ST4R !

you're sitting in the passenger seat of chloe's car and you're trying not to cry but it's not going well.

"don't cry," chloe says, glancing over at you with a grin. "you're going to scare the puppies."

"i'm not going to cry," you lie, wiping your eyes already.

you look down at your phone, at the picture the breeder sent you three days ago. a tiny blonde mini dachshund, eight weeks old, ears too big for his head, looking at the camera with an expression that could only be described as judgmental.

you'd fallen in love instantly. you'd sent the deposit before you could talk yourself out of it. you'd named him buddy in your head before you'd even filled out the application, before you even knew if you'd get approved, before you even knew if he was still available.

"what if he doesn't like me?" you ask, the anxiety hitting you suddenly. "what if i pick him up and he's like, no, actually, i want someone else?"

"then he's an idiot with bad taste," chloe says, "and we'll find you a better dog."

"there is no better dog," you say, clutching your phone. "he's buddy. he's the one. i know he's the one."

"you've seen one picture."

"one perfect picture."

chloe laughs, but she's slowing down now, turning onto a residential street lined with trees. the gps says you're two minutes away. your heart is hammering against your ribs. you feel like you're about to meet a celebrity. you feel like you're about to change your entire life.

"there," chloe says, pointing.

the house is cute. yellow with white trim, a fenced yard, a sign that says "happy tails dachshunds" in cheerful lettering. there are flowers in the window boxes. it looks like a house where good things happen.

chloe parks and turns to you. "ready?"

"no," you admit. "yes. no. yes. let's go before i change my mind."

the breeder is a woman named marjorie, round and soft with gray hair and a smile that makes you think of grandmothers in storybooks. she leads you through the house to a sunroom at the back, and there they are. five tiny blonde puppies tumbling over each other in a playpen, yipping and wrestling and being alive in that perfect puppy way.

but you see him immediately.

he's in the corner, separate from the chaos, staring at a toy like he's trying to figure out if it's worth his time. his ears are ridiculous. his paws are too big. he looks like he's already tired of everyone's nonsense.

"that's him," you breathe. "that's buddy."

"the one in the corner?" marjorie asks. "that's the little male. he's got personality, that one. bit the vet tech yesterday. nothing serious, just a warning."

"he's perfect," you say, and you're already kneeling, already reaching through the bars of the playpen.

the puppy looks at you. really looks at you. his eyes are dark and considering. he takes you in, head to toe, and you feel judged. you feel seen. you feel like you're being evaluated for a position you really want.

then he walks over. slowly, like he's doing you a favor. he sniffs your hand. he sniffs your sleeve. he looks up at your face again.

and he licks your nose.

"oh," you say, and then you're crying. full on, ugly crying, tears streaming down your face while this tiny creature climbs into your lap and settles down like he owns you.

"he's yours if you want him," marjorie says gently.

"i want him," you sob. "i want him so much."

chloe is taking pictures. you can hear her laughing, soft and fond. "look at you," she says. "you're a mom."

"i'm a mom," you repeat, looking down at the warm weight in your lap.

the puppy, your puppy, buddy, sighs and closes his eyes. he's asleep in thirty seconds, snoring slightly, completely at peace.

you're in love. you're so in love it hurts.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the drive home is magical and terrible.

chloe drives while you hold buddy in a blanket in your lap. he's awake now, exploring, biting your fingers, trying to climb your chest to see out the window. he pees on the blanket. he tries to eat your hair. he barks at a stop sign.

"he's got opinions," chloe observes.

"he's got so many opinions," you agree, delighted by every single one.

you text your mom. you text your sister. you post a picture that gets three hundred likes in ten minutes. you don't care about any of it because you're too busy watching this tiny creature discover the world from the safety of your lap.

when chloe pulls up to your apartment, you realize you don't want to move. you want to stay in this moment forever, the first day, the beginning.

"you good?" chloe asks.

"i'm perfect," you say. "we're perfect. look at us."

she looks at you, at the puppy currently trying to chew your shirt button, and she smiles. "yeah," she says. "look at you."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the first three weeks are a blur of puppy pads and lost sleep and finding teeth marks on things you thought were out of reach.

buddy grows into his ears, sort of. he develops a personality that could best be described as selectively chaotic. he loves you with his whole heart. he once spent forty minutes barking at a balloon because it moved wrong.

you love him more than you've ever loved anything.

you cry when he does something cute. you cry when he does something frustrating. you cry when you look at him for too long because he's just so perfect and he's yours.

chloe visits constantly.

she brings toys, treats, advice you didn't ask for. she takes pictures of buddy constantly, fills her phone with them, shows them to everyone she knows.

which is how you end up where you are now, six weeks after bringing buddy home, sitting on chloe's couch while she scrolls through her phone and you try to keep buddy from eating her throw pillows. you're emotional and tired and so happy it almost hurts.

"by the way," chloe says, not looking up from her phone, "my friend jake wants to meet buddy."

you look up from where you're wrestling with your dog. "what?"

"my coworker jake," she says, like this is casual information. "i showed him pictures of buddy last week at lunch and he wouldn't stop asking about him. he loves dogs. he wants to meet him."

"why are you showing people my dog?" you ask, but there's no real bite in it. you're used to this.

chloe has been your best friend since college and her love language is showing people pictures of things she cares about. usually it's you. now it's buddy.

"i work with him," chloe says, shrugging.

"we were just talking. he saw my lock screen, which is buddy, obviously, and he asked about him. and then i showed him more pictures, because look at him, and now he's obsessed. he said, and i quote, 'that dog looks like he has opinions and i need to hear them.'"

you snort, pulling buddy into your lap. he immediately tries to bite your necklace. "so now your coworker wants to meet my dog?"

"he's not just any coworker," chloe says.

"he's great. he's got such warm energy, always smiling, probably cries during commercials with dogs in them. genuinely the nicest person. he has a border collie named layla, but she lives with his parents. he wants to meet buddy. we could go to the dog park this weekend. it'll be fun."

you think about it. you don't know jake. you know chloe works with a lot of people, marketing types who wear nice shirts and talk about engagement rates. but the idea of someone wanting to meet your dog specifically, not just tolerating him as an extension of you, is kind of nice.

also, buddy needs socialization. according to the internet. according to the vet. according to the passive aggressive notes your neighbor keeps leaving about "excessive vocalization."

"fine," you say. "but if he doesn't like jake, we're leaving immediately."

"he'll like jake," chloe says confidently. "everyone likes jake."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the thing about buddy is that he is not a people pleaser.

you've had him for six weeks now and you've learned this well. he likes who he likes and he makes it very clear who he doesn't.

the list of people he likes includes: you, chloe, the old lady who lives next door and gives him cheese, and the barista at the coffee shop who once dropped a piece of bacon near his stroller.

the list of people he doesn't like includes: the mailman, anyone who wears hats, anyone who moves too fast, anyone who moves too slow, and approximately seventy percent of the dogs at your local park.

you've been trying to socialize him. you really have. but buddy's idea of socialization is sitting on your lap and judging people from a distance while growling softly at anyone who makes eye contact.

"he's just protective," you tell yourself. "he's a guard dog in a very small body."

he is currently sitting in his carrier in the passenger seat of your car, looking out the window with an expression that says he knows exactly where you're going and he has several complaints prepared.

"we're meeting chloe's friend," you tell him. "apparently he really wants to meet you. he has a border collie named layla who lives with his parents, so he knows dogs. so please don't bark at him. please. for my sanity."

buddy looks at you. he doesn't blink.

"also, if you could not bark at any other dogs today, that would be great. or any people. or any birds. actually, just don't bark."

he barks. once. short and sharp. it sounds like "no."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the dog park is already busy when you get there, which is your first mistake. your second mistake is letting buddy out of the carrier before you've fully assessed the situation.

he immediately starts barking at a golden retriever who is, admittedly, three times his size and standing very close to his personal space.

"buddy," you hiss, scooping him up. "we talked about this."

the golden retriever's owner gives you a look. you want to die.

"hi!" a voice calls out, and you turn to see chloe jogging toward you, waving her arms. she's wearing a bright yellow sundress and sunglasses and she looks like she's in a commercial for happiness. "you made it!"

"barely," you say. "buddy tried to fight a golden retriever in the parking lot."

"he's spirited," chloe says, which is her nice way of saying "he's a menace."

"where's your friend?"

"oh, he's here," chloe says, looking around. "he was just... there he is!"

she points, and you follow her finger to a guy who is currently on his knees in the grass, being enthusiastically licked by a beagle.

he's tall, you notice first. broad shouldered. wearing a white t-shirt and light wash jeans and sneakers. his hair is brown, styled in that effortless way that looks messy but probably took time, and he's smiling with his whole face, warm and bright and genuine. he looks like he belongs in a sunshine commercial.

"that's jake," chloe says, fondness in her voice. "told you. total sweetheart."

jake looks up then, like he can feel you watching, and his face breaks into a smile that's so bright you almost take a step back.

he waves, big and enthusiastic, and then he's standing up and walking toward you with the beagle trotting after him like they're best friends now.

"you must be y/n!" he says when he gets close, and his voice is warm and deep and exactly what you expected from someone who gets on the ground with strange dogs. "and this must be buddy!"

he looks at buddy, who is currently in your arms, growling softly at the beagle.

"he's perfect," jake breathes, and he means it. you can tell he means it. he's looking at your tiny angry dog like he's looking at a sunset.

"he's usually not friendly," you say, which is an understatement. "he takes a while to warm up to people."

"that's okay," jake says, not offended at all. "i'm very patient. also, i brought treats."

he pulls a bag of training treats from his pocket like it's a magic trick.

"you can't just bribe him," you say.

"watch me," jake says, grinning.

he takes a step back and crouches down again, putting himself at buddy's level. the beagle wanders off, bored now that the pets have stopped. jake holds out a treat between two fingers and waits.

buddy stops growling.

he looks at the treat. he looks at jake. he looks at you, as if to say "is this allowed?"

"it's okay," you tell him, setting him down carefully.

buddy takes three tentative steps toward jake. then he stops and barks once, sharp and demanding.

"yes, hello," jake says, not flinching. "i agree. the service here is terrible. no one has given me a treat yet either."

you laugh despite yourself.

buddy takes two more steps. he's close enough now that jake could grab him if he wanted to, but he doesn't. he just waits, hand steady, smile patient.

buddy sniffs the air. he sniffs jake's shoe. he sniffs jake's knee. he looks up at jake's face and considers him for a long moment. he slowly takes the treat, eating it and looking up at jake.

then he suddenly jumps into jake's arms.

you stare.

chloe stares.

jake's face lights up like christmas morning.

"hello!" he says, cradling buddy against his chest. "hello, little man! look at you! look at your ears!"

buddy, the dog who bites you when you try to clip his nails, who growled at your own mother when she visited, who once spent twenty minutes barking at a particularly offensive trash can, is currently licking jake's chin and wagging his whole body so hard his back legs are lifting off the ground.

"what," you say.

"i told you," chloe says, smug as anything. "total sweetheart. dogs can sense it."

"he hates everyone," you say, still staring.

"he doesn't hate me," jake says, delighted. he stands up with buddy in his arms and buddy settles against his chest like he belongs there, chin resting on jake's shoulder, looking out at the world with an expression of smug satisfaction. "we're friends now. sorry, i don't make the rules."

"you literally just met," you say.

"love at first sight," jake says, scratching behind buddy's ears. buddy makes a sound that's halfway between a whine and a purr. you've never heard him make that sound.

"can i hold him?" you ask, reaching out.

buddy looks at you. he looks at jake. he settles deeper into jake's arms and closes his eyes.

