ignoring the way your heart would jump into your throat when he’d kiss your knuckles, or when he’d smile at you as you brushed his hair out of the way. but over time, you felt your heart was missing something. a different fire burned inside of you when you thought about wonbin walking with you to class, or hearing him call you his girlfriend. it was a fire that could only be temporarily quelled by crumbs of intimacy during sex.
naturally, you panicked. you made a bet with yourself to not reach out to him for a week, maybe no contact would cease the feelings. when he’d ask what your plans were for the weekend you’d say study and when he texted you before midnight you’d suddenly be on do not disturb. it only lasted until the next frat party you attended, basically after being dragged there by friends. the wonbin who was usually surrounded by girls was only with his friends, looking expectantly at the door like he was waiting for someone to arrive. you tried to avoid his smile the whole night but you folded. you let him take your hand as he lead you up the stairs. you were able to atleast pretend like you didn’t hear him over the music when he told you how much he missed you.
you thought that being apart from him for so long his affection regarding sex would diminish. but he kissed your face just as lovingly as he did the last time. wonbin did it all except hold your hand. you felt like something was missing if you couldn’t feel the pads of his fingers graze your palm, or feeling his grip on your hand as he came inside of you. you needed it, you needed him. you needed him outside of the bedroom and before the sun fell down. you couldn’t admit it, you had an intense fear of his eyes and how they alwats coaxed confessions out of you. so you looked at the necklace that dangled above your head as wonbin fucked you. it was silver and always adorned his pretty neck. you told yourself it was a gift from a previous lover. it served as a reminder that you were not wonbin’s and he was not yours. it put you in your place, stopped you from being delusional and imagining a romantic future with him.
wonbin was one step ahead of you, first using his hand to cover your balled up fist. it was just like the first time, and you could feel yourself swooning again. you slowly opened your hand up for him and he clutched it urgently, squeezing. you squeezed back, tears almost prickled your vision at wonbin tending to you so quickly. you thought about the awkward tension that would fall on you two after the fact. maybe this would be the last time, for your own sanity. it takes all your courage to move your gaze up to wonbin’s face.
he looks at your cute expression, pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows. wonbin can’t control himself when he bends down to kiss your forehead. he swears he can see your eyes get a little watery. he tells himself they’re glazing over because you were close to your peak. wonbin still couldn’t comprehend why you were so distant. he thought he was lacking as a lover, but the way you clenched around him told him otherwise. then it came to him suddenly, almost knocking him off his feet. he wasn’t someone you wanted to be with. wonbin was truly only the late night booty call, a placeholder for when you inevitably find someone you want to spend time with. wonbin was surprised you hadn’t found the man yet. he was surprised when you let him talk to you that first night you hooked up. you had never given him the time of day in class. wonbin could never tell you he had to hype himself up for weeks to approach you at that party. the whole night he was scared you would press a hand to his chest and feel his heart racing. but he got you, and was able to continue getting you. he wanted to see you, but that was something you kept depriving him of. he invited you to outings, trying to hide them under the guise of sex. what he actually wanted to do was take you to the new cafe that opened. if he got to end the night hearing you moan his name that was a bonus, not a requirement. you won each time. he was scared that he would never see you again, never knowing what he did wrong until he saw you come into the frat. you went back to the way you were before the arrangement, not giving him the time of day. wonbin was able to get you to extend your hand towards him and he felt alive. wonbin didn’t want to let you go, thats why he kept his grip on your hand as he hoists one of your legs over his shoulder. he gets to hear you moan and wonbin changes from the faster pace to slow and hard.
“you don’t have to ask,” wonbin says. “you’re so cute when you’re shy.”
he has to tease you to keep his composure. underneath all the jokes is the desperate need for him to call you cute everyday. to be able to hold your hand outside of the bedsheets. to walk around with you and see you in the daytime.
he notices your eyes go from his face back to his necklace. the piece of jewelry jumps up from his skin with each hard thrust. he feels the nails of your other hand dig into his body. wonbin can only tolerate pain when it’s you administering it. wonbin’s friends call him a masochist, constantly pining after you despite your arrangement. his growing need for something more than sex ate him alive. he wants to see you outside of the confines of the bedroom and he wants to kiss you when there’s other people around. but he settles for fucking you senseless every night you ask him to, because he’s nothing if not an optimist. maybe if he hit that spot deep within you enough times you would let him take you on a date. having sex with you didn’t help with his delusions. the way you looked at him in the eyes always made him run off at the mouth and your whines gave him confidence. this was an extremely dangerous combination. that’s why when he changed positions to holding your thighs to your stomach to fuck deep inside of you he started confessing everything.
“when are you gonna let me be your boyfriend, baby?” wonbin said.
he could see the sweat falling from his hair to drop on your chest. it made him feel crazy anytime something from him became a part of you.
“w-what?” you could barely speak, pleasure taking over everything.
wonbin couldn’t stop a moan from coming out. he leaned forward, using his body to push your thighs so he could hold your hand above your head. he watched your eyes go back to his necklace. it was so close to your face it rested on your lips, leaping to your nose with each thrust you took. wonbin brought shaky breaths and broken sentences of love confessions to your ear.
“i love fucking you,” wonbin said “but i more. i guess i’m selfish.”
wonbin started picking up his thrusts, grinding into you a little more to really show he was sincere. he wasn’t sure if you were clenching around his words or his actions, but you were getting close. he quickly changed the position, making your ankles touch behind his head. he knew you liked it from the back, especially when h’ed push your ass super close to the bed. but he had to see your face, he had to look at your eyes flicker through every emotion as your mind slowly comprehended what he was begging for. your poor mind was short circuiting off pleasure while trying to come to terms that your pining was mutual.
“let me take you out on a date.” wonbin says. his mind is going haywire too.
“i like you.” you say.
it comes out rushed and the words are bunched together but wonbin understands you perfectly. he kisses the beck of your hand.
“i like you too, baby” wonbin says back.
you moan again, even louder. between your confession, the sound of your thighs slapping against his body, and the way you convusle around him wonbin knows he won’t last much longer.
“call me your girlfriend.” you say, nearly in tears.
wonbin picks up his speed.
“can i cum in my pretty girlfriend’s pussy?” wonbin laughs. he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips. he’s on cloud nine, especially when you moan and nod your head.
“yes. please.” you whine.
the tears slip out from your eyes, everything is just too much. wonbin lets your legs fall from his shoulders so he can cum inside of you as you both are pressed together. he doesn’t let go of your hand, even when he lets go deep inside of you. he can’t stop tears from coming out either. you grip his hand tighter even after you’re done clamping around him. you pull wonbin close with your other arm. you two stay like that, clammy and in eachother’s arms. neither of you want to separate and both of you are nervous that the other one may have been just saying things in the heat of the moment. in the crook of your neck, wonbin kisses you.
“am i your boyfriend now?” he asks into your shoulder.
you giggle at your boyfriend trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. you give him an answer in the form of a kiss and staying the night instead of sneaking away to your own dorm. your verbal answer comes the next day. you’re wearing his shirt and a pair of his pajama bottoms when you come downstairs to see his friends cleaning the frat house from the nigh before. they look at you with wide eyes, laughing when they see wonbin trailing behind you on the stairs.
“i guess this means you two are official now?” someone asks.
“he’ll have to take me out on a date first, then we will see.” you say.
𐙚 : SOMEONE WALKING IN ON YOU W/ RIIZE (reaction) ֶָ֢ !
content warning. oral ( f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex, being walked in on
request: riize reaction to being cockblocked ...
authors note. i hope you like it babez, i hope this is what you wanted 🩷🫶🏾!!!
MINORS DON'T INTERACT
𐙚 : SHOTARO ֶָ֢ !
embarrassed to say the least; like he can't even look his member in the eye. he didn't even notice sungchan walk into the room , his face nuzzled in between your neck, leaving little marks on your precious skin; heavily breathing as he slowly rocked his hips; his cock rubbing against your clothed heat. "fu-fuck taro." you moaned out — he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to be inside you. he pulled away from you neck, smiling down at you as he unbuckled his pants. "gonna treat you so good baby." he said ready to free his cock out. "fuck you nice." you whimpered out, but before he could, the door came swinging open. "bro you wan— oh fuck im so sorry." he quickly did a 360, closing the door. shotaro was red in the face; just wanting the world the swallow him hole. "i-i thought i locked the door." he said. "it's okay." he whined , the mood no longer there, hiding his face in your neck. "taro it's okay." he shook his head. "no it's not." you just laughed, scratching his head.
"we gotta double che— no triple check the door next time we have sex."
𐙚 : EUNSEOK ֶָ֢ !
annoyed is what he is — cause even if he wasn't doing anything; why the hell are you bursting through his door like that? his members knew that if you were over and his door was closed — then don't come in; apparently sohee didn't get that. "i don't want to hear anything out of you." he pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, you bit down on your lip hard; keeping all your noises inside as he curled his fingers , your eyes rolling to the back of your head. "look at you slut, going dumb just from my fingers." he smirked. "gonna cum for me?" you felt your orgasm approaching — to bad the door open , making eunseok halt his movement, his head snapping to whoever it was. "hyung— get out, now." he deadpanned. sohee didn't even need to understand what was going on, but he heard to tone of his friends voice and immediately walked out. "fucking hell." he cursed under his breath, turning back to you , his fingers still inside you.
"don't think i didn't feel your cunt clench when he walked in — fucking whore you wanted someone to catch us."
𐙚 : SUNGCHAN ֶָ֢ !
he wouldn't even know to be honest; neither one of you would honestly — when you two have sex , the entire world doesn't exist at that moment, only the feeling of sweet cunt tightening around him as you rode his cock. "sh-shit baby, keep going." he groaned. "that's use my cock baby, fuck yourself on me." his hands coming down to your ass, slapping it. "faster baby." you rocked your hips faster , holding yourself up — bucking up into you. "sh-shit princess you're gonna make me cum." both of your highs vastly approaching. both of you so wrapped up in each other, neither one of you notice eunseok walk right into the room, quickly walking back out. "fuck!" his hips stilling, as your legs shook both of you cumming hard , his cock twitching as he came inside your hole. "fuck baby, you feel so good." he groaned. after he cleans you up , and your both cuddled up in his bed, when you bring it up. "did someone walk in on us?" he shrugged , bringing you closer to his body.