"traitor," you mutter.

jake laughs, and it's a good laugh. warm and open and genuine. "we can share," he offers. "you can have him back eventually. maybe. if he wants to go."

"he's my dog."

"he's choosing me," jake says, not unkindly. "democracy in action."

you should be annoyed. you are, a little. but mostly you're watching the way jake holds buddy carefully, supporting his long back, the way he keeps scratching that spot behind the ears that buddy loves, the way he's looking at your dog like he hung the moon.

"fine," you say. "you can hold him for now. but i'm watching you."

"fair," jake says. "i'd watch me too. i am a stranger, after all."

"a stranger who came prepared with treats," chloe points out.

"a stranger who did his research," jake corrects. "chloe told me buddy was a dachshund. i looked up dachshund facts. did you know they were bred to hunt badgers? that's insane. that's so brave. little legs, big dreams."

"buddy would run from a badger," you say.

"buddy would negotiate with a badger," jake says. "he's very smart. i can tell. look at his eyes."

you look at buddy's eyes. they're currently half closed in bliss as jake rubs his chest.

"he's not usually like this," you say again, because you feel like you need to defend your dog's honor. "he's usually very... opinionated."

"he's opinionated now," jake says. "his opinion is that i'm great. and he's right. so really, he's just very discerning."

you don't know what to say to that. you end up laughing, and jake grins at you, and chloe looks between the two of you with the expression of someone who just successfully set two people up and knows it.

"let's walk," she suggests. "the pond is nice this time of day."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the pond is nice, but you're mostly watching jake and buddy.

they've been walking together for twenty minutes now, and buddy hasn't barked at a single person. not the jogger who ran too close. not the kid on the scooter. not the poodle who looked at him funny.

instead, he's trotting along next to jake, occasionally looking up to make sure he's still there, occasionally jumping up to demand more pets.

jake carries him part of the way, holding him like a baby, and buddy lets him. he more than lets him. he actively snuggles.

"this is weird," you say to chloe, walking slightly behind them.

"what is?" she asks innocently.

"this. buddy. he's being... good."

"buddy's always good," chloe says.

"buddy bit the groomer," you remind her.

"buddy has standards," she amends. "apparently jake meets them."

you watch jake stop to let buddy sniff a particularly interesting patch of grass. he waits patiently, not rushing, not pulling the leash. when buddy finds a stick and brings it to him, jake acts like it's the greatest gift he's ever received.

"he's going to expect this now," you say. "he's going to want me to be this excited about sticks."

"you should be excited about sticks," chloe says. "sticks are great. jake's great. this is great."

"you're very pleased with yourself," you observe.

"i'm a genius," she agrees. "i should charge for this."

"charge for what?"

"nothing," she says quickly, but she's smiling.

jake looks back at you, buddy still in his arms now, and he smiles. "your dog is excellent," he calls out. "ten out of ten. best dog i've ever met."

"you've known him for twenty minutes," you point out, catching up.

"quality over quantity," jake says. "besides, i have a good feeling about this. me and buddy. we're going to be best friends. you and me too, probably. by association. since you're his mom."

"i am his mom," you agree, feeling a warmth in your chest at the way he says it, like it's a fact, like it's important.

"exactly," jake says. "you're his mom and i'm his new best friend. we're basically family now."

you should find this overwhelming. jake is a lot. he's loud and enthusiastic and he smiles with his whole face and he talks to dogs like they're people and he actually listens when they respond.

but somehow, it's not overwhelming. it's kind of... nice.

"basically family," you repeat. "great."

"you don't sound convinced," jake observes, falling into step beside you. chloe has wandered ahead to take pictures of ducks, leaving you alone with the warm hearted man holding your tiny opinionated dog.

"i'm just wondering when you're going to realize he's not always like this," you say. "usually he's barking. usually he's trying to fight things bigger than him. usually he's being difficult."

"difficult how?"

"he ate my favorite shoes last week."

"he has taste."

"he barked at his reflection for ten minutes."

"he's self aware. he knows his own face. that's advanced."

"he's not actually a good dog," you say, trying to be honest. "i love him, but he's not... easy."

jake looks at you, then down at buddy, who is currently trying to steal his sunglasses. he doesn't seem bothered.

"i have a dog," he says.

"layla. she lives with my parents now, but i raised her from a puppy. and she was the most difficult dog i've ever met. she herded everything. she once herded my dad into the garage and wouldn't let him leave for an hour because he was wearing a hat she didn't like. she bit three delivery guys. she ate an entire couch cushion."

"and you still love her?"

"i adore her," jake says simply. "she has personality. she knows what she wants and she isn't afraid to demand it. buddy's like that. he's not bad, he's just... specific. he likes what he likes. and he likes me."

buddy, as if on cue, licks jake's nose.

"see?" jake says. "specific. and correct."

you don't know why you're smiling so hard. "you're very weird."

"thank you," he says, like it's a compliment.

"it wasn't meant to be one."

"it felt like one," he says, grinning. "come on. let's catch up to chloe before she falls in the pond trying to get the perfect duck angle."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

jake doesn't go away after that first meeting.

you expected him to be a one time thing. a nice afternoon at the dog park, a funny story about the guy your dog liked more than you, and then back to normal life.

but he texts you. he gets your number from chloe, which should be annoying but somehow isn't, and he sends you pictures of dogs he sees on the street. he asks about buddy. he sends you memes about dachshunds. he tells you stories about layla, sends videos his parents send him, asks for advice on what brand of treats to buy for her when he visits.

he's relentless in the best way.

"he likes you," chloe says, a week later, when you're getting coffee together before work. she's showing you a text from jake that's just a photo of a hot dog with the caption "saw this and thought of buddy. long boy energy."

"he likes my dog," you correct, stirring your latte.

"he likes you," she repeats, lowering her voice like she's telling you a secret. "trust me. i work with the guy. i know when he's interested. and he's interested."

"he's just being nice."

"he's being interested," she says. "there's a difference."

you think about that as you're getting ready for bed that night, buddy curled up on your pillow because he refuses to acknowledge that he's small and the floor exists.

you scroll through your messages with jake. there are a lot of them. pictures of dogs, mostly, but also questions about your day, jokes about work, a video his mom sent of layla herding the vacuum cleaner.

he's easy to talk to. that's the thing. he responds to everything like it's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.

when you complained about your coffee spilling in your car, he sent you a link to the world's best travel mug and a story about the time he spilled an entire latte on his laptop.

when you told him buddy learned a new trick, he demanded video evidence and then sent you a video of himself attempting the same trick with a stuffed animal.

he's ridiculous. he's also kind of wonderful.

buddy shifts in his sleep, making a small snoring sound, and you scratch his belly without thinking.

"you like him too, don't you?" you ask your dog. "that's why you were so nice to him. you knew."

buddy opens one eye, looks at you with disdain, and goes back to sleep.

"rude," you say, but you're smiling.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the second time you see jake, it's intentional.

he invites you to the dog park again, just you and him this time, chloe having to work overtime on a saturday which she's suspiciously vague about.

you almost say no. you're busy. you have work.

but jake sends a picture of himself holding a bag of premium dog treats with a pleading expression, and you cave.

"this is a bad idea," you tell buddy as you get ready. "i don't know why i'm doing this. we don't need friends. we have each other."

buddy is currently trying to eat your sock. he's not listening.

"he's going to expect you to be nice," you continue. "you're going to have to not bark at children. can you do that? for me?"

buddy spits out the sock and barks once.

"i'll take that as a maybe."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

jake is waiting when you get there, sitting on a bench with two coffees and a bag of what smells like pastries.

he's wearing a soft looking sweater and jeans, and his brown hair is catching the morning light, and he looks so good it almost hurts.

he sees you and waves, big and enthusiastic, and you feel something in your chest tighten in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.

"you came!" he says when you get close. "i wasn't sure you would."

"why wouldn't i?"

"you seemed hesitant. in the texts. lots of 'haha' and 'maybe' and 'we'll see.'"

"i was being mysterious."

"you were being cautious," he corrects, but he's smiling. "it's okay. i'm a lot. i know i'm a lot. but i brought coffee and a bacon quiche for buddy's mom, so hopefully that helps."

"it helps," you admit, taking the coffee. it's exactly how you like it, which you don't remember telling him, but chloe probably did.

"buddy!" jake crouches down again, that same position from last week, and holds out his hand. "hello, old friend!"

buddy, the dog who once tried to bite the wind, launches himself at jake with such force that jake almost falls over.

"hey!" jake laughs, catching him, holding him up like simba on pride rock. "there he is! there's my guy!"

buddy is losing his mind. he's licking jake's face, his ears, his hands. he's making that whining purring sound again. he's wiggling so hard he's basically vibrating.

"i think he remembers you," you say dryly.

"i think he loves me," jake says, not smug, just delighted. "which makes sense. i have great taste in dogs. and people."

he looks at you when he says it, and you feel your face get warm.

"let's walk," you say quickly. "before he pees on you from excitement."

"too late," jake says, but he's already moving, buddy in his arms, leading the way down the path like he knows exactly where he's going.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

you walk for an hour.

you talk about everything and nothing. jake tells you about his job, which is marketing but somehow involves more excel spreadsheets than you'd expect.

you tell him about yours, which is something with numbers that you don't love explaining because it makes people's eyes glaze over.

he asks questions anyway. he seems genuinely interested in the quarterly projections you're complaining about.

you talk about buddy. you tell him about the shoe incident, the reflection incident, the time he got stuck under the couch and barked for help but then bit you when you tried to rescue him.

"classic dachshund," jake says, like this is normal.

"layla was like that too. she once got herself stuck under my parents' deck and then barked for three hours straight because she was mad about it. not because she wanted help. just because she was angry."

"they're impossible," you agree.

"they're perfect," he counters. "they know exactly how much space they deserve in the world. which is all of it."

you look at him. he's carrying buddy again, because buddy got tired after twenty minutes of walking, and he doesn't seem to mind at all.

your dog is asleep in his arms, snoring slightly, completely at peace.

"you're good with him," you say. "i don't get it. he's not good with people."

"i'm not people," jake says. "i'm jake. it's different."

"how is it different?"

"because..." he pauses, thinking. "because i don't want anything from him. or you. i just like hanging out. i think that's rare. i think dogs can tell when you just want to be around them without wanting them to be anything specific. and i think people can tell too."

you look at the ground. "that's... that's actually really nice."

"i have my moments," he says. "not many. but some."

you walk in silence for a while, but it's comfortable.

the sun is warm. the coffee was good. your dog is happy. you can't remember the last time you felt this... easy.

there's a pause for a minute. not awkward, just soaking in the scene. then, jake voice fills the silence. "why'd you really come today?"

you look at him. he's not looking at you, focused instead on a squirrel that's caught buddy's attention even in sleep. his profile is soft in the afternoon light, his brown hair falling slightly over his forehead.

"i wanted to see if you were real," you say, surprising yourself with the honesty. "if you were actually like this. or if it was just... a first meeting thing. a fluke."

"and?"

"you're real," you admit. "you're a lot. but you're real."

"the best kind of real," he agrees. "the warm, enthusiastic, probably too much kind."

"is that what you are?"

"in human form," he says. "it's a heavy burden. but i bear it with grace."

you laugh, and he smiles at you, and buddy wakes up just long enough to lick both of your chins before settling back down.

"same time next week?" jake asks.

"same time," you agree.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the weeks pass, and then the months.

you don't mean for it to become a thing. you don't mean to start looking forward to saturday mornings at the dog park with more intensity than you've looked forward to anything in months. but it does, and you do, and suddenly jake is just... part of your life.

he texts you every day.

good morning texts that are actually funny, not just "good morning" but "good morning i saw a corgi on the train and thought of buddy. shorter legs, same energy."

pictures of his lunch, which always looks terrible, with captions like "chef's kiss" and "cuisine." questions about your day that are specific enough that you know he's actually paying attention.

you start sending him things too. pictures of buddy being weird. complaints about work. random thoughts at 2am that you immediately regret sending but he always responds to with something that makes you laugh.

you see him every saturday. sometimes chloe comes, smug and pleased with herself. sometimes it's just you and jake and buddy, walking the same path, talking about everything.

but then it starts to be more than saturdays.

he texts you on wednesday, casual, like it's nothing

jake

i'm near your neighborhood for a meeting. any good coffee shops near you?

you tell him about the place on the corner, the one with the window seats and the croissants that buddy likes to beg for.

he texts back

jake

save me a seat? i'll buy you one too, as payment for the recommendation

you should say no. you have work. you have things to do.

..but you type back.

you

sure, see you at two

he's already there when you arrive, sitting by the window with two coffees and a croissant on a plate, and your stomach does something complicated when you see him.

he's not in workout clothes this time. he's wearing a button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks... good. he looks really good. professional but still soft, still jake, still smiling at his phone like whatever he's reading is the funniest thing in the world.

then he looks up and sees you, and his face transforms, and you feel it. you feel something shift in the air between you.

"you came," he says, standing up, pulling out the chair across from him. "i wasn't sure you would."

"you say that every time," you observe, sitting down.

"because every time i'm not sure," he says, honest. "you're hard to pin down. i feel like if i blink you'll disappear."

"i'm not going anywhere," you say, and you mean it more than you've meant anything in a while.

he looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "good," he says finally. "that's... good."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the coffee dates become a thing. then the evening walks. then the "i'm just in the neighborhood" texts that happen more and more often, until you're seeing him three, four times a week, until he's just... there. present. constant.

you learn things about him. he loves bad movies and will defend batman forever to his dying breath. he cries at every commercial with a dog in it, just like chloe said. he has a spreadsheet ranking every donut shop in the city and he's not afraid to use it. he wants to open a dog rescue someday, when he's saved enough money, somewhere with land and space for all the dogs no one wants.

"the difficult ones," he says, when he tells you this. "the ones who bark too much or have too much energy or are just too much. they deserve love too. they deserve someone who sees them and doesn't want to change them."

you think about buddy, who is currently asleep on jake's lap on your couch, and you feel something shift in your chest.

"yeah," you say. "they do."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

you start noticing things about jake.

the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention, soft and fond and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.

the way he remembers things, the way he brings you your favorite coffee without asking, the way he always has a treat for buddy and a compliment for you.

the way your hand brushes his when you're walking, and how neither of you pulls away.

the way you start wanting to tell him things first. before chloe, before anyone. good news, bad news, random observations about clouds. you want him to know everything.

the way you start noticing things about him. the scar on his chin from falling off a bike when he was ten. the way he runs his hand through his hair when he's thinking. the way he says your name, like it's something precious.

the way you're falling in love with him, week by week, day by day, like watching the sun rise, and it doesn't scare you as much as you thought it would.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

it's been four months since the dog park. four months of texts and coffee and walks and saturdays. four months of building something you don't have a name for yet.

you're at his apartment this time. he's cooking dinner, something involving pasta and sauce that smells amazing, and buddy is exploring the space with the confidence of a dog who has claimed this territory as his own.

"he likes it here," you observe, watching buddy settle onto the dog bed that jake apparently bought just for him.

"he likes everywhere you're at," jake says, stirring the sauce. "we have that in common."

you look at him. he's focused on the pot, but there's color in his cheeks, like he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"you do?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"...i what?" jake asks quietly, knowing you heard him anyway

"like everywhere i'm at?"

he stops stirring. he looks at you, cheeks flushed cause he was caught. his eyes are dark and warm and full of something you've been pretending not to see for weeks.

"yeah," he says, simple and honest. "i do. i really do."

your heart is hammering. the air feels thick. buddy is snoring from jakes couch, oblivious, but you can't look away from jake.

"that's... that's good," you manage. "because i... i like where you are too."

he sets down the wooden spoon. he turns off the burner. he walks around the kitchen island until he's standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell his soap, something clean and warm, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to.

"..can i kiss you?" jake asks, his gaze not leaving your eyes.

the question hangs in the air between you, heavy and electric, and you feel every nerve in your body light up at once.

"yes," you whisper. "please."

he steps closer. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your jawline, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, like you're something precious, something he's been waiting for.

he leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away, time to change your mind, but you don't. you can't. you've been waiting for this too, you realize. you've been waiting for months.

his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and it's electric. it's like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like sunlight on your skin, like coming home.

you make a small sound, involuntary, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, to check, and you can see the question in his eyes.

"again," you breathe, and you reach up to touch his face, your fingers brushing his cheekbone, and he smiles against your mouth before leaning back in.

this time it's not tentative. this time it's sure, it's warm, it's months of buildup finally breaking free.

his mouth moves against yours, gentle but insistent, and you open for him, letting him in, tasting him, learning him.

he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, something happy and relieved, and it sends warmth flooding through your whole body.

his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he angles your head to deepen the kiss.

his tongue slides against yours, slow and sweet, and you whimper, pressing closer, wanting more, wanting everything.

he walks you backward until your back hits the wall, but he's gentle about it, his hands protecting your head from the impact. then he's crowding you there, his body warm and solid against yours, and you can feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms, the way he's trembling just slightly, like he's holding himself back.

"is this okay?" he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

"yes," you gasp, arching into him.

he kisses you deeper, sweeter, his hands moving from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching yours beat for beat.

your hands slide up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, and you fist your hands in the fabric, pulling him closer, closer, until there's no space between you at all.

he kisses down your jaw, your throat, finding the sensitive spot below your ear that makes you gasp, and he lingers there, pressing soft kisses to your skin, and you tilt your head back to give him better access, your fingers tangled in his hair.

"jake," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer, like a promise.

he hums softly against your skin, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight, and he buries his face in your neck, breathing you in.

"i've wanted this," he whispers, his voice rough and honest. "i've wanted you. for so long."

"i know," you whisper back, holding him close. "me too."

he pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark and blown wide, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"be my girlfriend?" he asks, his thumb brushing over your kiss-bitten lips. "officially? no more saturdays as just friends. i want to be yours. i want you to be mine."

"yes," you say immediately, smiling so big it hurts. "yes, i want that. i want you."

he grins, that bright, sunshine grin that made you notice him in the first place, and then he's kissing you again, deep and slow and full of promise, and you kiss him back with everything you have, everything you've been holding back for months.

when you finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands still on your waist, and he looks at you with so much affection you feel like you might cry.

"you're my girlfriend," he says, like he's testing it out, like he can't believe it.

"i'm your girlfriend," you confirm, laughing softly.

"and i'm your boyfriend."

"you are."

"and buddy is our dog."

"he's our dog," you agree, feeling the truth of it settle into your bones.

he kisses you again, quick and sweet, and then he pulls back, taking your hand in his, threading his fingers through yours.

"we should eat," he says, smiling. "before the pasta gets cold."

"in a minute," you murmur, pulling him back down for another kiss. "just... one more minute."

he laughs against your mouth and kisses you again, soft and slow and perfect, and you think that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

six months later, you're standing in chloe's apartment holding a glass of champagne and watching your boyfriend laugh at something her boyfriend just said.

jake's wearing the sweater you bought him for his birthday, the soft blue one that makes his eyes look even warmer, and his brown hair is styled in that way you love, and he's holding buddy in one arm and gesturing wildly with the other hand, telling a story about how layla once herded his entire family into the kitchen because it was dinner time and they were running late.

"you're staring," chloe says, appearing at your elbow with her own glass of champagne.

"i'm appreciating," you correct, not looking away.

"you're in love," she amends, smug as ever.

"i am," you agree, because there's no point denying it. you're so in love it radiates out of you. you're so in love you wake up smiling. you're so in love it almost doesn't feel real.

chloe follows your gaze to where jake is now demonstrating how buddy sits on command, the tiny dachshund looking proud and regal in his arms.

"he's good for you," she says, softer now. "you know that, right?"

"i know," you say. "he's... he's everything."

"he's your person," she says. "and you're his."

across the room, jake looks up like he can feel you watching, and he smiles, that same bright smile from the dog park all those months ago, and he mouths "i love you" without caring who sees.

you mouth it back.

he excuses himself from the conversation and walks over to you, buddy still in his arms, and he wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"having fun?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"the best," you say, leaning into him. "you?"

"always," he says, "when i'm with you."

buddy squirms between you, demanding attention, and jake laughs, adjusting his hold on the dog so he's cradled between both of you like a baby.

"our son is demanding," jake observes.

"he's spoiled," you agree.

"he's perfect," jake corrects, and he's looking at you when he says it.

"you're perfect," you say back, reaching up to fix his hair where it's fallen over his forehead.

"we're perfect," he amends, smiling that sunshine smile. "all three of us."

chloe, watching from nearby, raises her glass in a silent toast, and you laugh, leaning up to kiss jake properly, champagne glasses clinking somewhere in the background, buddy squished happily between you, and everything is exactly how it should be.

you're a family. you're his. he's yours. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⋆˚✿˖°

the cab is warm, toasty air circulating through the small space, mildly soothing the bite you feel stinging your toes and fingertips

your eyes trace the small droplets racing down the foggy windows, the drizzle outside casting the city overhead in hues of cold greys and greens. the street glistens through the perspiration, the glitter of neon lights dancing with life

your driver hums upon the feminine voice streaming through his speaker, fingers tapping rhythmically on the leather covering his steering wheel. "what's for dinner?"

the smile in his voice is unmistakable, giddy as he awaits his wife to relay their menu tonight to his eager self. you don't stifle your smile when she teases, "it's a surprise! just you make sure you get home safe!"

they exchange a few more sweet nothings and playful banter and your chest hollows. you will the sudden weight away. you wonder if anyone will ever smile at the sound of your voice the way he does hers

the car comes to a stop right in front of your apartment building, the man next to you still grinning from ear to ear

"you have yourself a good evening, dear!" he says in a singsong voice, flashing you an easy smile as you step out of the vehicle

"thank you, sir! take care!" you muse in return, getting out and opening up your umbrella, shutting the door before jogging to the gate, even quicker once you enter and reach the lobby doors

droplets cascade down your umbrella as you fold it shut once inside the building, exhaling as your shoulders and limbs finally relax. you make your way up to your apartment, opting for the stairs after maintenance announced several problems with the elevator this morning alone

the warmth inside your apartment greets you the second you step inside. the smell of clean linen and vanilla envelopes you as you set down your bags and prop your umbrella by the door. you take off your heeled boots, massaging your sore soles before moving further into the space. a tall, hooded figure emerges from the kitchen and you nearly jump out of your skin

"still get a fright after all this time?" he chuckles amused at your frazzled state, walking over and pulling you into a warm embrace

the bear hug beomgyu has you wrapped in is almost suffocating and you sigh contentedly as you melt in his arms. everything else seems to be forgotten when your mind finally quiets and you whine when he pulls back

he sees the fatigue tugging at your eyes and his warm hands cup your face, thumbs caressing gently over your cheeks

"go warm up. the shower's ready for you", he prompts quietly, comfort washing over you in delicate waves. he always seems to know exactly what you need before you do

you simply nod in his hold, reluctantly untangling yourself from his hold and making your way to the bathroom. you strip your clothes off, piece by piece, weight by weight, before stepping into the shower. the steam curls around your body, the steady stream washing away all burdens of the day – though only for a little while