"at least they got a good show, you look so fucking sexy bouncing on my cock."
𐙚 : WONBIN ֶָ֢ !
another one who would be pissed off , he finally got you alone after being bothered all day by his members; not having a minute of alone time — him sitting up against the headboard; you sitting on your knees, in between his legs, bobbing your head up and down on his cock. "fuuuuuck baby that's." he groaned, his hands on your head , pushing you further down on his cock , you gagged on his cock , spit spilling out from the cornrs of your mouth. "make a mess on my cock." this is all he wanted , was to feel your mouth on him, alone on his bedroom; away from everyone — anton clearly didn't get the memo. "hyung food is — oh my god!" wonbin quickly picked up a pillow chucking it at the poor boy who was already trying to get out the room. "can't even get a second of peace in the damn dorm." the moment was clearly gone, you pulled off of him, he tucked himself away. "get dressed." he said. "where are we going?"
"to your house , im not gonna walk around with a hard on because they don't know what
𐙚 : SEUNGHAN ֶָ֢ !
his only worry is if they saw you or not; if they didn't then oh well they should've knocked , he's not gonna focus on it for too long especially if you still want to continue after. "you feeling good princess." he slowly rocked his hips , his cock dragging along your walls, your sweet cunt fluttering around him , both of you in complete ecstacy. "hannie." he hushed you up with a kiss. "shh baby, don't want them to hear how pretty you are." he groaned. you looked so pretty, your chest heaving up and down , tits bouncing with every thrust — your pretty does eyes looking up at him, you looked so good. "fuck baby you're perfect, gonna fill you up with my cum." you were on cloud nine, so you didn't hear the door open or shotaro walking in — you just felt seunghan covering your naked body. "oh fuck im so sorry." he ran out closing the door. "who was that?" he didn't say anything , just continued to rock his hips, you moaned out.
"don't worry about it princess — fuck, just keep your eyes on me pretty girl."
𐙚 : SOHEE ֶָ֢ !
#1 munch right here!! he doesn't care if someone is in the room , when his mouth is on your pretty cunt , lapping up everything you had to offer; your hands yanking at his hair signaling for him to slow down. "fu-fuck sohee." you moaned. "slow down , your friends are still outside." he hummed against your cunt , but he didn't slow down; so drunk on your pussy he couldn't bring himself to slow down, his nose brushing against your clit. "fu-fuck hee, im gonna cum." you whimpered , tugging at his hair , he moaned out. you both swore you locked the door — but that was proven wrong when the door opened , sungchan walking; both of you making eye contact , you shrieked. "of yn im sorry." he covered his eyes, walking out. "so-sohee fuck stop." you pulled him off of you. "what baby?" he wiped his plump red lips. "did you not hear the door open , sungchan walked in." you were heavy breathing. "it's alright baby." he smirked , kissing your clit.
"you should've let him stay , so he can see how pretty you look with you're cumming on my face."
𐙚 : ANTON ֶָ֢ !
he is mortified — the last thing he wanted was for one of his hyungs to walk in on him and you in the current position you were in; but you insisted that you'd be quiet, and he really couldn't say no, especially when you were grinding against his hardening cock. "oh-oh fuck." he moaned, you shushed him. "they'll hear you if you keep making noises." you groaned against his ear, biting down on his lobe. "ca-can't help it." his big hands in your ass, rocking back and forth. "you feel so good." he sighed. wonbin didn't mean any harm , he swore — but the he could've sworn he heard a pained noise coming from antons room; and he didnt know you were there— which lead to him opening the door. "anton you okay?" the horror on all of your faces, wonbin quickly shuffling out the room, yelling "lock the door next time!" it's safe to say both of you were even to scared to continue. "even with the door locked, the fact that he knows what we're doing is haunting me." you climbed off of him.
"i swear i won't even kiss you when he's around , i won't be able to look him in the eyes again."
virgin!anton x virgin!fem!reader ☆ nsfw ; wc : 2k+ ☆ one-shot mdni!
synopsis; after being together for so long, you would think you've already done everything in the books, but there's only one you haven't done yet. and that's sex.
warnings; anton is bigger than reader, extremely lighthearted, mentions of masturbation, anton is big, dry humping, protected sex, they cum quickly
"You've got to see this video," Anton barges into your room, throwing his bag on your floor, "It's seriously the cutest thing ever."
You look up at him from where you were sitting on your bed, moving your laptop off your lap and onto your desk next to you. "What is it?"
"Cats. Two of them." He hands you his phone, kicking off his shoes to get comfortable, "I won't spoil it."
When you started dating Anton around a year ago, you knew his love and affection also came with cute animal videos. He sees a cute animal, he sends it right to you. Might even add a text saying "Us" or "You" but he's never saved them to show you in person.
You watch the video nonetheless, it being a video about a cat who fell in love with another cat, even having kittens, and the rest of the video is just cute clips of them two. "It's us." Anton looks at you with a cheesy smile when you hand him his phone back.
"It's very cute but, 'Ton..." You tilt your head, "You came here to show me a video of cats?" Anton didn't exactly live close by to where you did, so it was very rare when he came over.
"Well," His head sinks into his shoulders, "I wanted an excuse to see you."
You pull the blanket off of you and open your arms for him to accept your hug. Despite his big figure, he wraps his arms around your waist and lays on top of you. "You never need an excuse to see me, you know that.." He digs his head into your chest, and you bring a hand up to run fingers through his hair. "You missed me?"
"Mmhmm.." He nods gently to not disturb your hand and he looks up at you.
"I missed you too." Is all you're able to say before Anton lifts himself up to kiss you. You instantly reciprocate the kiss and hold his face in your hands.
Despite being together for so long, all you and Anton have ever done was make out. And even though each make out gets progressively more and more desperate and needy, you guys never put too much thought into having sex.
It came up only a few times, and one was because because you guys were watching a movie that had a sex scene. You were holding Anton in your arms and he quietly mentioned it. "Do you think we'll ever have sex?"
Anton was never the type to openly talk about things he wanted, so the fact that he said even something as simple as that shocked you. "Do you want to?" You always believed that it would happen when it happens, and you knew he felt the same way.
"Not right now.." His eyes glued on the movie, "But eventually."
The second time it came up was when he got his first boner with you. It happened during your first heated make out session. It was the first time he ever made you moan, and that was when he was leaving hickeys all around your neck and chest. You had felt him grow under you, nervous that if you brought it up you'd scare him. "Anton..?"
He paused his actions and when he finally caught up with his dick he lightly pushed you off of him, covering it with his hands. "Oh my god," You heard panic in his voice, "I'm so sorry."
His reaction made you hold back a laugh, "Why are you sorry?"
His cheeks flushed "I don't know... It's.." He found himself having trouble forming sentences, "That's so gross of me, I don't know why it.."
"You're a male human," You rest your head on his shoulder, "I don't think it's gross... It happens."
You both sat there in silence, and when Anton realized it wasn't going down any time soon, he excused himself to go to your bathroom and jack off. He felt so embarrassed by it that he refused to see you for an entire week. And it wasn't until you promised him that you weren't repulsed by him, that he started to see you again.
That day never came up again, and Anton was very cautious about making out ever since.
But right now he was too busy focusing on the way your mouth feels on his, his mind full of just you.
He sits up to be more comfortable and stops kissing you when he can't, "Can we switch places.? I don't want to sit on you and crush you." He lightly jokes, making you giggle.
"I don't mind if you crush me, goliath." He rolls his eyes at the teasing nickname and moves hair on your face behind your ear.
"I like it better when you're sitting on me though," He says through a pout, and you find it too cute to say no to.
It's your turn to roll your eyes and he wipes a little bit of saliva off your bottom lip before getting off of you. He hooks your legs around his waist, allowing your chest to press against his as you kiss him again.
"Better?" You run your fingers through his hair while going back to kissing him.
"Mmm.. Much better." He replies, softly moaning when you bite his lip, allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth.
When you tug on the bottom of his shirt, he immedeatly takes it off. Sure, you've seen Anton without his shirt before, he is a swimmer after all. But it has never been in the contents of the bedroom, which made even something as small as that make your stomach turn.
You decide to lift your shirt off of you, making Anton stare at the way your breasts sit in your bra. He grabs the back of them, about to unclasp them before looking at you, "Can I take this off?" You nod and watch as your bra falls on the bed, finally feeling the cold air. Anton's eyes study every part of your breasts, "Can I touch them?"
"Please.." This was your first time ever being exposed like this in front of someone, but you trusted Anton a lot so slowly the nervousness left your body. His fingers make contact with your skin, softly squeezing them, looking up at you with a small smile. When he drags his fingers along your sensitive nipple, you let out a soft moan, making him do it again.
The sounds you were making going straight to his cock, causing him to rub upwards. The feeling of his clothed cock against your clothed pussy making you both moan.
You continue to grind down on him, matching the speed of his hands working your breasts until he stops, "I-.. I'm gon' cum in my pants if we continue.."
Neither of you want to stop, and the air in the room is noticeably different. "What do you want to do?"
"I want," He pauses, thinking about what to say, "I need to be inside of you."
You know you're ready, you know you both are. You just wished you guys talked it out beforehand, cause you sadly don't have condoms just laying around. " 'Ton.. I don't have any.. you know."
"Hold on," He softly lifted you off of him and grabbed his bag on the floor. After rummaging around it for a minute, he pulled out a box of condoms. He took one out and when went back to you, he realized you were looking at him suspiciously. "What?"
"You just... carry condoms around?" You try to hold back a laugh at the thought of Anton casually walking around like that.
"Just in case," He says shyly, "For moments like these." He takes the condom out and when he hooks his finger under the waiste band of his pants, he hesitates, "Look away."
"Look away?" You raise an eyebrow at him, "No, I am absolutely looking."
"Fine." He sighs defeatedly, "But don't say anything." When he removes his pants, his bulge looks bigger under his boxers. You watch as he removes the last piece of clothing, his cock hitting his stomach and your heart sinks. He's big. Like really big. Bigger than you thought, and this was a problem considering you're a virgin too. There was no way he was fitting.