"i don't think i can do this anymore, y/n"

the words flicker in your mind. a text message, that text message. after a year and then some of wooing your heart and making you believe he wanted more, he ended it all with a text message

"i'm just not ready for anything serious yet"

you should have known, you tell yourself. you should have listened to your heart, to your gut, your goddamn logic. deep down, you had always known it would come to this. you sigh heavy, willing away the ache in your heart and the faint sting of tears behind your eyes, numbing away at your soul

a melody flows from the living room. gyu

the thrum of his guitar, a familiar song – your favorite song, floats through the space, settling into your bones and your soul, bringing every thought to a halt

you finish your shower quickly, lathering yourself in your skincare and moisturizers before slipping into your cozy pajamas. following the trail of music, your feet carry you back to the living room and you simply stand in the hallway, watching him. his hair, soft and silky, falls over his eyes, gaze fixated on the guitar in his lap. his fingers dance over and pluck at the strings, effortless and hypnotic

his head lifts upon noticing your presence, a soft smile gracing his pretty features. it's unfair, really, just how breathtaking he is. "what's for dinner?" he asks, voice warm and boyish and suddenly you're transported back to the cab. this is why you couldn't wait to come home

you reciprocate his smile, making your way to the kitchen. "i didn't get us anything on the way back, sorry gyu. but i thought i'd make us ramen! i don't think we've run out just yet"

the tune comes to an end and you hear shuffling from behind you, tall figure leaning against the kitchen doorway. "that's okay, honestly. i've been craving your ramen all day anyway"

you allow for a chuckle to escape you while gathering all of your ingredients, setting up and getting dinner started

beomgyu watches you move around the kitchen in silence, eyes trailing after your busied frame. he's not blind. he's caught onto the fact that something's been bothering you the minute you stepped through that front door. he has always been unnervingly in tune with you. this is what you enjoy about living with beomgyu most. he knows when to remain quiet, knows how to read you. if anything, he seems to know what you need at all times

apparently, he knows all the right questions to ask, too

"long day?"

"yeah", you answer absentmindedly, stirring at the simmering pot. he steps closer, leaning against the counter right next to you

"tell me about it", he presses carefully and you sigh, that weight returning to your chest, tugging at your shoulders. beomgyu's arms fold and unfold, fingers curling around the edge of the counter, itching to reach out to you as you begin to open up

you fill him in on how things between you and your– god, he wasn't even your boyfriend. fling? situationship? lover? have been icky for the past month. that you started texting back and forth last night, because you got fed up with his no-shows to dates, his refusal to commit and then his random calls late at night, telling you how much he's missed you. you grew sick of his inconsistency, tired and fed up with being strung along and you finally asked when he was truly planning on making things official with you – which resulted in an argument and said text message

that was that

then at work: the printer jammed. again. the coffee machine broke down. again. as always, you received the blame, one of your coworkers patting you on the shoulder, whispering a thanks for taking one for the team after you were reprimanded by your supervisor to be more "mindful"

"kai's the only one who believed me. in fact, he felt so sorry for me, he bought me coffee on his break", you continue and beomgyu listens attentively through all of it

"and then earlier in the cab, with the driver. you know i usually take the backseat, but there was this massive bouquet taking over the entire space", you gesture with your hands. "a bouquet of flowers. i got sad over a bouquet of flowers the man had bought for his wife, beomgyu"

his eyes flit over your face, taking in the sadness that seeps through the mask of tough stoicism you've been wearing all day

"i don't know, it just felt like– something was taken away from me, something i never even had. and now i feel silly for feeling that way and that i allowed this to go on for so long"

you continue to stir at the pot, glancing up when his silence stretches on

"that's… a lot, y/n. fuck, i'm so sorry", he starts, voice thick with emotion and sympathy. "i know you spent so long pining for this guy, that you convinced yourself things were going somewhere. i didn't see this coming either. i just assumed he was like, really fucking slow to catch onto how much you liked him. of all the guys before, i really thought this one would be different. it sucks that you wanted different things"

the quiet baritone, paired with his understanding chips away at the walls you've built to keep the rest of the world out today. he retrieves two bowls from the shelf right next to his head – the shelf you usually have to stand on your tippy toes to reach

it's hard to miss the disappointment that clouds his expression. beomgyu has always rooted for your relationships, always wanting to see you happy. he loathes the thought of you silently begging for some guy's attention, especially when he's watched you give yourself away so easily, only to receive so little in return

he decides that reassurance is the best thing he can offer you right now

"second, those assholes at work have nothing better to do with their time. they don't know a thing about taking responsibility. it's not your fault the printer broke or the coffee machine failed", he huffs. "i'm glad i texted kai to check on you. you didn't even say goodbye to me this morning. honestly, you deserve a medal for how well you held up today"

of course he texted kai, you smile to yourself, dishing up the ramen. it's steaming hot and the aroma makes your tummy rumble

"thanks, gyu. i honestly don't know what i'd do without you"

you mean it. the statement comes with weight and your chest warms when he pats the top of your head. "and kai, of course", he quips

"yeah, sure, kai", you muse. he's surprisingly humble about it and you're mildly amused that he's willing to share his saviour spotlight

he now stands on the other side of the kitchen island, after collecting two pairs of chopsticks, handing yours to you. his palms rest on the counter as he looms over you – your elbows resting on the shared surface, looking up at him

"so, how do we fix today? what's your ideal friday night look like?"

your chin comes to rest in your palm and you hum, "this bowl of ramen. the couch. you, playing your guitar or just us watching our show until we get too sleepy and we have our little sleepover right in the living room", you finish, batting your lashes at him

he pretends to ponder over your proposal, before his eyes settle on yours once more. "stay in tomorrow morning and do it all over again on saturday evening?"

you sigh dreamily, "you get me"

his smile broadens at your approval. "sounds like a plan"

he grabs both of your bowls, gesturing for you to move to the living room where you settle cozy on the couch, opting to put on your show. your yapping doesn't stop. he tells you about his day, about the errands he had to run and how he now prefers work meetings online instead of the ones in person. you tell him about your day, at least now, only the parts that were good. you talk and laugh for hours until your tummies are full and your bowls are empty

you watch as he drapes the two of you in your fluffy lounge blanket. the lamp in the corner of the room casts an amber glow over the otherwise dim space and you scoot closer to him

the space between you shrinks, it always does. only now, you don't have to remind yourself to keep your distance. not that you ever had to, you were never a taken woman anyway. you allow yourself to melt into his warmth, stealing glances at him between scenes of your show

he's beautiful, you've always known it. you've never concealed it either, always making sure to let him know. the smug smile that'd grace his gorgeous features is worth it every single time

only, it really strikes you now. he's devastatingly handsome, painfully so

his head is tipped back against the backrest, eyes dark and low, focused on the screen. he tugs and worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, something evidently still weighing on his mind

that's only because he knows that it's still lingering on yours

"you're not silly for feeling the way you feel. you deserve someone who's certain about you. always have"

you blink out of your daze as his voice cuts through your thoughts. "huh?"

his head turns toward you, eyes flickering over your face, taking you in, reading you – always reading, always checking in. "you weren't silly for wanting more, y/n. he lead you on, knowing what you wanted. hell, he even introduced you to his parents as a friend", he scoffs, almost in disbelief. "you have every right to be upset. you're not wrong for expecting more"

"i should've known better. i should have walked out sooner", you counter and he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing

"you couldn't have. he ticked all the boxes, said all the right things, did all the right things. how could you have known?" his hand brushes your hair away from your face, gently. "you deserve mutual effort, y/n. commitment. i've watched you put your heart on the line over and over again. and i know it only took you this long to walk away, because you had hope. you always do. and that's not a bad thing, never a bad thing"

he's word vomiting, but you don't mind, taking in everything he says like your life depends on it

"you're so strong for never giving up. for always taking the leap and giving it another shot at love, opening yourself up even when you've been hurt so many times before. you always carry on. that's what i admire most about you, y/n. and i'm so fucking sorry you never received any of that in return"

tears well in your waterline, eyes flitting between his. "gyu", you breathe – his words having struck somewhere deep, a space you've tucked away from the rest of the world. you can barely speak with the lump that's formed in your throat and you don't even realize that the tears have spilled over until he catches them with his thumb

it's the first time you're allowing yourself to cry about this. fuck, you didn't want to

you knew it was coming, you'd known for months and you were in denial. he wasted a year of your time. all of them wasted years of your time. you had wished and prayed that this time around it wouldn't just end up being another set of empty promises and heartbreak – and you find yourself thinking that if you didn't have beomgyu you'd be blaming it all on yourself, that you'd pick yourself apart and wonder what you did wrong

you hadn't said any of these things to him, he just knew

he can't bear watching you hurt, the lump in his own throat thickens as he reaches out to you

"c'mere"

you don't protest, you simply let him guide you, climbing into his lap, knees settling on either sides of his hips. he holds you while you cry into his shoulder, allowing you to break, to let it all out. the frustration from this one-sided relationship, the frustration from work. you sniffle and sob and he allows you to just feel – something you've always been able to do only around him

what no one sees in moments like these is when his hand cards through your hair, humming when you soften into his touch. "you're okay, y/n. i'm here. take all the time you need"

you cry until you can't anymore, letting his voice and his warmth soothe you before drawing back

your teary eyes are reddened, lashes soaked and glossy and a flush colours your cheeks as you continue to sniffle. your faces are mere inches apart and beomgyu finds the sight of you one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, torn between doting on you and wanting to take your pain away

large warm hands come up to cup your face, wiping the remainder of your tears away. "better?" he asks, tucking your hair behind your ears before smoothing over your hair. you shake your head no, shifting in his lap and he frowns in concern

"i'm not thinking about him anymore, but– i don't know why it still hurts. i just want it to go away. i didn't think it would hurt this much", you admit, glassy eyes finding his – pleading with him. "beomgyu, please"

everything goes still. only the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the window, your show barely audible in the background and his and yours steady breaths echo through the space

you don't know what you're pleading for, you just know that it's him that you need – something, anything to take away the ache that lingers

something shifts in beomgyu

"shh", he hushes you, thumb tracing along your bottom lip. "let me take care of you"

your heart's pounding in your chest, breath faltering as you avert your gaze. you cannot bear to look at him. the look in his eyes far too disarming to wrap your head around right now. "beomgyu, i–"

his hand catches your chin, bringing your gaze back to his. "i hate seeing you like this, y/n. let me make it better. let me help. tell me what you need." he needs to hear you say it. his eyes flicker between yours, searching – adams apple bobbing as he swallows when your eyes fall to his lips