There's pre cum leaking from his tip, and your first instinct is to use your finger to wipe it off. He reacts almost immedeatly, squeezing his eyes at the feeling. You remove your pajama pants, showing the cute lace panties you had on. It just so happened to be a coincidence that you were wearing one of your nice panties, taking that as the final sign that this was supposed to happen.
"Can I-?" Is all he says before you grab his hands and lead them to you. He hooks a finger around your panties before slowly pulling them down, revealing your dripping pussy. Anton moves his finger through your folds, playing with your arousal on his fingers, "You're so wet.."
"Anton.... please." Beg filling your eyes and he softly kisses you before he moves his attention back on the condom he didn't put on, taking it and placing it on his cock. He lifts himself over you, one hand on your waist, the other busy aligning himself with your cunt.
You feel his tip enter you slowly, "Is that okay?" You nod, grabbing his hand when you feel him push in just a little more. His fingers interlock with yours, squeezing them when he enters you fully. A whimper escaping his lips from how tight you feel around him.
"Fuck..'Ton... You're huge.." You moan from the feeling of you being full, you were surprised he fit, though you give all props to your wetness. Your comment making his face flush full red, he honestly never put much thought into his size. He rests his head on your shoulder, afraid to move in case it hurts you. When you've gotten used to the feeling of him inside you, you caress his hand with your thumb, "You can move."
"Fuck," Is all he can muster out when he thrusts into you. The way you feel around him makes him feel like he's on cloud 9. His cock reaching places inside of you that you didn't even know could be reached.
Biting your lip, you squeeze his hand the same way he did earlier when he thrusts in a slightly faster pace. Anton's eyes were glued to the way your breasts bounced with each time he entered inside of you, "Y-you're so beautiful.. all of you.."
You wrap your arms around him so he's close enough for you to be able to kiss him. His soft voice louder now that he was closer, making you able to hear him clearly. From the way Anton's moans were coming out, you could tell he was getting closer and closer to release. So you let go of his hand to bring it between you guys, rubbing your clit to the pace of Anton's thrusts. When sees, he replaces your hand with his. His thumb moving in circles with applied pressure.
You felt a knot grow in your stomach, moving your hips up to match his causing him to even deeper. "I-I'm gon- cum.."
"We'll cu-cum together, o-okay?" He suggests and you nod. You feel Anton's thrusts become sporadic, and you can tell he's struggling to keep up with the pace. "Cum."
You feel intense pleasure grow before you reach your orgasm, moaning out his name as loud as you can. He cums too, and you can tell by the way his hips twitch against you, small "I love you, I love you so much," coming from his lips.
You both lay there, catching your breaths as you give him a hug with as much energy that is left in your body. He finally pulls out, removing the condom and he looks it before looking at you and softly laughs. "Can't believe we just did that."
"It hurt like a bitch at first," You reciprocate the laugh and you see concern enter his face.
"Oh it does, right.." He kisses your forehead, "I'm sorry princess. We will have to work on the size difference, huh?"
"I think we already did," You caress his cheek softly before patting him on the back, "Buckle up baby, we are doing that again."
antons been on my mind recently.. did NOT mean to make this as long as it ended up being.. - 🐠
pairing: switch! producer boyfriend! anton x sub! f. reader
🇨💿 🇳🇹🇦🇮🇳🇸 ꗃ SIZE KINK, kissing, lap sitting, tit & clit play, anton records a sex-tape in the studio, unprotected sex (back shots), roughly 1.8k words … !?
a/n: for @antonitty and her delusions - hope u like it bae !!
You sat idly on the studio couch, admiring your boyfriend from afar as he silently toggled with the sound desk, mixing a few rhythms.
Crossing your legs, you eyed him up and down, taking in the view of his focused frame.
“You’re pretty good at flicking and twisting those knobs, y’know?… I wonder how nice it’d be if you used that same energy to please me…”
He let out a soft breath, eyes still trained on the soundboard as he spoke, “Babe, you know I’d rather spend time with you… I just have to produce this track sample before tomorrow…”
“And then?…”
“I’m all yours,” he finished, flashing you a promising look through his shaggy bangs.
“Fineeee,” you agreed in a sarcastic tone, slightly rolling your eyes at him, “but can you let me try something on the record first?… it might help…”
Anton quirked a brow, turning to meet your face with his own intrigued one, “You mean like… singing?”
You simply nodded in response, just before promptly getting up from the couch to sit on his lap at the music desk.
He didn’t know what to do with his hands now that you were this close to him, so he simply rested them at each arm of the spinning chair.
“You might even learn a thing or two from me if you pay attention,” you went on, knowing that he’d smile at your playful words.
“Go ahead then, superstar… blow me away,” he whispered tauntingly, keeping his thighs firm as you adjusted yourself on top of him.
With his headphones secured around his head, Anton prepared himself to hear whatever it was that you wanted to add to the track project.
Pressing the red “record” button, you let the instrumental play for a few moments as you got a feel of the beat, this one sounding more R&B compared to his usually chill rhythms.
You started by toggling in a few bass notes on the drum-pad, watching Anton’s reflection in the soundproof screen ahead for any sign of reaction.
So far, he only bobbed his head slowly, still anticipating your next move.
That’s when you picked up the mic, bringing it to your lips and letting out the most pornographic moan you could muster.
Anton’s hands flew from the chair arms to take off his headphones, reaching forward to pause the track recording as you suddenly burst into a fit of giggles.
“Babe, what the hell?” He blushed, covering his face with one hand as butterflies rushed through his stomach, the sound of your moan replaying in his mind over and over, “this is serious, y’know?”
You turned around in his lap, taking in your boyfriend’s shy demeanor as you fought to hold back the laughter growing in your chest.
“What? Was it bad? I can do better if you want me to…,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes at him as he put his hands behind his head, slightly smirking at you despite the evidently nervous red flush of his cheeks, “you can even help me...”
“Don’t give me that look, ____,” he sighed, voice sounding a bit more raspy while still maintaining its usual softness.
Was it nerves?
Was he horny?…
Either way, it didn’t matter to you because he sounded so fucking hot right now—
“What look?” you pressed with a feigned expression of innocence before very intentionally wiggling in his lap a bit.
“Like you wanna be fucked,” Anton said with a wince at your actions, letting his eyelids fall slightly while looking down at you with a clenched jaw.
You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth so smoothly, his confidence alone causing you to squeeze your thighs together, already feeling so eager for him…
You couldn’t handle it when he behaved so switchy with you… starting off all shy before gradually becoming more and more bold.
His eyes eventually wandered back to the soundboard, so you took it as an opportunity to change the subject.
“You never told me if it was bad or not,” you started in the silence, mind just now becoming aware of Anton slowly getting harder beneath you.
“Well,” he hummed, letting his hands leave his head and slip down to your hips, “it was a solid 50-50, if I’m being honest…”
You scoffed dramatically, an offended hand flying to your chest, “How so?”
“Because… I always love the sounds you make for me, but not when you force them…”
His grip on your hips was firm now, holding you in place before just barely rocking you against his lap in skilled motions.
Despite the simplicity of his actions, your body started to feel dizzy with desire, mind fogging up as his clothed tip continued grinding beneath your core.
“Anton—”
“Shhh,” he interrupted, the feeling of his breath below your ear making you internally shiver, a feathery yet steady groan escaping his lips.
“Can I try something now?” he asked breathlessly, even though the question sounded more like a declaration than a proposal of permission.
“Mhmm,” you nodded submissively, eyes feeling heavy as the warmth amongst your bodies only grew, thanks to how stuffy the studio was.
Clicking the sound desk back on “record,” Anton slipped his headphones over your head, feeling himself get even hotter at how cute you looked in this moment, his chunky earmuffs barely fitting around your much smaller head.
By now though, Anton had easy access to your lower half, given the high-pleated-skirt you decided to wear that day.
You almost felt like half of your body escaped to another planet when Anton’s touch started to wander lower, his hands practically covering the entire expanse of your exposed thighs given how big they were.
His breath remained steady in this moment, despite how his heart kept stuttering like a broken record.
Or perhaps, a sexually excited one…
The subtle movements of your legs helped Anton to shimmy your panties down past your hips, all the way down to your ankles, and eventually the floor.
You sat with your soaking wet core atop your boyfriend’s lap now, two of his fingers soon finding your clit in slow, circular motions.
The thing was, Anton had finally let his intrusive thoughts win, having wanted to get a genuine recording of your moans for a while.
The idea always meddled in the back of his mind whenever you pranced into the studio while he was working on beats…
However, the only issue now was that you were feeling a bit shy with the recorder on again…
“C’mon baby, lemme hear you,” the boy nearly begged, words sounding a bit mumbled with the way he was kissing along your neck.
“I know you want to,” he taunted, free hand sliding up to grope your left tit while his other hand continued toying with your pussy, “no wonder you wore this slutty skirt for me today…”
His voice… it practically intoxicated you… the way it sounded so pure yet so condescending at the same time…
“F-fuck,” you stammered with a moan, furrowing your brows as his fingers applied pressure to your clit, the other hand slightly pinching your nipple as he knew just how to get you to those pretty sounds that he wanted out of you.
“Good girl~,” he whispered in a cooing manner, “but I know you can do better than that…”
He guided you to stand up on your wobbly legs, his fingers meddling with your slick as he towered behind you.
And although your ears were still muffed with his headset, you could clearly make out the sound of his belt unbuckling with tingly clinks, your pussy only pulsing with need.
Before you could even beg to be fucked, you felt one of Anton’s hands hike up your skirt, the other forcing your back to arch over the sound board as his hard length pressed between your folds.
He was way too fucking big, but part of you liked the idea of him potentially breaking you.
It wasn’t easy, but your boyfriend eventually slipped himself inside, letting his tip tease along the ridges of your heat before picking up the pace, the soft pants and occasional groans from his body sounding loud and clear thanks to the headphones you wore.
There was also something about hearing your own moans so audibly on top of his… hearing how he turned you into a whiny mess so easily…
Anton’s hazy eyes met your fucked out reflection in the glass screen ahead, your own vision wandering off to the sound wave reader on his music board.
The way it’s lines heightened with each desperate moan that left your sweaty bodies did nothing but crazy things to the knot tightening in your stomach.
“Touch me, Anton,” you practically whimpered, voice coming out in small hiccups given how hard he was pounding into you.
His hands were already so tight around your waist, but your whiny request let him know exactly where you wanted him… where you needed that extra intensity.
He went to grope your tits, lifting your body away from the sound board with ease as the sight of his flexed biceps nearly made you drool.
The pace of his hips remained fast and controlled as he continued fucking into you, the tip of his cock reaching so deep that you’re sure you felt it in your belly button.
Looking down, Anton saw that the recording had reached just over 3 minutes, despite how your pussy desperately clenched around him, a clear sign that you were close to finishing.
His mouth was full of saliva, not even remembering to swallow given how pleasure drunk he was right now.
And somehow, you caught onto this, turning your neck at an angle and guiding his plush lips to kiss you, only a few seconds passing before he inserting his tongue, grunting into your mouth.
“You sound so pretty, baby,” he said in between kissing you sloppily, right before taking his headphones off your head and tossing them on the couch, still connected to the music desk by a thin black wire, “listen…”
He whispered the last word against your lips, maintaining the most gentle look in his eyes as he kept bouncing your ass on his cock.
You meant to say something, but the weak cries of pleasure kept stalling your speech, the words becoming a jumbled mess in your head.
Anton’s strength helped to hold up your shaky body just as you felt your release gush around him, a bit of it seeping onto his thighs as he continued thrusting.
It didn’t take long for him to cum after that too, a beautiful series of moans spilling from his lips as he panted over you, letting his hand slide away to end the recording.
The screen read ‘5:18s’ before Anton reached over to save the track, leaving both of you shocked that you even finished that fast together…
Still a panting mess, your boyfriend held your hips close to his, letting his weight fall back in the spinning chair with you on top of him.
“We should totally do quickies in the studio more often,” you huffed tiredly, leaning back against Anton’s chest as he hugged you close, still inside your pussy.
“Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but maybe after I install an air conditioner in here, we can plan something,” he smiled, not even bothering to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face that inevitably kept your hot bodies clung together.
Your hand found his, fingers idly toying with the rings he wore as he adjusted himself beneath you, “I should probably let you get back to work now since I’ve distracted you enough already—”
“Let’s just stay like this for a little longer,” he interrupted, almost yawning at how comfortable he felt buried inside you in this moment, “please?”
“Of course, superstar,” you replied playfully, nestling into his warmth and letting your eyes fall shut as you listened to the sound of his gentle heartbeat…
you were anton's best friend. one of the most important people in the world to him. so how could anton not want to help you after your scumbag of an ex broke your heart. he could treat you so much better, he knew he could. and tonight he wanted so badly to prove that to you. to give you everything you've been missing.
"did that feel good, angel?" anton coos against you, pressing kisses on your clit. he already had you coming on his tongue twice. "come on, baby. you gonna let me make you feel good?" he whispers, absolutely smitten with how well you reacted to him. "what do you want now, honey? want me to dick you down the way you deserve?" the way you wasted no time in nodding your head eagerly, whiny begs leaving your lips had anton chuckling.
"so desperate for me already.." he whispered, his fingers gently stroking the skin of your thighs. he rests his head against your inner thigh and looked up at you, the look and sparkle in his eyes sparkling something novel inside of you. it would be a lie if you said that you'd never imagined him in this way – you had. more times than your like to admit. but this was way better than anything your imagination could come up with, and he could say the same. no other man had ever looked at you in that way before. "you're so pretty, love." he muttered. "so, so pretty. he didn't deserve you." you were the most precious thing in the world to him, and he'd do anything in his power to protect you. he adored you – cared about you perhaps more than a friend should – and you knew that. you knew that all too well. now that he's finally got you underneath him, you're damn right he's going to remind you just how special you are.
praises and reminders of his love and appreciation of you being whispered against your skin as he trailed sweet kisses up your stomach until he reached your lips. "i love you," he breathed against your lips, brushing your hair out of your face. he didn't even give you time to respond before pressing his soft lips against your own as you breathed each other in. it's not like you'd never told each other you loved each other before, you had. it's just that this time it was different.
it's not long until he's stuffing you full of his cock. and when he finally bottoms out, being balls deep inside his pretty girl, he could've sworn he almost came on the spot at the little noises that escaped your lips and the expression on your face. "too big angel?" anton cooed, his tone potentially coming across as condescending depending on how you interpreted it. you nodded, mewling softly as you clawed at his chest. that made him chuckle. "you're gonna have to take it for me if you want me to make you feel good," he said, his tone soft. once you gave him the okay to move, he began thrusting. his strokes were deep and slow, groaning softly against your lips as his fingers laced through your hair. you wrapped around him perfectly, so wet and warm and responsive, all for him. "such a good girl for me.. taking me so well," he whispered shakily.
"you gonna cum?" he asked as he held your hand tightly. "come on, angel. cum for m– fuck, you're so tight- cum for me. cream this cock.. cream my cock, princess." and when you finally do cum together, he kisses your forehead. "you did such a good job, baby. i'm so proud of you." the adoration in both of your eyes was almost overwhelming. you truly were the most beautiful girl in the world to him, but you were even prettier when you came around his cock.
soon enough, you were all cleaned up, in his arms, whispering the sweetest things to each other, the heartbreak you felt a few hours prior at the hands of your ex now being replaced with a newfound love and affection for your best friend.
Literally no one asked. But I just had to write something sweet and domestic
A melody that is equal parts romantic, equal parts horrifically tragic bleeds from the strings being coaxed by Wonbin's long fingers. You watch dreamily as he plays you a tune, while you both lay utterly defeated on the couch.
The Friday night lights scattered around the city, bleed in through the cracks in the curtain and your entire front is warmed by Wonbin's back. Your eyes had fluttered closed sometime in between his playing and so you would never know that his eyes were trained on you, as his head rested backwards and his fingers played away.
“Why are you always playing me some Orwellian shit?” You attempt to sound annoyed.
Your eyes are still closed but a light chuckle reaches your ears and you smile, satisfied. Wonbin peers down at his fingers, mindlessly dancing ober the cords as he says,“I think it was supposed to be romantic,” His voice is like gravel and thunder and your stomach warms inside you.
“Almost as romantic as two teenagers killing themselves for one another.” Your eyes flutter open as your fingers find their way at the tips of Wonbin's messy hair, “Would you die for me, Binnie?” his answer is grim in its intensity and instancy,
“Die? Probably not. But I would probably attempt to hurt someone very, very badly for you,” his gaze is still lowered to his strumming as he softly says, “not just physically, but there's plenty of other ways to hurt someone. I'd probably do that, instead of actually dying for you.”
You were forced to get accustomed to Wonbin's morbidity because it almost came as a by-product of his various other terrific attributes. He speaks with a near constant air of grimness that makes your irrational heart swell.
He continues his morose little tune until you cut him off quite abruptly, quite rudely when you say:
"When was the last time you did some hair care?"
That had probably been the very last question he expected to hear (and perhaps maybe even wanted to hear) so early into a rainy Friday evening. His limbs were laden with post-performance exhaustion and all he wished to do, was continue laying between your legs, his head cushioned by your breasts. He was in absolute bliss with your hand patting down his head nearly coaxing him into an early slumber.
It was the perfect way to end a stressful day, until you invariably decided to choose violence.
Wonbin cranes his head back slightly and he narrows his sleepy eyes as he groans out, "Is this your characteristically nice way of telling me my hair looks bad?"
You try to coax his head back down onto your chest, and he steadily complies as you try to pepper him with reassurances, "This is my characteristically nice way of telling you that you need some hair care."
And he concedes, almost immediately with a daft little shrug. He's not sure if it's the affect of the softness of your chest pillowing his cheek or the softness of your body underneath him but Wonbin chooses to see this as the universe gifting him with the possibility of being seated between your thighs while you weave your fingers through his hair to your heart's content.
The thought effects him in ways he did not anticipate and soon, he is turning his face into your chest and nuzzling into the cleavage. "When do we start?"
An obnoxious, borderline unladylike laugh pushes its way through youre throat as you try to shrug the boy off of your chest but to no avail. Wonbin's kisses along your cleavage are unrelenting and you release a breathless little chuckle. "I proposed that we do your hair-" You finally succeed in pushing his head back, "Not that you end up inside of me on the damn couch."
"Why can't you do my hair…” Wonbin turns to ease his fingers along the waistband of your sweats, “...After you let me inside.” He continues to splay wet, needy kisses along your chest.
While he distracts himself, you inconspicuously hook your fingers into the hair tie securing his raven hair back and you pull, letting his hair fall like a across his face while he continues to assault your skin with hickies. You're momentarily stunned by the sheer length of Wonbin's hair as he continues to lap hungrily at your skin, deciding to stretch his bravery and let his hand crawl up under your loose shirt.
"Your hair is so pretty, Binnie,"
"Your everything is so pretty, baby," He groans and you can tell from the low panting in his voice and the hand skimming the underside of your breasts that he is getting himself worked up.
While Wonbin shifts his weight on top of you so that he begins to straddle you, you're very alarmed but not surprised to find him already completely hard.
A very familiar, very distracting bulge pushing against your thigh brings you back to earth.
"I need to fuck you now," He affirms robotically with a curt nod of his head of hair spilling around his face.
"Down boy,” you shoot out a hand against his chest. Keeping him at arm's length. “We need to wash it now,"
"I need to fuck you now,"
"You're insatiable today,"
"You say this as if it's something new."
"Fair enough," you murmer, letting your head fall on the armrest as you watch your boyfriend seated above. His bushy eyebrows scrunch up until he's racking his fingers through his hair, attempting to detangle the web of raven locks and failing horribly.
"Hurry up, so I can tie this back up," he grumbles in apparent vexation. "I hate having it like this." You throw your head back as you wrestle to wriggle yourself up from underneath him but he stays put.