"kiss me", you whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he'd come to his senses and change his mind – no

all he needed was your permission

you hear and watch him curse under his breath. his tongue licks along the backs of his bottom teeth, hesitating for just a second before his hand slides to your nape, drawing you in until your lips connect

you sigh against each other, eyes fluttering shut. your hands on his shoulders grip at the material of his hoodie. his lips are plump and tender against yours, soft smacks sounding between you. his arm hugs tighter around your waist, the other threading through your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. soft whimpers spill into his mouth and he swallows them all greedily

you're flush against him, you know it, but still your body compels you to move closer. the stirring only makes you shift on his lap and your breath hitches when you feel the outline of him beginning to harden beneath you

he grunts against your lips, brows knitting together. the sound makes your stomach flip, rough and strained with a growing desire. the hand in your hair relaxes, allowing you to pull back and you find that you're both panting. his eyes that were previously soft and full of concern now carry a brewing darkness, lips parted and swollen, drawing in labored breaths

another intoxicating kiss is placed on your lips and your eyes flutter shut. "let me", he almost begs as your lips chase his, "let me make it better", hand drifting between your bodies. his fingers curl around the waistband of your pajama pants, tugging gently. the graze of them against your tummy is ticklish as he teases up to your belly button again, repeating the motion

the band snaps back against your tummy and you gasp against his lips, giving in with a wordless nod

that's more than enough confirmation for beomgyu. his lips meet yours again, this time with more fervor. his tongue snakes out, teasing at your bottom lip before you offer him access – the hushed rhythm of lips and tongues against each other only becoming louder

good god, beomgyu is a good kisser. you find yourself wondering why you hadn't decided to do this sooner

the space between your thighs becomes sweltering hot, heat pooling low in your core. your hips seem to develop a mind of their own, rocking onto the growing hardness beneath you

the gravelly groan your actions pulls out of him makes you shiver. his hand, careful and confident, eases past the waistband of your pants slowly, palming intently over your panties

you whimper into his mouth again, hips chasing the slow pressure he applies to your cunt. you need this, need him to relieve the ache. he bites back another grunt when he realizes just how thoroughly you've soaked the material of your panties

"beomgyu, please" you beg again, breathless

his lips migrate to your jaw and then your neck, sucking gently on the skin of your throat, enough to form the faintest bruise. you sigh blissfully when his hand finally slips into your panties, fingers dragging languidly through the wetness gathered at your folds, feeling you out

"fuck, you're so wet", he rasps, low and disbelieving

a finger teases around your entrance, collecting more of your arousal and you tremble when he trails the digit up to your aching bundle of nerves – right to where you need him most

he circles and caresses the little bud in a manner that makes your breathing falter, melting into him. your hips roll deeper in his lap, more insistent along the prominent length of him. he drinks in every reaction, every furrow of your brows, every needy gasp and small sigh, the grip of your hands tightening on his hoodie

every coherent thought comes to a halt while he toys with your dripping cunt like this – thumb, index and middle fingers working to numb you with pleasure, leaving you lightheaded

you watch his eyes darken when he circles around your entrance again, pushing past the sopping opening and stretching you perfectly. he shifts lower on the couch, broadening his manspread as he slides in knuckle-deep, exhaling shakily when one of your hands migrates to his hair

"how long has it been, a year?" he drawls, voice dropped an octave, sending another shiver down your spine. your brain short-circuits at his change in tone, involuntarily tightening around his long fingers. "he never made you cum, did he? my poor baby", he huffs followed by a mocking chuckle, knowing smirk tugging at his lips

he works you open slowly and you can barely piece together a response, only able to gasp and paw at him

"couldn't even take care of you properly. none of them fucking could. tell me, baby, did any of them make you feel this good?"

beomgyu presses deeper, hooking, curling, searching for that one spongy spot and all you can do is manage a shake of your head

"no?" he scoffs, a possessiveness creeping into his voice. "none of them deserved you, angel. i'll make you forget all about them, make up for all the times you had to come home and finish yourself off alone"

the gasp his words rip from your throat is nothing short of scandalized, moaning out when he finds that spot at the front of your walls, hooking and stroking ruthlessly against it. you hadn't realized he'd heard every little sound, every time you— the grin he sports is self-satisfied and cocky, stretching across his face when your eyes meet his. your pussy sucks him in so needily, pulsing and fluttering pathetically

"g-gyu—" you whimper as he keeps at your sweet spot, his assault torturous and deep, thumb swiping deliciously over your clit, determined to draw more sweet sounds from you

his name has never sounded better, he decides. your walls clench helplessly around his fingers and it's with mortification that you realize he's bringing you to the edge embarrassingly fast

god, of course he's good with his hands. you watch him play guitar all the time. you cannot count the amount of times you've willed away thoughts of what it'd feel like if he were doing those things to your pussy instead, toying with you and strumming your cunt the way he does his strings

"you're so good at this", you breathe, whining when he speeds his relentless motions, suctioning squelches of your wetness making your cheeks burn, making him throb violently in his pants. "yeah? need more?" he teases, voice impossibly deep

you've heard his morning voice hundreds of times before, but it never sounded anything like this. when you'd have sleepovers in this very living room, you: tucked in on one couch, him: tucked in on the other. you'd stir awake and find sleepy brown eyes already staring back at you from the couch diagonal to yours. he'd chuckle at the little groans you'd let out while stretching, voice taunting you when you squint at the sunlight. "morning, sleepyhead", he'd rasp, resisting the urge to move over to where you're cuddled just to snuggle you to death

no, this time there's an unrestricted want to his low register, a hunger and a desperation that he can barely conceal. it's sexy and sultry and it has your sex weeping with more arousal for him, dripping down his palm and between his fingers

you finally manage another whimper, "yes, please" and he gives you what you need instantaneously, without hesitation or further delay

the squelches that sound from between your thighs become more lewd, your squirming and whining only egging him on. he's lethal with his motions – your eyes flutter shut, pretty whimpers and moans of his name tumbling from your lips uncontrollably

he grunts and hisses through his teeth as though your pleasure is his own and you can't think of anything else, orgasm catching up to you quick, grip flimsy around his arm

"angel, you're already so close", he says in that condescending lilt. "fuck– wanna see you fall apart for me"

you never imagined you'd be doing this with him

beomgyu – the man who sleeps in the bedroom across the hall, who you've grown so close to in the blink of three years, since you moved in

the same voice that would soothe your spiraling with words of affirmation, was now talking you through an orgasm. the same hands and fingers that would toy with his guitar, were now playing with you. the same man who you purposely avoided fantasizing about, was now filling your mind only with white hot pleasure

your body climbs and climbs and the band in your core tightens rapidly, almost too much pleasure to bear or handle

"beomgyu, wait– slow down– f-fuck-!"

your pathetic pleas only seem to encourage him, dead-set on making you cum. it's a determination you never saw from that man – and every other man before him – who had kept you waiting

he pumps and curls his merciless fingers right into your sweet spot with mouthwatering precision, doubling his efforts and his lazy rotations on your clit when he feels your walls spasm and clamp around him

"let go, baby. let me feel this pretty little pussy cum"

that does it. your body seizes as pleasure consumes you, bursting and flooding from your core in molten pools of ecstasy, pushing up your lungs until you have no choice but to cry out, hands holding onto him for dear life

you sound even better up close, he marvels to himself. so much better when it's all meant for him, because of him

he seems to feed off of your pleasure, sultry moans and drawn out hisses deepening every pulse and throb between your thighs, amplified with your hips rolling and twitching in his lap

you're shaking – you don't even realize you're shaking until he's slowing his fingers just the way you need, watching and drinking in your every reaction like a hawk, pupils dilated with devastating hunger. "so perfect, angel. that was so fucking hot"

you focus on gathering your breath, fucked out and dizzy when your lips find his. he meets you much more eagerly, reeling you into a consuming kiss. he carefully withdraws his glistening fingers

his hands on your thighs are large, warm and grounding and your arms snake around his neck

a deep whimper escapes him when you experimentally move your hips, dick throbbing painfully under your weight. his lips migrate down to your jaw and then your neck, tongue and teeth teasing and nipping at the flesh – sending tingles straight down to your center

"fuck baby, don't do that unless you want more", he murmurs against the skin there and you grind down again

"don't want to stop", you mumble wantonly. his grip on your thighs and waist tightens at that

"yeah? need me to make you do that again?"

"please", you beg, breath hitching when he flips you over effortlessly, his lips back on yours. the room fills with the sound of your heavy breathing, your lips and tongues colliding and the rustling of clothes

he tugs your pajama pants off, leaving you in only your shirt and he smirks at the sight of your lacy panties. you're drenched, the material darkened and soaked through. lithe fingers peel them off and pride swells in his chest when you part your thighs for him eagerly

beomgyu can't believe his eyes, the sight of you before him almost surreal

it dawns on him now: he's got his pretty roommate under him like this, begging for his touch – you look fucking breathtaking too, irresistible – cunt leaking with arousal, winking at him seductively. it's the prettiest thing beomgyu's ever seen and he wants to commit this to memory

"still dripping for me. pussy's so fucking pretty, baby"

his tongue traces the backs of his teeth again, like he's weighing something. "he ever eat you out?" he voices the thought after a beat, gaze locked on your sex

the question makes you stammer. "i, well– he never offered so i just never bothered to ask…" the last bit of your sentence is mumbled, embarrassed. you hear him tsk, a scowl forming on his face. hell, you probably haven't been fucked properly in over a year, he thinks. what a fucking loser

he lowers himself over you once more, lips back to ghosting over your nape

"gonna let me taste this pussy, make it all mine? gonna let me eat you out?" he asks gruff right against your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth. "hm?"

your core aches when his warm breath tickles the delicate skin

"y-yes", you cave, craving more, high on all of his undivided attention on you

"that's my baby. all ready and needy for me", he kisses you there before he moves lower, bunching up your shirt to reveal your tummy. starved kisses and swipes of his tongue paints a scorching little path down the skin, hands mapping along the curve of your waist

you part your thighs even wider, peering down at him and you catch him wetting his lips with his tongue as he stares at your cunt, more apparent when a hand brushes his hair out of his eyes

you're quite nervous. you haven't had someone this close down there in a long time – well, other than your gynecologist. you feel completely exposed under his hungry gaze, the intensity of the darkness lingering there making you want to shy away

and yet, you've never felt so carnally and primally desired before

greedy, eager hands trace possessively on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. the torture and anticipation is enough to drive you mad

"gyu", you whine which only makes him snicker smugly. his teasing finally shifts to your center, the backs of his lithe fingers circling over your folds. the little wet noises make him groan in his chest

unable to resist any longer, he places an indulgent kiss right on your clit. your hips push up, chasing his mouth. the filthy, shit eating grin that pulls at his mouth only makes the burn in your abdomen hotter, fanning the flame of your excruciating, growing need

he's panting, a dead giveaway that he's just as desperate for this as you are

he has half the mind to make you beg for it. no, he'll save that for later

his lips ghost over you, tongue snaking out to tease over your pulsing little bud before wrapping his lips around it, wasting no time to begin sucking and licking at it with a muffled groan

your mind instantly blanks, tummy tightening and releasing and your hands fly to his hair as he eats you out with fervor, purpose, urgency – sinful mouth drawing shaky moans and gasps from your lips. everything feels tingly and overwhelming, but soon you're craving more, drowned in his devotion

goddamn, no one's ever had you writhing on their tongue like this, with so much determination

beomgyu's on a mission – low grunts and moans vibrating through your cunt and it's enough to make you squeal – like he's getting his own fill, deriving pleasure from the act of tasting you alone

you look over his shoulders and catch sight of his hips bucking into the couch cushion, absentminded ruts to relieve the ache of his throbbing cock

holy shit, that's the hottest, most depraved thing you've ever seen in your life

your broken cries and sobs grow needier and more shameless when he cups his hands around your thighs and ass, lifting you off the couch and onto his mouth like a starved man given his first meal, burying his face deeper between your thighs

"beomgyu– slow down, you–"

you're stumbling over your words, head lulling back while he only continues to work his tongue and lips over you with insatiable demand. you don't even think he can breathe, effortlessly lifting you against his mouth like a ragdoll

you're close again, so, so close – and it dawns on you that beomgyu is about to make you cum on his tongue

you've never cum on a man's tongue before. the realization makes your pulse spike, nervous and hesitant all the like

his sexy, sultry grunts and moans into your pussy only become more obscene when your hands tug harder on his hair, borderline lewd and shameless. his fingertips dig into your skin, tongue working faster, hungrier, switching between speedy flicks and swirls at your clit and dipping into the warmth of your walls

you lower your gaze and your breath hitches. his gaze – it's so intense, pinning and ravenous and it makes you clench and pulse around nothing, cunt fluttering hopelessly against his skilled tongue