"Afterwards, you let me give you the most mind blowing orgasm you've ever had,"
"Afterwards," you grumbled back, using his distraction to knock his balance of kilter, "-you let me put some of my hair clips in."
He had been a grumbling, moody mess throughout the entire process. Washing his hair in the bathroom sink while Wonbin sat on a stool had been a nightmare filled with you having to swat away at Wonbin's hand whenever it got too bold and decided to attack you while you were hovering over him, letting the water wash the suds away. You were pleasantly surprised by just how much you were enjoying running your fingers through his scalp, stirring up the shampoo until it created a halo of bubbles on his head, all while you were humming steadily to his latest song.
"You're very pretty," Wonbin said suddenly as you proceeded to towel down his hair. Your heart squeezed with adoration inside its cage.
"You're very pretty, too."
Your reply released a whirlwind of butterflies scattering inside his stomach, threatening to climb out his oesophagus and spill out of his mouth. The exchange was perhaps so tender it almost felt unreal.
His eyes, as dark as they are, as endless as they are, bore into yours. You're still hovering above him, but the towel falls gently to the floor, and soon, you're being pulled into that spindly web that was the force of Wonbin's entire freaking aura and you're leaning in close.
“I have to finish up.” It comes out as a whisper.
You immediately know when your eyes flit down to his lips, thay you're already too far gone.
“Why are you leaning in then?” He whispers back with a lazy smirk spilling across his lips.
“Because you're making me,” whispering is all you're both able to do, in fear of shattering this incredibly charged energy between you.
“Am I?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head with his own eyes now staring up at your lips. He is feeling less apologetic for his unsavoury thoughts because Wonbin's has been forced to endure all of 5 minutes of you scrubbing at his hair, while your breast pushed right against his face.
Apologetic is the last thing he feels right now.
“You're a fucking tease,” he breathes out. And his large hand is slithering up the back of your neck until your lips are crashing onto his with a surprised yelp.
As your lips move in tandem with one another, Wonbin's hand never leaves your neck. Instead, he chooses to prolong the kiss by breaking away in short intervals. Never straying too far.
Wonbin's mouth is all encompassing. He slithers his tongue in almost conspiratorially and you gasp at the sudden yet swift intrusion. Both your tongues meet in a fiery, borderline barbaric kiss and you swear on everything you love that you could cum off of making out with him alone.
How utterly embarrassing that would be.
When the faintest moan slips out of your mouth Wonbin abandons all other inhibitions. He rises from the chair like lightning and you nearly roll backwards from the sheer size of him.
His heavy shoulders are bent down to keep your lips locked against his as he pushes you against the sink. With one more kiss, Wonbin spins you around until your front is facing the foggy mirror, and his front is pressed against your back.
He leans his head down, pressing his lips to your ear as he says, “Are you gonna let me in now?” His fingers slide against the waistband of your sweats and you immediately know what he means.
A wanton sound bleeds from your chest and you push your ass backwards, pressing it against the bulge in his sweats.
Wonbin's other hand finds the front of your throat as he cranes your neck backwards.
“You gonna be good for me, Princess?” He asks in a vaguely condescending manner as he juts his bottom lip out and gazes down at you, mirroring your pained, wanton expression.
“You finally ready to be a good little girl, huh?”
You couldn't stand his infuriating teasing any longer and so you make the daring decision to push your own hand into the front of your sweats- or perhaps you try to. Wonbin's hand locks around your wrist and squeezes until you're wincing in pain. His gaze is unfazed as he releases the grip on your wrist and pushes his own hand down your pants.
“You're so fucking stupid sometimes, Angel.” His words run like rain on the forest floor and your eyes flutter shut when his fingers push past your drenched underwear.
“You're fucking soaked, baby,” He croaks, keeping his nose nuzzled in your neck as he swipes his fingers along your folds. Wonbin soon loses himself the movements of his own fingers, until his bucking against your ass while muttering dirty nothings into your ear in a dizzying amalgamation.
“M-More, please-”
That immediately rouses him from his pleasure filled state. Wonbin blinks away the pleasure and straightens his slightly hunched frame.
“You want my cock inside you baby?” His eyes are trained on the side of your face while swiping his hands across the mirror so you could see the mess he's already made of you.
Your lips hang open and Wonbin's damp hair falls over his face as he towers over you.
“My good girl wants me inside of her so badly,” he whispers, almost robotically, as if he were chanting the words to himself as he pushes his hand in his sweats. As he begins to fist his aching cock Wonbin lazily brings his hooded eyes up to your reflection and you both watch each other through the mirror.
He looks so incredibly hungry and so you do nothing but comply as he places a hand on your lower back, forcing you over the sink.
“You're gonna be good for me?” He looks visibly pained when you nod slowly before allowing him to pull your sweats down enough to accommodate his cock at your centre.
“Tell me you'll be good,” his voice shook with the force of his own arousal and you could tell, from his voice alone, that he was already slipping into domspace.
“I'll be goo- fuck!” He's already easing to you with little to no preparation and from his shallow thrusts alone, you can tell how needy he is.
“Ah-fuck, you're so tight…”
Wonbin loses himself in the warmth of your cunt. He paws at your breasts, his fingers tweaking your nipples as he cock fucks you deeper and deeper. He breathes heavily as he pulls the hem of his shirt up, dead set on watching his cock disappear inside your wet folds.
And you watch in the mirror: his flat stomach glistening and moving in tandem with his needy thrusts while his hand swipes obliviously away at his bangs.
“F-Fuck you feel so good- You feel so fucking good, baby,”
You're clenching around him in the wake of his endless praise and your moans are amplified inside the bathroom.
“F-Fuck- Binnie-”
“Binnie?” He pants out with his fingers latching onto your hips, pulling you back to meet his furious thrusts, “Who the fuck's ‘Binnie’?”
You squeeze your eyes shut and your arms grow particularly weak when Wonbin hits that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. You're so completely cock drunk but Wonbin holds your weakening frame up with his hand around your throat.
Wonbin's lips tickle your ear as he says, “You wanna call me Daddy, don't you?”
You're absolutely fargone, and you're muttering incoherently while he uses you. In a moment like this, you would say yes to damn near anything.
“It's too m-much, Daddy,”
He's shaking his head, big eyes boring into yours as he tuts in a faux baby voice, “It's just the right amount, baby,” His thrusts grow irregular as he gazes down at your fucked out expression, “Daddy's fucking you just right, isn't he Princess-”
“Daddy, I'm gonna-”
“It's okay, Baby,” His melodic voice succeeds in bringing you to the crevice of your orgasm and melt into him, “You're listening so well, aren't you?” His voice cracks as he spills his seed inside of you, “S-So fucking good.” Wonbin buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoots his cum inside of you. The hand on your neck never eases away and you're still caught in throes of pleasure when he splayed multiple drunken kisses against the side of your head
“God you're such a good girl.” He whispers before splaying one final kiss to the back of your head.
You would always be terrified that one day, you would wake up and realise that this big hearted raven haired boy had been a fragment of your imagination.
Nothing but a dream.
A really, really good dream.
That thought, no matter how irrational, never left you without a wave of unease.
Birthday sex with anton surprising him with lingerie and a little bow to unwrap you and he can do whatever he wants :)
🎀 cw. smut 18+ mdni, dom!anton, consented recording, unprotected sex, oral (m), breeding kink, manhandling, little bit of crying, little biting (just once), kinda lovey dovey if you squint
⭐️wc. 2.8k
🎧 nasty. ariana grande • lay me down. steve lacy
after a long day of activities and spending a nice dinner with your boyfriend and his friends, you two were headed back to your shared apartment.
it’s his birthday, and you had to make sure he had the best birthday possible. you went all out for his special day, making him breakfast in bed, taking him to all his favorite stores, and of course, a dinner with all of his favorite people. it was perfect.
almost perfect, you still had one more thing in store for him.
the entire ride home, he was telling you how much he appreciates everything you've done for him, and that you really made his day special.
"i have one more gift for you, wait right here while i grab it" you say as you two make it inside your shared apartment, and he gives you a small okay while he waits in the living room for you to come back out.
you quickly make your way into your bedroom, going into the closet to pull out the pink lingerie set you had bought for tonight. it was a cute bubblegum pink mesh robe, the belt made out of a pretty silk ribbon and trimmed with pink feathers along the arms and the bottom. under it you wore the matching lacy pink bra and panties, hearts embroidered onto the thin fabric. you tie the robe so it looks like a bow, and you make your way back to the living room.
"close your eyes," your voice was shy as you peeked out the door, not wanting anton to see you yet. he could just see your face peeking out down the hallway, and he chuckles at how you cute you were. he puts his hands over his eyes, that way you would know that he really couldn't see anything.
you walk to him slowly, trying to stay quiet to really add suspense. once you're standing in front of him, you bring your hands to his, removing them off his eyes. they stay closed for a second, and when he's opening them, you see the way his jaw drops.
"wow" he was stunned, the way you looked like a pretty present just for him.
"wanna unwrap me?" you giggle, taking a small step back so he could look at you fully. he nods, grabbing the silk ribbon that held your robe together and pulling, revealing the full lingerie set for him, and his jaw drops again.
"best birthday gift i've gotten today, when did you get this?" his fingers trace the lining of your bra, then grabbing your tits with both of his hands and squeezing them. he liked the way he could see your nipples peek through the lace. he wanted to touch them, pinch them through the bra and get you worked up. he noticed that the bra had the hook in the front, and that tempted him even more, wanting to rip the fabric off of you.
"couple days ago, you like it?" you tilt your head up so you could make eye contact with the boy, watching as he took in your appearance
"i love it"
that's when he pulls you in for a kiss, both hands cupping your face as he leans down to press his lips on yours. it was already filled with desperation, barely having a moment for yourselves all day. he groans into the kiss when your hands wrap around his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair behind his head. you two are in the middle of the living room, but not for long before you both are walking towards the wall while your lips are still connected. you're being pressed against the wall in the hallway, letting anton press his weight onto you. you pull away, lips ghosting over his while you two catch your breaths.
"since its your special day, we can do anything you want" your words are just above a whisper, opening your eyes so you could look at the way anton was staring you down.
"anything?" he smirks, ideas running through his head already. you give him a small mhm before his lips are on yours again, this time his hands move to rest on your waist. you had to stand on your tippy toes, which was a challenge because of the way anton pulls you into him, along with him struggling by being bent over to kiss you. so he pulls away from your lips, bending down some more to hook his hands under your thighs and lift you, pressing your body into the wall before he's kissing you again.
you gasp at the sudden movements, all sounds being swallowed before you could let them out with the way anton was shoving his tongue in your mouth, somehow more needier than he was before. his fingers knead the skin of your ass, shifting you slightly so you could press right on his now fully hard cock.
the friction from his jeans on your barely covered core had you whining against his mouth, trying to move your hips more but it was hard when anton was holding you up. his kisses travel from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck and to your chest. he was sucking the skin harshly, murmuring little praises about how pretty you were for him.
you wanted to tell him to hurry up and fuck you already, but tonight was about him and you had to put up with whatever he wanted to do, even if you were aching for him to fill you up.
almost as if he wanted the same thing, he was moving you two into your bedroom quickly, holding you up to bring you to the bed. he nearly throws you, making you bounce slightly when you made contact with the mattress. he lets out a quiet sorry before he's turned his back to you, rummaging through one of his drawers and pulling some things out. the room was dimly lit, so you couldn't see what he was pulling out, and he was completely silent, which excited you.
you knew that when he got quiet that he had something up his sleeve, and with him being able to use you however he likes tonight, you knew that you were in for something that wasn't in the ordinary for you two.
once he's finally turned around, you see that he has in his hands. his camcorder.
"wanna record us, that okay?" he almost looked nervous, it wasn't the first time you two had recorded yourselves fucking, but it wasn't common so he still felt shy bringing it up. but it turned you on that he wanted to keep memory of this moment, so you nod, whining out a yes so he knows that you really want it.
"good, turn around for me?" he hums, and you turn yourself so you're sitting on your knees in the middle of the bed, waiting for antons next request. you feel his fingers on your shoulders, and they tug at the robe that still covered you, pulling it off you slowly. you shiver, feeling cold without the thin fabric covering you. he's still quiet behind you, but you don't ask any questions.
that's when you feel his hands on your wrists, holding them behind your back. then you feel a soft fabric wrap around your wrists, not too tight but just enough to keep them in place behind you. he had taken the ribbon off the robe, using it to tie your hands behind your back. he made it into a cute bow, and he smiles at his work before he's pushing your body forward, a small yelp leaving you as your face and chest are now pressed on the bed, ass in the air.
"so fucking pretty, can't wait to fuck you" he groans as he realizes that the panties were a thong, the fabric disappearing between your ass, and barely covering your cunt from how thin they were. he grabs the camcorder, turning it on and holding it in his hand while the other roams your body. you trembled at the touches, not being able to move much with your hands restricted.
his hand caresses the skin of your ass before he's slapping it, your body jolting from the impact. he soothes the area right after, before slapping you again, then gripping the flesh harshly. you whine, skin feeling hot with every touch he placed on you. he brings his fingers to hook on your panties, pulling them from where they buried between your cheeks and pulling them so they rub against your clit, another whine coming out of you. he pulls them again, your wetness leaking through the lace the more he pulls on them.
"fuck, you're so wet" he groans, bring the camera closer to your dripping cunt so he could move your panties to the side, then spreading your folds so he could see it better.
"tonnie, want you now" you wiggle your ass a bit, getting impatient with his teasing.
"patience baby, i get to take my time with you today" his hand comes down on your ass again, a warning to you that you should listen to him. you whine, clenching around nothing as you wait for antons next move. you feel him moving behind you, and you hear some shuffling sounds before the bed is dipping again and he's picking you up from the bed. you gasp, being basically tossed around without any words being said.
he's setting you on your feet, back on the floor before he's pushing your shoulder down so you could get on your knees for him. he grabs the camera again, he wanted a video of you sucking him off, he always thought you were so pretty with his cock in your mouth, looking up at him as you struggled to take the whole thing.
"open," he presses his index finger on your bottom lip, tapping it twice and you open your mouth, lolling your tongue out for him. he gets closer to you, and you lean to lick a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock. he hisses, hand going into your hair to control your movements. you repeat your actions twice, before swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him into your mouth. you could feel him twitch when you let his cock reach the back of your throat, swallowing around him which makes him moan
"shit, can i fuck your throat baby?" his grip on your hair tightens, and you hum in approval. you relax your throat, feeling anton trust into your mouth.
spit and precum leaked out of the corners of your mouth as anton fucked your throat, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to focus on your breathing. each time his tip hit the back of your throat, you would clench around him, making his hips stutter. he used his hand that was in your hair to push you harder into his cock, holding you still for a few seconds before letting you go. he would pull out, let you breathe, then do it again. you could tell he was getting close when his thrusts were getting sloppy, and his moans were a bit higher pitched as he looked down at you. but he pulls you off of him, letting you breathe and your eyes open and look at him confused.
"wanna cum in you" his voice is low, and he's helping you stand up, getting back on the bed. he gets on before you, sitting up against the headboard and gesturing for you to get on top of him, so you move to him, straddling his thighs, his cock resting on his stomach while he holds you in place by your hip. picking the camera back up, he pans it so it would get a view of you sitting on him, with that submissive look in your eye that he loved so much. his hand on your hip travels up to your breasts, groping the skin over your bra. your hips jerk up, his fingertips brushing across your nipples. his hand moves back down, this time down to the hem of your panties, dipping his fingers into them and collecting your wetness on his fingers. they prod at your hole, dipping into you slightly making you almost fall over before he's pulling his hand out.
"tonnie,"
"i got you baby, i got you. you're doing so good for me, making me feel so good. think you can ride me?" his fingers are in your mouth now, sucking off your own arousal off him. you give him a nod, humming around his digits before he's pulling them out of your mouth, then moving to push your panties to the side. you slide a bit closer to him, so he could align himself with your cunt.
the tip slowly dips into you, and you whine at the intrusion. you were so wet, that he could slide into you with ease, but he was so big that no matter how turned you were, that initial stretch had you shutting your eyes tight as you slowly sunk down onto his cock. once he was fully in you, you roll your hips so you could get a feel for him. he has the camera pointed at where you two meet, his hand rests on your him, guiding your movements the way you both like.
it was slow, you two looking in each others eyes as you rock against him. your whimpers fill the room along with his own, each time you sunk onto him had you both a mess.
tears swelled in your eyes, the pleasure was too good mixed in with the burning in your thighs. and the fact that you couldn't touch anton was killing you, you needed to feel his muscles tense under your touch before you went insane. anton caught on that you were struggling, keeping you still on his cock as he readjusted you two so he was laying down, and placing the camera on the bedside table, angling it so that way you two were still in frame.
"wanna touch you, tonnie. please" you whine as both of his hands are touching you, one going up to your tits and the other back on your hips to get you to move again. he watches you, seeing the desperation in your eyes along with the tears that threaten to spill. he decides to give you what you want, hand reaching behind you to pull the ribbon loose. your hands instantly run down from his shoulders to his stomach, touching him like it was your first time.
he pulls you down into his chest, and he kisses you softly as his arms wrap around you. he moves his hips up, thrusting into you slowly while he moans into your mouth. this angle had him hitting a spot that had you seeing stars, and you struggled to kiss him back with how deep he felt inside of you. you rested your head in his neck, moaning into his skin. with every thrust you would push your hips back onto his cock, finding a steady rhythm. your clit pressed on his pubic bone added to the pleasure, and you could feel your orgasm building up. he was close too, so he tried to hold out as much as he could so you two could cum at the same time.
"gna cum for me?" his words were hot in your ear, his pace picking up slightly.
"mhm, so close tonnie"
"good, you're taking me so well, gna fill you up, fuck you full of my cum baby" his words were staggered, trying to get the words out as best as he could with you squeezing so tightly around him.
with a few more thrusts you were cumming, teeth sinking into antons skin as you moaned around the flesh, your pussy spasming around his cock as he continued to move his hips. your orgasm triggered his own, hips stilling for a moment as his cum painted your walls white, feeling warm as he filled you up. his hips started moving again slowly, fucking you both through your orgasms. you take your teeth off of him, licking at the skin to soothe the bitemark.
when you both caught your breaths, anton reached back for the camera, bringing it to show your face and his, kissing you softly while his other hand rubbed circles into your hip, then going to turn the video off.
"happy birthday, baby. i love you"
🎀 idk why this took me way too long to write but i hope you guys enjoyed!! and happy very late birthday anton!!
contains: best friends to lovers, new years eve traditions, missionary, love confessions
“it’s me.” you said to the door.
you didn’t even have to knock before the door was opened. you were greeted with a smiling anton. you smiled back, looking down at the ground for a moment.
“come in.” anton whispered, opening his door wider for you.
you walk in but anton left the door open. you saw that on his bed there was a child sleeping. it was usually like this at your joint family parties. one room would become the unofficial coatcheck and the other would be the designated room for sleeping babies. anton’s room was always the place of choice for babies to lay their heads down. he had a way with kids, they gravitated towards him and they always took a liking to his soft voice. his height was an advantage too, kids enjoyed climbing him and being on his shoulders as he walked through the house.