"g–gyu, i'm gonna–"

he doesn't let you finish the sentence, doubling down and your hand slams down and grips at the couch cushion, nails raking along the velvet fabric

your thighs quiver and you whimper, louder and wilder than you've ever been before, heat and pleasure bursting from your core – so powerful, your ears ring and your vision blurs

everything is hot, too hot and you claw at the blanket beneath you before beomgyu tosses it to the floor

slicky arousal and cum coats and drips down his chin while you arch, sobbing when he doesn't let up. he draws back, only to take a deep breath before diving in again

the gasp you let out is but a shrill little sound that only fuels the hungry man feasting on your pussy, devouring you – thighs closing around his head to which he only pries them back open, pinning you down onto the plush of your couch this time

you wail, desperately trying to squirm away from his mouth. "f-fuck, beomgyu–! wait, i–"

he only grunts in response, tongue stroking deeper, eyes shut blissfully, his jaw working with the motion as he makes out with your cunt

fucking hell, beomgyu is a lot stronger than you thought he was

of course, you've always handed him the jars that were too stubborn to open and asked for his help with lifting heavy furniture when you're deep cleaning. he always wordlessly takes heavy grocery bags out of your hands whenever you shop together for the apartment – but fuck, this is different. you're trapped and helpless under his grip, unable to break free from his gluttonous, ruinous torture

his tongue drags up through your folds, slurping at your entrance to drink down another mouthful your sweetness, juices dripping more obscenely down his chin. your pleas seem to fall on deaf ears, the man between your thighs positively pussy drunk – lapping and suctioning around your bud like it's his mouth's only purpose

it's too much, you chant to yourself, eyes squeezed shut

"gyu, i'm- wait", you yank hard on his hair, successfully pulling him up. his gaze finds yours, incredulous and blown out with predatory hunger while his sinful tongue swipes and cleans at his lips

you squeeze around nothing, pussy aching the longer you stare at his stupidly gorgeous face

he seems to still be consumed with lust and need, mouth latching onto the skin of your neck. "said i'd make you forget, make you feel good. why won't you let me?"

a hand finds your slicked clit, circling the little bundle of nerves with the pads of his fingers and your mouth drops open, hips lifting into his touch against your will. he has you bowing off the velvety surface, toes curling with just how painfully delicious it feels

"see, baby? you can take a little more"

beomgyu's high on the power trip he's getting off of your surrender. you just moan so pretty and pliant and his fingers speed up, caressing and gliding over you without mercy. his chest brims with dangerous, unspoken pride when your hand clutches around his wrist

"i already came, you– oh my god"

he grunts in disapproval and presses harder, faster – slipping down to your entrace to collect more of your cum to make the slide wetter, louder, more lewd

"won't you just take a little more for me? hm?"

fuck fuck fuck, he's licking, kissing, sucking at the skin of your neck, just like he did your pussy. it's enough to rob you of all coherent thought

his hand momentarily withdraws from you. you sigh with relief, chest heaving and cunt aching with a longing you're unfamiliar with

he tugs on the waistband of his sweats until his dick is freed and it slaps heavy against your lower tummy once out of its confines

you gasp – it's warm, heavy and hard and it leaks with copious beads of precum against your skin. he coats the length with your juices, the schlick sounds making you moan and clench around nothing

you're surprised your body hasn't had enough, that your core still longs for more – fucked out and easily trained into submission and pliance just for him

you don't have much time to ponder. he presses the meaty length right between your folds, sliding right up against your clit. the friction only registers as intoxicating to your hazy mind, overstimulation adding to your delirium

he uses his thumb to press the heavy weight of him further down, bulbous head gliding up and down your slit, resuming the same pace of his fingers as before. prominent veins pulse beneath the velvety skin, unable to help himself as he pushes up over and over again. his hips drive forward, pistoning like he's really inside of you, the couch beneath you shaking with vigor

depraved whimpers and grunts spill from both your mouths, too far gone to hold back

he kisses up to your ear, voice a low rasp right against it

"fuck, look at you. my pretty angel, fucked stupid on my cock and i haven't even fucked you properly yet" – he's rambling mindlessly again, beastly with his grip on one of your thighs. "you wish i was inside you, huh? filling you up, stretching this pretty little cunt like you deserve"

"g–gyu–!"

you're beyond function, all other thoughts falling flat at the filth coming from his mouth – putty in his big, beautiful hands

"you feel me, baby? yeah? feel what you've done to me?"

you do, every last throbbing inch of him – and you squeeze and pulse uncontrollably around nothing, hips bucking up to meet his powerful thrusts

your hot, soaked pussy makes beomgyu feel crazy – soft, slippery warmth continuously leaking slick onto his cock, the slide between your thighs wet, filthy and rough. god, he wants to push inside of you so bad, sink into your warm, sopping walls to feel your cunt struggle to take him. he wants to fuck you until you can no longer think of anyone but him, until you're trembling and begging him for more, until you're completely and utterly stupid and the only man you'll want after tonight is him

god, you wish he would – you'd let him. he'd fill you up so good, you muse to yourself, telling by the way the fat tip of his cock grazes dangerously close to your belly button with the occasional punishing slip of him past your mound

his long, thick length slides up your pussy, pushing the entirety of it up your slit until his balls smack heavy against your glistening hole and ass

every rock and grind is filthier, messier. you're left panting and gasping for air, stomach muscles clenching. you're close again, nails biting into his skin through his hoodie, moans and sobs wanton and desperate

"gonna cum for me again, baby?" he prompts in that deep taunt that licks up your spine. you nod frantically, biting down on your bottom lip. "fuck, i'm close too. let go for me, wanna feel you soak my cock"

his teeth bite down on your neck and that does it. you gasp and let go, clutching tight onto his hoodie like you might float away if you don't

he follows soon after, moaning gutturally against your pulse while hot spurts of his cum paint your belly – an abundance of it too

your bodies pulse and spill and squeeze for what feels like forever, hips settling into deep grinds. your thighs squeeze tight around his hips, keeping him close

you don't realize tears have spilled down your temples until beomgyu pulls away, eyes returning to your face

"y/n? hey, look at me" he coaxes, cupping your face and your eyes open. "was it too much? was i too rough?" he asks carefully, eyes puppy-like searching yours

"no, you– i just– i've never–" never cum so hard before. hell, you can barely talk

your thighs and lower half are still quaking in the aftermath, cunt jumping with the slightest movement of him against you. he seems to catch on pretty quickly, that self-satisfied smirk pulling at his lips, hand brushing your hair away from your face

"shh, you did so well for me", he praises softly, placing a chaste peck on your forehead. "you're perfect". you're both coming down from the high, basking in the aftershocks, catching your breath. he huffs a breathless chuckle in disbelief. "shit y/n, that was–"

"amazing", you finish for him, body still buzzing, unable to fight the smile that tugs at your face

"yeah? did i fulfill your ideal friday night wishlist?" he asks, smugness softening

"you did. more than i asked for", your eyes flick between his. he can tell something weighs on your mind, so he waits – hands soothing over your skin, shielding you from the cold

"beomgyu, what does this make us?"

there it is – the question he was waiting for. you shift under him, nervous while he takes in the vulnerability that rests so evidently behind your eyes. his thumbs trace over your cheeks, sighing contently while he looks at you. he's equally as nervous – he just does a better job at masking it

"sleepover on the couch, then we talk it out?"

your heart instantly warms as you fight another smile. "how about sleepover in your bed? the couch is a mess and the other one's too small to fit both of us"

he sighs in relief, laughing sheepishly. "yeah? i was hoping you'd say that"

"yeah", you concede – humming when he steals another kiss, your arms hugging around his neck. "i'd like to be cleaned up too"

he smiles against you, "yes ma'am, that can be arranged", before he resumes his breath-stealing kiss

your heart eases, knowing that it's finally in good hands – and that you'll be just fine

because home is where beomgyu is

scz note: i have no words 0‐0 i need roommate gyu so bad. it's cold & rainy where i live rn, so i hope you enjoyed this little work of mine! let me know what you think about this one! ><

taglist: @buntanteen @beomtle @bamgelically @chai-soobin

perm taglist: @yunverie @yystarz @jaylaxies @aribomb

yang jungwon was romantic without even meaning to, it was a result of his honesty and cluelessness towards certain social settings. and yang jungwon was.. perfect. you had never loved anyone like him, never tried to, never could. he was your first love, and definitely your last, and you could never imagine life without him. 

oh, and he was incredibly stubborn. 

you've learned the lengths he would go to when he agreed to an arranged wedding during college, in order to please his parents, who insisted that he didn't have to do that. 

and it only took a certain series of events for him to admit that he was in love with you. 

you wouldn't change anything about it, how you met, how he fell for you, how you ended up married. 

but.. if you could.. you'd change one thing. her. 

your eyes followed her silhouette as she walked in jungwon's office, head held up high like she owned his attention—she didn't. 

“jungwonie, could you look at this proposal for me?” she spoke, batting her eyelashes at him, and jungwon only responded with a glare. “I'm doing this because it's my job.” he muttered, and she sat down, unable to keep her eyes off your jungwon. 

“so, didn't you miss me? ever think about how I've always been the right choice?” she said, her voice carrying a sharp edge to it, as she cast you a bitter glance. 

jungwon rolls his eyes, “no, chaeyeon. believe it or not, I love my wife.” 

yeah, jungwon's ex-fiancé was the head of another big company, who unfortunately, still have a connection to the yang cooperation. 

she frowns, “boring.” 

you clear your throat, hoping that she'd be more aware of your presence in the room. 

“so.. jungwon-”

“he's busy.” 

“I didn't say anything yet,” she deadpanned—yet you weren't having it. 

“well I'm sure he's not thrilled to listen to you.” 

“are you still mad?” 

jungwon has just gotten out of a hot shower, wet hair, clothes that clung to his frame, and look you could never resist. 

“I'm not.” 

“you are, baby. what's wrong?” 

“she's what's wrong.” you spat. 

“who? chae-” “don't say her name.” 

“fine.. my ex-fiancé?” 

“she's so irritating.” you grumbled. 

jungwon ducks down to kiss your cheek. “you know I love only you, right?” he said, and you could only reply with a small “I do.” 

“I'm married to the girl of my dreams. I wouldn't want anyone else.” he adds. 

“shut up.” 

© juwonsicle. '26

“Yeah, I’m actually dating Yuma right now,”

You put on your biggest (fakest) smile as you hug Yuma’s arm while staring at your ex, who has been bothering you ever since the breakup six months ago. You can feel Yuma’s eyes on you – instead of returning the eye contact, you continue to smile at your ex while silently praying that Yuma would just get along with the lie. 

And also mentally sighing, because what you thought was a short run to a convenience store to buy your favourite chips turns into bumping into Yuma (which is not a bad thing, it’s just that… you just don’t want to see anyone right now), then… your ex.

Is it so hard for a girl to live in peace? You just want to buy snacks to eat while watching Studio Ghibli movies, to wind down after a long week…

“Is this… for real?”

Your ex asks in disbelief. You eagerly nod, and look at Yuma who just shifted his eyes away from you – brightly, hoping that your ex can see the love (nonexistent) in your eyes.

“Yeah. I’m dating her now. We’ve been keeping it low for a while, because you know, she’s trying to process her emotions and things. And private, because we don’t want people talking,”

Yuma’s words make you feel relieved and extremely grateful to him for going along with the act. And also to heaven, because you’re being blessed with a friend that’s quick witted and able to read the room. 