“one second. i’m gonna put him in the room down the hall.” anton said and he lumbered onto the bed.
you stayed in his room while anton carefully scooped the sleeping child into his arms to take them into a separate room. when he returned he closed the door behind him. you two stayed there for a moment, just looking at one another.
everyone in your life started to notice the looks. they’d bump your shoulders while mentioning the stutter anton would have or how light and airy your voice would get. you weren’t sure if these statements had any validity. there were always comments about you and anton’s relationship. you two were kids, growing up together because your parents were close friends. you remember as a child anton’s parents jokingly saying you two have to get married so your two families would finally be related. you made a sour face and so did anton. at your age, boys were yucky and to anton, so were girls. you both decided you didn’t like each other like that when you kissed on the playground underneath the jungle gym. it was a quick peck, you both pulling away and shaking your heads. you two were still close, becoming your own people up side by side. you both went through so much change growing up but being by the others side remained the same.
lately though, there was something in the air. maybe it was the holidays and your weariness that came with the cold weather. but the way anton would look at you recently made you bashful, always compelled to look away or brush hair behind your ear. anton turned into a charming and handsome young man right in front of your eyes. he still kept the same soft voice and kindness you had as children, something you admired. you wanted to ignore the feelings but the way he would compliment you started making you sheepish. when something looked particularly good on him you would feel hot in the face, embarrassed for no reason. you found yourself sometimes thinking back to that kiss on the playground. when you were kids you guys simply just went back to playing, never bringing it up again. if that happened now, you believe that your body would burst into flames.
seeing both your families look at you knowingly validated your feelings, but regardless it was prying. you also didn’t want the comments to get to your head or ruin what you and anton had. it was special having someone in your life understand you the way anton did. you didn’t want to lose it, which is why you were happy you and anton were away from your two families as the party went on downstairs.
without prying eyes and knowing glances, it was very comfortable. conversation with anton had always flowed easily, both of you having similar senses of humor. occasionally during a joke you would hit his solid arm lightly, or he would put his hand on your thigh. it would linger there for a second before he would pull it away. feelings you had to beat to death with a stick stirred over your skin, but you were able to continue the conversations. before you knew it you guys talked half the night away.
sometime during the night, your family went home. something about an early morning the next day. you were able to convince them to let you stay under the guise of watching the ball drop, but what you really wanted was to be with anton.
his parents were funny about the new year. every time they would rave about staying awake to watch the ball drop, being able to ease into the new year. what actually always ended up happening was that they would be knocked out on the couch watching the new years eve show. every year, anton would take a picture of his parents sleeping into the new year.
you and anton also almost missed the new year until he checked his phone.
“wow. time is flying.” anton said.
you looked at the time. it was ten minutes until the new year.
“did you bring the grapes?” anton asks.
you smile at the mention of your silly little tradition. even though you and anton have never been to spain, every year you found yourselves crowded underneath a table on new years eating twelve grapes. it was believed to bring you good luck and good fortune, but you were never the type to believe in that type of stuff. each year though, you had anton by your side. you think that’s good fortune on its own. so you humored him each year—you supplied the grapes and he supplied the table.
“i left them downstairs in the fridge.” you said.
anton stood up his seat on the floor and you stood up from his bed. he went towards his bedroom door and you followed.
“let’s go get them. but be quiet so we don’t wake up my parents.” anton said, putting a finger to his lips.
the new years eve television special was blaring on the speakers, so loud you could’ve ran down the stairs at full speed and it wouldn’t down out the sound of the announcers on the screen. but you and anton loved tradition, so you snuck down the stairs the same way you did as children. anton leaned against his wall comically as he snuck down and you did the same.
you held hands often as children. it was always for reason, like if the other wasn’t moving fast enough or if you were scared. so when anton grabbed your hand for no reason as you snuck downstairs you thought you would stumble down the steps. but you let your hand rest inside of anton’s as you mirrored his footsteps so the stairs wouldn’t creak.
you guys successfully retrieved the grapes and two bowls, sneaking your way back upstairs. you didn’t let go of eachother’s hands once, not until anton led you underneath a table in his room. you both struggled to fit underneath the table, laughing at anton’s attempt to make his large body compact.
“i can’t believe we’ve been doing this since we were kids.” you say wistfully.
you open up the container of grapes in between the two of you. anton takes the time to inspect each grape before dropping it into your bowl, making sure it’s one of the firm and sweet ones. anton has always done this each year, while he just grabbed the first twelve for himself, not caring what they looked like.
“so much has changed since then, hasn’t it?” anton said lightly.
“we’re still the same.” you hum, nodding your head.
it was hard to try and seem nonchalant sitting so close next to anton. even while he was sitting underneath the table he was taller than you, his head brushing the top of the table. you were light in the head being able to smell anton, to look at him so close. have his eyelashes always been this wispy? his cheeks looked so soft you were compelled to close what little space was left between the two of you to feel his skin. but you focused on grabbing the crispy and sweet grapes with a shaky hand.
anton was happy that you were enveloped in tasting the grapes. if you were focused on other things, he would have time to calm down his heart that was beating like a bird. he couldn’t even reach for his own grapes, too scared his shaking hand would give away the confession that was on his lips. each time you looked at him he was suddenly nervous. anton was already the shy type and the way you had him only made everything worse.
you both could hear the counting on the television upstairs as you each ate a grape, saying each month of the new year between each one. anton was able to take a grape with you, having to move his hand to rest on his knee to hide the shaking. when you get to the final month, the ball drops. you can hear it downstairs and you look at anton’s digital clock above his bed to doublecheck. it’s officially another year that you have started with anton.
“happy new year.” you say, finishing the last grape.
“happy new year.” anton says back to you.
his voice sounds far off like he’s thinking about something. his focus goes all over your face, lingering on your eyes before stopping completely looking at your lips. you scooted closer to him. you found yourself staring at his lips too. you cleared your throat to point at his bowl filled with grapes.
“anton you barely ate any of your—“
you were cut off mid sentence by anton closing the gap between your bodies. you could barely process what happened before anton gently pressed his lips to yours. your eyes fluttered shut. you could feel his soft lips, tasting sweet like fruit. as fast as he placed his lips on yours he pulled back from you.
your eyes snapped wide open in shock trying to process what had just happened. you had a million things rushing through your mind, the overwhelming need to tell him about his plump lips rested on your lips. you were there, frozen like a statue watching the red creep across anton’s face.
“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that. i just thought—there was this feeling i’ve had about you lately i thought it was mutual.” anton said.
the red creeped to his ears as he rambled to you. immediately you should’ve said something, quelling his worries of making a move. but you selfishly gave yourself a moment to bask in the feeling of mutual pining. you sunbathed in validation, all the fleeting looks and sudden touches made sense. you put your hand over anton’s. he stopped his rambling to look at you in the eyes.
“i like you too,” you say, smiling. “and we can talk about it later, but right now i really want you to kiss me again.”
anton goes back in to kiss you. this time he lets himself fully relax into you, and you pull him in by his sweater. he’s so close you can feel his hair resting on your forehead and his nose bumps yours every time you tilt your head to get a better angle. being with anton already doesn’t feel like the first time, finding a comfortable rhythm in the kisses. you think for a second that he knows you so well he’s completely tuned into your kisses, when you’ll tilt your head or when you need a breath of fresh air. you never want to break apart from him.
you listen to the sounds of your lips making contact fill the room. you’ve dreamed of this, having anton’s hand on your face so he can kiss you deeper. it’s not long before you let the kiss turn into something more desperate. you let your tongue come out and swipe across his lip. it’s a bold move on your end, one that anton responds to instantly. he prods his tongue into your mouth, tilting your head to feel the inside of your cheek. the kisses turn messy, you bring a hand to the nape of his neck to pull at his hair.
anton’s other hand rests on your hip. he’s so close to your ass, you both know it. anton still has his reservations, how far you’ll let him go before he wakes up from this dream. but he is taking to paradise when you lean your body towards his, lifting your ass so he can rest his hand on there fully. he squeezes his hand into the pocket of your jeans and you moan feeling the pressure of his fingers against you.
anton was already a jumpy person. he blames it on his anxiety, always putting him in a fight or flight mode. but when you moan into the kiss he nearly leaps out of his skin. his head hits the bottom of the table with such force that the things on top of it shake. you look at him wide eyed asking if he’s okay, but anton is only focused on getting you to make that sound again. the way you look at him with large doe eyes and glossy lips has him thinking about all the time he wasted not kissing you. if anton had known how badly you wanted him he would’ve made a move a long time ago. but he doesn’t want to focus on the past. right now, you had a fully exposed neck and you two had all the time in the world.
you’re still worried about the possible brain damage anton might’ve faced when he brings his thumb to swipe across your lip.
“you’re lips are so soft.” anton whispers. “and they taste like grapes.”
before you can come close to anton again he’s leaning back into you. instead of your lips, he rests his face in the crook of your neck. he kisses the skin there repeatedly, getting sloppier and sloppier with each kiss. when he takes in your skin and sucks on it, you let out a gasp. anton uses his hand in your back pocket and his other one to guide your back to the floor. the change in position has excitement taking over. you never thought you would have anton hovering over you giving you a hickey on your skin. anton takes his hand out of your pocket and tucks his fingers underneath the waistline of your jeans. you take your hands underneath his sweater, feeling his bare body.
anton moves to the other side of your neck. you get the quickest glance at him before he retreats into the crook of your neck. his eyes are big and blown out and you lift your hips so your stomach touches his. anton’s hand supports your arch, using all of his strength to keep your bodies pressed against on another. he starts using teeth when sucking on your skin and you moan again.
“i love that sound so much.” anton says.
you moan again. hearing anton abandon his shyness so he could shamelessly flirt with you had you making sounds you didn’t know you could make. anton lets his hand hover over your shirt, resting on your chest. he moves your breast around in a circular motion. you need to be out of your clothes already, feeling anton inside of you. but patience is a virtue, so you let him feel you up like hormonal teenagers.
“so pretty. i’ve always wondered what you sounded like.” anton whispers against the skin of your neck.
“does it sound good?” you ask.
“it’s better than what i ever could’ve imagined.”
he grips the fabric over your breast a little tighter and you arch into him. you can no longer take the teasing. you make quick work of the button and zipper on your jeans. you do the same to anton, using your hands to clumsily push his pants down. anton gets the hint, smiling before letting your back down gently. he moves beside you and you both careless take off your jeans. you stay in your underwear and anton keeps his boxers on. anton lets his eyes study your legs, how you bend them self consciously as anton looks at your panties. he’s rock hard in his pants and he needs you to know it.
anton takes your hand and places it over the growing bulge in his boxers.
“you’re so hard.” you say.
“it’s because of you.” anton says.
his voice is still so soft as he speaks to you, sounding even more airy due to his arousal. now he’s the one gasping underneath your touch, his sweater is suddenly too hot for him. he takes it off as you wrap your hand against his shaft. you hold it firmly and anton almost bucks into your hand.
“do you have a condom?” you ask.
you sit up, taking off your sweater too. you’re left in your bra and panties as anton springs up from underneath the table to go to his bedside table. if you two had any sense you’d move to the bed, but urgency is on the forefront of your minds. you need him right here, right now, and anton can’t wait another second.
anton grabs the tinfoil package and settles back onto the ground next to you. you both move to your side, taking the moment to bring in your nearly naked bodies. you are in that lacy bra looking like god sent you down here himself, and anton’s body has you speechless. you had seen it before growing up, but the intent now made all the difference. you bring a hand to trace from his navel to his chest then back down again. he takes your breasts in his hand, kneading your skin over the bra. he’s enthralled by the way you spill over the cup of the bra.
“i can’t believe it.” anton murmurs.
“me neither.” you say.
you’re arching your back into his touch and you bring a hand behind you to undo the bra. instantly it loosens and anton helps you out of it. he can’t stop staring at your breats, the way your boobs sit pretty on your chest. anton reaches a hand towards them before pausing.
“can i?” he asks.
“please. i need you to touch me so bad.” you say.
your eyes are closed when anton finally touches you. he squeezes the flesh gently, before realizing you need it to be a little rougher. his actions are no longer timid when he moves to the other breast. he takes the nipple into his mouth and you let out the loudest gasp. this doesn’t stop anton, only eggs him on to suck a little harder. you tweak the nipple of the other breast with your hand, and anton only has to watch. you for a second before he’s doing the same thing.
you help anton go back to his position on top of you. your leg ends up slotting between his and you can feel his dick poking your thigh. anton looks up at you from your chest and slowly grinds his length on your thigh. it’s thick and rests heavy on your leg. you can already feel a wet spot in his boxers where precum is seeping through. you’re sure your the same way, squirming in your panties that are becoming uncomfortable.
“anton.” you whine.
he perks up to look at you, he lets your breast fall from his mouth with a lewd pop. he wipes below his lip, where some of his spit came out.
“what’s wrong?” anton asks. he places a kiss on the nipple he didn’t suck.
“i can’t wait any longer.”
anton uses his hand to guide his dick to your entrance. you can feel the girth of its blunt head. you bring in a shaky breath. the suspense is making you antsy.
“tell me if it’s too much and i’ll pull out, okay?” anton says.
his fucked out expression is replaced with one of worry. you nod your head, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders. you try to relax, letting out the breath.
“i’m ready.”
“okay.” anton says.
he lets go of his guiding hand and brings it to yours. his grabs your hand, holding it the same way he did leading you down the stairs. anton places a kiss on your forehead and you try to kiss him back. you are too enchanted by feeling him sink into you.
“so big.” you gasp.
“i know. can you take it?” anton asks. his voice is barely above a whisper, as he sinks further into you.
anton means it as a genuine question, anxious that he may not fit all the way inside of you with no prep. it’s a question filled with worry, but the borderline mocking question mixed with his airy voice has you opening your legs a little wider. he’s teasing you without meaning to, and anton is a feels the way you react to his innocent question..
he is big, but your arousal makes it easier for you to take all of it. anton loses more and more of his composure the deeper he goes in. when your pelvises touch you clench around him. he lets out the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard and drops his head into the crook of your neck.
you can’t control the clenching. he presses gently against your insides, each time you clamp around him you swear you can feel every ridge and vein. it’s not long before you both are whimpering messes, feeling the euphoria of sex.
“can i move?” anton asks.
he tries his hardest to keep his voice clear but it’s meek, weakened by ecstasy.
“yes, please.” you whimper.
anton listens, bringing himself out all the way slowly before sinking back in just as slow. being able to feel every inch of him again has you digging nails into his shoulder. anton loves the pain and he grips your hip to thrust a little harder. he kisses your forehead again and he’s captivated by the sight of your face contorting in pleasure and the way your chest jumps when he gives you harder and faster thrusts. he can’t control running off at the mouth.
“i’ve waited so long for this.” anton groans.
“how long?” you say.
your voice hitches in the middle of your sentence when anton hits you with a harder thrust. you both moan into eachothers mouths when he hits that spot deep inside of you.
“so long.” anton says. “you have no idea.”
he wants to tell you about the winter formal last year where that red dress complimented your skin perfectly. anton was swooning over you the whole night, having to make up excuses why he was so red in the face. he felt like someone from the middle ages, weakened by the sight of your bare shoulder. anton spent the whole night trying not to imagine taking your dress off of you, kissing all over your body. when you danced with him he had to leave a gap between the two of you, afraid that if you got to close he’d faint.
you had no idea about the nights anton would think about your lips, the way you talked to him and looked up to him when he was alone. his yearning had turning into something more, something he thought he’d never get.
but now here you were, naked on his floor with him on top of you. anton couldn’t believe you were here with him, clenching around his length uncontrollably while he moaned into your mouth. you leaned into his touch bending your leg to wrap around his waist. it was a alight change but the new angle had anton seeing stars.
“you feel so good.” anton said.
it was almost like he couldn’t believe it. he was hitting you deeper and faster, his hand now leaving gripping the skin of your thigh to help support your leg.
“touch me anton.” you whimper.
“where do you need me?” he asks.
you wordlessly grab his hand, leading it to your clit. anton gets what you need immediately, tenderly rubbing the bundle of nerves. you pull him in so close by his shoulders that his arm becomes wedged between your two bodies. anton remains constant with his motions, finding a rhythm that leaves you repeating his name breathlessly. anton increases his speed when you your words come out jumbled and in a hurry. anton understands your close, because he understands everything about you. he understands why you like the music you like, why you eat the food you eat, why you watch the movies you watch. he finds himself looking down between the two of you, your taut skin reacting to his every movement.
“give me your hand baby.” anton says.
his hand that was holding your thigh goes to yours. you clench it, nails digging into the back of his hand. anton goes back to s slower pace. he needs to see you come undone underneath you, he needs to draw out everything he hasn’t been able to get from you.
you don’t get the chance to tell anton you’re close. it comes slowly but it swallows your whole body. anton’s fluid thrusts prolong the feeling, and his hand on your clit intesifies everything. the knuckles on your hand turn white from the grip you have on anton. he doesn’t complain, he instead whimpers into you, smushing his cheek against yours as his thrusts start becoming staggered. your leg around his waist locks him in place as he gives you on final thrust. you feel anton throbbing in you and he gasps into the crook of your neck that he’s cumming. you continue to moan, driving both your bodies to keep going.
there’s something to be said about the two of you cumming together without planning it. the word ‘soulmate’ and the phrase ‘i love you’ sits on both of your tongues as your chests heave from exertion. anton pulls out of you, tying the condom on his dick off before letting himself fall beside you.
both of you two stare at the bottom of the table, trying to process what just happened. you still try catching your breath when you turn your head to see anton already looking at you. his face is flushed, red splotches across his skin and his hair is unbelievably mused. he smiles at you before leaning over and wiping away a tear you didn’t even know was there. after that brief look, both of your gazes go back to the bottom of the table.
you feel anton creep his hand into yours, slow and timid. out of the corner of your eye you see him still looking at the table, with a worried expression on his face. you grab his hand and squeeze it, letting him know you’re real and you’re right there with him. your relationship with anton will never be the same, and you like it that way.
Are we getting anymore Riize smut anytime soon 😓🙏🏽
✶ Time It | 18+ RIIZE IMAGINES 💭
ㅤㅤ♡⃕ how long would each riize member last … ?!
contains: SMUT, implied overstim or multiple rounds, hand jobs and oral (m. receiving), precise timings, fem!reader
Shotaro ⏱︎ Given his stamina as a dancer, I’d say he normally lasts pretty long on his own, but with you, it’d be harder for him to hold back, asking you to slow down whenever he’s close just to drag it out with edging. He’d be a blushing mess, too, screwing his eyes shut as he lets out those little groans you love, struggling to keep his thighs still before finishing just under thirteen minutes …
Eunseok ⏱︎ He’s prone to hide his sounds whenever he’s inside of you, wanting to focus more on your pretty whimpers as he fucks into you, or the sound of your juices squelching together. Though, you can tell just by looking at his darkened eyes and listening to the way he pants while talking dirty to you that he’s in a total haze, giving you a little over ten minutes for round one …
Sungchan ⏱︎ I first wanna mention how fun this guy would be in the bedroom, showing you in his facial expressions how much he’s enjoying it, and maybe even laughing a little before groaning all loud and shamelessly. Still, I can imagine he’s built up an endurance with you over time, oozing from his tip before giving you his full load at around fifteen minutes …
Wonbin ⏱︎ So needy… I can see him rutting his hips into your hand as you fist him, or stroking your hair out of the way so he could see your pretty face taking him, only to roll his eyes back while breathing all heavy. He’d try his best to hold back and make things last longer, but once he gets fully lost in your touch, he’d be moaning your name in an easy eight minutes …
Seunghan ⏱︎ Alright so with him, I feel like he'd really wanna impress you, knowing from personal research that it takes more time for a woman to get there. He'd spit on your cunt for additional slick first, and experiment with his thrusting speeds to maximize both your pleasure. I’d say he’d give you a sweet ten to fifteen minutes if he’s taking his time ...
Sohee ⏱︎ My cute baby... I honestly get the vibe that he's a relatable mix of extremely horny yet inexperienced, hiding his face out of shyness, but also because if he keeps looking at the way your fingers are wrapped around him, he might finish in a heartbeat </3 ... Stick with a moderate pace, and he’d get off in six minutes or so… but expect him to want more pretty soon ...
Anton ⏱︎ Don’t be fooled by his innocent and bashful demeanor, ‘cause this guy will actually surprise you. You’d try to be nice by starting off slow, but he’d be a moaning mess underneath you in seconds, clinging to your hips while practically begging you to go faster. You two would have to work up to more than one round because he’s sensitive, but he’d last a good seven minutes …
✶ taglist: [@squoxle, @nikisdubblchococake, and @pixiewoni, ty for the intentional/unintentional writing advice], @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @wonbinisbabygurl
✶ still working on a masterlist so bare with me 🙏
✶ edit: 📍 the NEW RIIZE masterlist is here !! feel free to check it out if you’re interested in more works by me ^^
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
janainaart
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