“You guys are lying, there’s no way– there’s no way she’ll be in love with you, dude,”

“I think you’re the one who’s lying. To yourself, by the way. Because we’re very much in love with each other, right, baby?”

Yuma looks at you, and you nod at him while your lips curl into an even bigger smile. Your cheeks are definitely going to be sore after this interaction ends, you think to yourself, as you’re smiling really wide and keeping it steady to show that you’re extremely happy (pretending, actually).

“There’s no way, Y/N. You– we were so in love with each other! You– you’re such a fucking traitor,”

Your ex moves closer to you while getting emotional – his voice raised, eyes looking like it’s going to pop out of its socket, and face reddened. Yuma instantly steps forward, hiding you behind his back as he pushes your ex away.

“Hey. I don’t appreciate you accusing my girlfriend of such things,”

“Fuck off dude!”

“Or what? Are you going to throw a punch on me or something? For protecting my girlfriend? I can definitely take punches, but are you ready to take mine?”

You shut your eyes tightly – why men often resort to violence to settle things? You hope that Yuma’s words are just an empty threat, to get your ex off you and leave you alone. Because if not… you’re definitely in for the long night.

Yuma steps forward to intimidate your ex more, causing you to panic – you instantly tugs on his hand to gain his attention. Once his eyes are on you, you desperately shake your head, hoping that it would stop Yuma from starting the fight.

“You know what. On second thought, both of you fit each other well. A bitch and a playboy, what a good combination,”

Yuma raised his fist upon hearing your ex addressing you as bitch – your eyes turned wide and you immediately wrapped your arms around Yuma’s waist tightly, before you forced him to take a few steps back with you.

“Let’s not fight, please. Please. Please, Yuma,”

“He called you a bitch.”

“Nakakita Yuma, please. No. Please,”

You heave a relieved sigh when you watch Yuma slowly lowering his fist, before glaring at your ex for bringing trouble to you. Your ex chuckles, and childishly throws both of his middle fingers in the air before exiting the convenience store.

“Why did you date a fucking loser?”

“I regretted it. I really am. Thanks for stepping in, Yuma. I’ll… pay for whatever you’re going to buy as a thank you,”

“If I want to buy this store?”

You badly want to roll your eyes at his words, but he helped you earlier, so you can’t act all sassy to the man who just saved you from your ex.

“Whatever you’re going to reasonably buy as a thank you,”

Yuma chuckles as you clarify yourself, while you sigh and shake your head – exhausted with your ex and Yuma’s antics.

“There’s no need. And I’m sorry for getting too carried away. I’m allergic to men who can’t respect boundaries,”

“Please, let me pay for something as a thank you,”

“No. Let me pay for you instead. You deserve a treat after… meeting with that kind of man.”

“...Huh?”

You’re caught off guard at his words, because not only he refuses to let you treat him as a thank you – he’s also offering to treat you for having such a bad encounter with your ex.

“Pick anything, Y/N.”

Yuma then left you after saying that, heading to the aisle he intended to go earlier before being roped into becoming your boyfriend. You watch Yuma as he hums while walking away – another sigh escapes your lips, before you decide to accept his offer and begin picking your snacks. You then follow him around in silence – he did a few rounds in the convenience store before finally heading to the counter to pay.

“Do you need these to be packed separately?”

The cashier asks after confirming that Yuma is paying for yours, and Yuma shakes his head as a response.

“Eh? Separately, please.”

“I’m walking you home, so there’s no need for that. Just pack it together, please.”

You look at Yuma with a puzzled face, and Yuma chuckles at your reaction before he points outside with his eyes. You instantly realize what’s going on and roll your eyes – you’re about to seriously throw a tantrum, because why the hell is your ex waiting for you outside the convenience store?

“Sorry for troubling you, Yuma,”

“Nah. I have to get my 10k steps anyway. Let’s go,”

Both you and Yuma thank the cashier before Yuma reaches his arm out – you quickly understand what he’s hinting on, and lightly hug his arm just like you did earlier.

“Thank you again, Yuma,”

Yuma just smiles at you. Both of you exited the convenience store, and you can immediately see your ex’s figure from the corner of your eyes.

“Don’t be so tense. Pretend like he’s not here, or else he’ll notice that you’re lying. If he’s not an idiot,”

Yuma said in a hushed voice – if it wasn’t you being close to him, you definitely would’ve missed his words. You exhaled a deep sigh, trying to loosen up all the muscle and make yourself appear relaxed, while tightening your grip on Yuma’s arms.

Both of you walked in silence – you’re too stressed to say anything, and Yuma noticed that, so he didn’t bother breaking the silence. You guide Yuma into your apartment building, and bring him to the front of your house – just in case if your ex is watching both of you, somewhere.

“Thanks, Yuma.”

“It’s… nothing. Glad I can help. Let me know if he’s still bothering you, yeah?”

Yuma hands the plastic bag to you after stuffing his snacks in his hoodie’s pockets, making you chuckle as he looks like a big belly penguin right now.

“I don’t think he’ll bother me… at least for now,”

“Okay. But if he does… Don't hesitate to call me, okay?”

“Alright. Will do,”

“Great. Get inside first,”

You nod, and waved him goodbye before closing the door. Instead of making your way to the living room, you stand in front of the door while pressing your lips into a thin line – you’re contemplating on whether to say your thoughts out loud, or not. Another deep sigh escapes your lips before you open your door, and quickly turns your head around to find Yuma.

“Yuma!”

Lucky for you, Yuma isn’t that far – maybe because he’s carrying lots of snacks in his pocket, so he walks slowly.

“Yeah?”

Yuma turns his head to you, and waddles back to your door.

“I– I, uh. Thank you. For stepping in, and for being a gentleman. I– I didn’t think that you’ll actually play along… so I'm… grateful. Thank you,”

“It’s… truly nothing, Y/N. It’s an honour to be your fake boyfriend for 10 minutes,”

“Huh?”

“And I will do anything, actually, to save a pretty girl in distress.”

Yuma shot a flirty wink at you, causing you to laugh before you shake your head. There’s a reason why Yuma earned his title as a playboy in the campus – he smoothly flirts with everyone, and by everyone, you mean literally everyone. You vividly remember how red Jo’s face when Yuma flirted with him – that boy keeps fanning himself with his book despite the hall being cold as hell.

“Flirty boy. Playboy.”

“Your flirty boy. Your playboy, Y/N.”

Yuma winked again, making a chuckle escape from your lips.

“Whatever. Good night, Yuma.”

“Good night, Y/N. Dreams of me, maybe I’ll be your real boyfriend in that dream of yours?”

“Don’t push your luck, Yuma,”

“Well, a man can dream.”

additional notes: thank you for reading till the end <3

you grin. “hi there."

you drop your stuff on the counter with far more noise than necessary, tearing open the ramen packet. euijoo keeps sneaking curious, nervous glances. you pretend not to notice... for approximately five seconds.

“so,” you say, leaning back against the counter, watching him openly now, “what's your name again? and how do you know mine...?"

he looks mildly startled, like this interaction has taken an unexpected turn. “e-euijoo, and uhm, we met before...”

"euijoo,” you echo, testing it out. “cute. i'll remember it this time”

his entire body seems to short-circuit at the compliment. it’s incredible. euijoo looks at you like you’ve just descended from heaven.

“so, euijoo,” you continue casually, like this is normal, like you’re not slightly drunk and far too entertained, “quiet night in?"

he glances at the kettle, then back at you, "uh yeah. just making tea."

“i see that,” you say, fascinated. “it’s kind of late for tea, isn’t it?”

he shifts slightly. "it helps me study."

“at two in the morning?”

“..yeah.”

you stare at him for a beat. then grin.

“wow,” you repeat, drifting a little closer to him, “you’re actually real?"

"real? what do you mean?"

“like,” you gesture vaguely, “one of those people who actually does all their assignments and drinks tea and has their life together.”

his expression flickers somewhere between confusion and mild panic. he smiles, shrugs, and avoids all eye contact as he says, "i mean, i don’t really have my life together...”

you laugh. “please. you’re making tea to study on a saturday night, euijoo. i'm just getting home from drinking myself into oblivion. you're already leagues ahead of me.”

your microwave hums behind you. the kettle clicks softly as his water finishes boiling. the tiny kitchen is filled with warmth that feels weirdly intimate. you lean back against the counter again, studying him shamelessly.

“so,” you say, voice lighter, curiosity slipping easily into mischief, “what bars do you usually go to?”

he blinks so hard his glasses shift slightly. “…bars?”

you laugh. it’s almost comical how long it takes him to process the question. “yes, euijoo. bars. those magical places with alcohol and edm music.”

“i don’t really go to bars.”

you tilt your head. “oh? more of a house party guy?”

he shifts his weight awkwardly, forcing a half-smile. "not really.”

of course not.

“no parties?” you ask, mock horror dripping from every syllable. “wow.”

no response. he looked nervous like he was holding his breath.

“wow,” you repeat, then giggle, “you’re actually such a dork.”

“…yeah,” he says quietly, almost like an apology. his ears turn pink. and for some deeply confusing reason, that doesn’t turn you off. it only makes you more curious.

“so what do you do in your free time?” you ask. this was gonna be good.

euijoo wore his anxiety in the tight line of his shoulders. he hesitates like it’s a trick question. “…study. mostly.”

you snort. “pathetic.”

“…and i read sometimes.”

“oh my god,” you grin. “it gets worse.”

and he laughs softly, surprisingly. that made your core flex. you couldn't figure out why.

you watch the way his long fingers curl tightly around his mug and the way he still can’t quite hold eye contact with you for more than a second at a time.

and it’s ridiculous. actually ridiculous. because this painfully shy, tea-drinking, absolutely-not-your-type boy should not be doing anything for you. and yet, there’s something about it. something about the shyness and the softness and the way he looks like he’d cum in his pants if you stepped even an inch closer.

you squint and scan your eyes over every inch of him. why do i find this dork so hot? it makes no sense. you hookup with frat boys, athletes, guys with zero emotional depth. definitely not mr. right's, but you have a brand.

and euijoo... euijoo is standing here blushing because you’re breathing in his general direction. looking at you like you’re something far more interesting than you actually are. and for some deeply irritating reason, it’s working.

you found yourself wanting to know how many layers were hiding underneath all that anxiety. for reasons you couldn't explain, you wanted to be the one to peel them back first.

“god,” you murmur, half to yourself, half to him, “this is so weird.”

he looks alarmed. "what is?”

“nothing,” you say, smiling crookedly. even though it is very much something.

“um, so... rough night?” he asks suddenly.

you raise an eyebrow. “wow. are you making conversation with me, euijoo?”

he looks embarrassed. "sorry.”

“no, don't be sorry.” you say through a laugh. “ but uh, yeah, rough night. went out to the bars just to come home alone at two am.”

you step closer just enough. he smells clean, like laundry detergent and jasmine.

“god,” you murmur, leaning slightly into his space, “you’re so cute. i just wanna—”

you don’t finish the sentence. instead, your hand glides forward and grabs the collar of his hoodie. he freezes.

and there it is. that look. that wide-eyed, slightly dazed expression. you’ve seen that expression before, usually right before things get interesting.

you step even closer. his entire body goes stiff, of course.

“why do you look so nervous, euijoo?” you murmur, barely pretending.

he shakes his head too fast. “i’m not.”

you lean in slightly, close enough now to whisper, breath grazing his ear. he stops breathing.

“you’re very nervous.”

he swallows again like that’s the only motor function he has left.

“...i’m not,” he repeats, voice softer now. a terrible lie.

“no?” you murmur. and instead of pulling away, you stay there. hovering. close. too close. your free hand lifts slowly, coming up to rest on his waist, fingers slowly curling against his hoodie.

“euijoo,” you whisper again, softer this time, almost curious, “is this your first time being this close to a girl like me?”

“…no.” but his voice wavers just a little. and it’s adorable.

your fingers begin to drift lazily from his sleeve… down his arm… slowly, like you’re exploring something that already belongs to you. he visibly tenses, every inch of him hyperaware now.

without breaking eye contact, your hand keeps moving. lower. his breath catches because he knows. because there’s no way he doesn’t know. because your fingers are trailing lower. lower. lower. until they hover right at the waistband of his pants. it's agonizing.

you tilt your head slightly and stare at him. wide eyes, flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted. completely ruined by nothing more than proximity.

“…euijoo,” you murmur softly, fingers barely grazing the fabric, “you’re really bad at lying.”

he doesn’t respond. doesn’t speak. doesn’t move. he just stands there breathing uneven.

you study his face for a second. the panic. the anticipation. the way his gaze keeps flickering helplessly to your lips.

“look at you,” you whisper, almost amused.

still nothing. so you step even closer until there’s barely space left between your bodies. your voice drops, “do you want to kiss me?”

his breath catches audibly, his brain absolutely scrambling for survival, “…i—”

he can’t even finish a sentence, but he’s nodding. you smile softly. “that’s what i thought.”

and then, without dragging it out another second, you kiss him. and euijoo — poor, doomed, completely unprepared euijoo — melts. his body is still stiff as a board, but he's squeezing his eyes shut like this is something unreal happening to him.

it’s almost embarrassing how easily he gives in. how quickly all that nervous tension turns soft beneath your mouth.

you reach and grab his arms to wrap them around your waist. you pull back just slightly, enough to watch him struggle to recover. he looks completely dazed, lips parted, eyes still half-lidded, like you’ve just sent him into shock.

cute. god, it’s so cute.

you reach forward, hands sliding up his arms, then up his chest and up to hook a finger beneath the bridge of his glasses and slide them off slowly. he squints almost immediately, eyes softer now without the lenses between you.

you tilt your head, studying him. somehow, without the glasses, he looked even prettier. his lashes were longer than you expected, framing warm round eyes that kept darting everywhere except your face. he tenses instantly as you stare. of course he does.

“hey. relax,” you murmur softly, "god, don't tell me that was your first kiss."

he looked away, so nervous you wondered if his heart was beating loud enough for you to hear. "no, i-i kissed a girl in middle school. it was actually a dare but-"

"just shut up," you said. you guide his arms until his hands settle awkwardly at your waist. he hesitates like he’s unsure what to do, so you press closer.

“there,” you whisper, "you can touch me as much as you want. i won't bite unless you want me to."

and this time when you kiss him again, he kisses back. hesitant at first. nervous. like something in him has finally started to let go. you kiss him harder with no hesitation now. his fingers tighten at your waist. that makes you smile against his mouth. so he does have something in him.

your bodies press closer, his breathing already uneven, already wrecked. and then your hand slides downward, brushing warm skin, moving lower. lower. until they hook lightly into his waistband. his breath catches so sharply it almost sounds painful.

you pause. just for a second. your fingers press slightly, not moving yet, just waiting.

“is this okay?” you ask.

without hesitation, without even pretending to think, he answers. “yes.”

too fast. too breathless. too honest. then, quieter, almost desperate,

“yes… please, just, a-anything."”

you feel heat build up between your thighs at that. dear god, you wanted to badly to finally make him whimper under your touch. to make him forget how to breathe because you made him feel so good. to ruin him so that all he could think about was you.

but then, of course, reality sneaks back in.

“…but,” he adds quickly, “what if someone walks in?”

you grin and lean in close, lips brushing lightly against his ear again.

“don’t worry.” your fingers slip just slightly past the waistband. “that’s what makes it fun.”

maybe its your words or maybe its the way you said it, but something in euijoo breaks. his shaky hands fumble at the waistband of his sweatpants desperately, untying the strings like they were suffocating him. you pull back just enough to watch, a slow smile spreading across your lips as he struggles with the fabric.

his hard cock springs out of his sweatpants, pink, throbbing, and already dripping in precum. its perfectly long and pretty. he glances up at you, eyes wide like he's seeking your approval.

"pretty," you whisper. that earns you a small smile from him, like he was relieved.

with slow movements just to tease him, you kneel down in front of him. you take his full length in your mouth, staring up at him the whole time. he's staring down at you too, mouth widening slowly as he inhales.

"oh my god—" he reaches back to grip the counter behind him, biting his lip to suppress the moans trying to escape his mouth. he chants under his breath, "oh my god. oh my god. oh my god."

cock still stuffed in your mouth, you giggle, and the vibration seems to set him off even more. his legs wobble and he throws his head back. you quicken your pace.

"jesus, you look so pretty." he whines, then instinctively grabs a fistful of your hair to try and stop you. you lean back, strings of spit clinging from his dick to your mouth.

"hm? gonna cum already?"

his cheeks turn redder than before. "well... yeah. sorry."

you stand up, giggling again. so fucking cute.

"no. i like it." you tell him, "you're so sensitive. makes me want to touch you more. see just how good i can make you feel."

euijoo looks completely undone, panting. without breaking eye contact, your fingers slide to the hem of your shirt. you peel the fabric away slowly, deliberately, fully aware of what you’re doing to him. there’s something almost intoxicating about the way he watches like the simple act of you undressing is far more overwhelming than anything that’s happened so far.

"s-should i,” he asks quietly, voice rough, uncertain, “lock the door?”

you pause, jeans halfway off. “what, you scared someone might see?”

his expression tightens instantly. because yes. obviously yes. but he still glances toward the door. still torn between panic and you.

“no one’s coming in here at this hour.” you lean in, close enough that his attention snaps right back where you want it. you pull your jeans off completely. “and even if they were…”

you step closer, brushing lightly against him. euijoo doesn’t look away. he can’t. his eyes track every motion with a kind of helpless intensity, breath already uneven before the fabric even begins to fall.

then your panties hit the floor. the silence that follows is almost deafening. euijoo shudders.

“i don’t think you’d stop me.”

his hands twitch at his sides. “…i—”

but whatever thought he was trying to form disappears the second you touch him again. you grab his broad shoulders and mumble, "stand behind me."

you turn around and position yourself at the counter, hands planted on the cold marble. you lift the back of your shirt so that he can easily access you. he gently rests his hands on your bare ass, hesitating.

"are you sure?" he asks, "i... i've never done this before."

"i'm sure as long as you're sure," you say as you look over your shoulder at him, "i don't care that you're a virgin, euijoo."

he nods, "i really want to. you're b-beautiful. i just don't want to disappoint you. i don't know what i'm doing..."

there’s something painfully sincere in the way he says it.

“disappoint me?” you repeat softly, turning around fully now to face him again. he has no choice but to look at you.

your fingers lift, resting lightly against his jaw. his skin is soft and glowy, not a blemish in sight.

“the fact that you’re this nervous?” your thumb brushes slowly against his skin. “is already getting me off.”

his eyes widen. “…really?”

“mhm. i don't care if you're good at this. you just have to want me.”

“…i do. badly.”

you smile softly against his lips. “then you’re not disappointing me. not even close.”

and then you kiss him again, slow this time, but infinitely more dangerous. without breaking apart, you gently lead him to the table and push him into a chair. you're straddling him, your dripping pussy dangerously close to his cock now.

"just follow my lead, okay?" you say. he nods quickly.

you shift your hips forward slowly, letting your hands rest against his warm chest. his breath shakes the second you settle onto his cock, his entire body tensing beneath you. you settle down onto him inch by inch.

every small shift seems to send another visible wave of sensation through him. he lets out the faintest whimper, his grip tightening on your waist. his eyes flutter shut for a second before snapping back open, like he can’t decide whether this is too much or not enough.

"that feels so good," he groans.

"yeah?" you can feel your tight walls squeezing around him. "you want me to go all the way down, don't you?"

"yes... yes, please," his head leans back when you do. then, you bounce, and god, the face he makes, totally giving into you, only makes you wetter.

you go faster, the sensation rolling through your entire body and stealing the air from your lungs in quiet, uneven breaths.

his fingers are digging into you now, "oh my god, i don't think i can last much longer, but..."

your rhythm falters for a second, "but what?"

"but i don't wanna stop yet." he says honestly.

pure, unfiltered want.

a small smile curves across your lips, touched with something that almost feels like affection.

“yeah?” you murmur quietly.

“yeah,” he breathes.

your pulse spikes instantly.

“good,” you whisper. “because neither do i.”

"can you... go back to the counter? the way you were before? i want to try that." he asks sweetly, licking his lips. that earns a smile from you. he was warming up to you. you wish he'd tell you every dirty thought he had, every burning fantasy he'd been dreaming about trying. you oblige, standing and leaning on the counter again.

he comes behind you, positioning himself, holding onto your hips as a guide. you hear him take a deep breath.

and then... he slides into you. you gasp immediately. it feels even better, the angle hitting you deeper. he stalls for a moment, getting used to the sensation.

then, he ruts himself into you. its desperate and a little uneven, but that's what makes it so much better. maybe he doesn't have a clue what he's doing, but all he knows is he wants you so bad.

"yeah, just like that," you coo.

he goes faster. the delicious sounds of your skin slapping begins to fill the room over both of your moans. it sounds like he's trying to say something, but it all comes out as breathy, strained grunts.

he presses his chest flat to your back and wraps his arms completely around your torso. the sudden closeness sends warmth flooding through you as he clings onto you. euijoo buries his face against your shoulder, breathing you in like he can’t quite get enough of you.

"fuck, euijoo, you're gonna make me cum," you say, oddly proud.

"really? do i keep going?" he asks like he's genuinely surprised.

"yes. god, yes, keep going." your back arched further with each strained word. that makes his pace quicken even more. he's pounding into you with a certain hunger that you didn't know he had in him.

"just a little— ahh," your words dissolve into moans, your back arching as the sensation peaks without warning. every nerve in your body lights up with a sharp, pulsing intensity that feels almost impossible to contain. euijoo’s name falls from your lips in a broken whisper.

just after you reached your climax, he pulls out frantically, whimpering loudly as his cum spilled out onto the floor between your legs. for a moment, he breathes hard while he's resting against your back and takes it all in.

then, euijoo slowly opens his eyes, like he’s afraid it was all just a dream. his arms are still wrapped tightly around you. his chest rises and falls unevenly against your back, fingers still slightly tense.

“…holy shit,” he whispers softly like his brain is still catching up to reality. “that was…” he trails off, clearly unable to find a word big enough.

“…good?” you murmur softly.

euijoo nods instantly. he breathes out, “good. really good. did... did you like it?"

you couldn't help but laugh, "was my orgasm not proof enough? yes, euijoo, you did amazing."

you slither around to face him, then melt into his chest. his embrace is warm and strong and sweeter than you expected.

"just want to make sure" his arms tighten around you again like he has absolutely no intention of letting go anytime soon.

you glance up at him, amused.

“you know this isn’t a one-time thing, right?”

he blinks. “…you’d really want that?”

you smile softly. “don’t make me repeat myself.”

For what, he can’t surmise. Though he might have an inkling. 

He shuts the door behind him very slowly, takes his shoes off very slowly, then rounds the corner from the hall into the living room very, very slowly. 

And there you are, standing against the island with your arms crossed. You don’t look angry, and that’s the worst part. You just stare at him, expecting, like he’s the one who called this impromptu intervention. 

He doesn’t dare speak first because he knows whatever he says will be the wrong thing anyway. 

But when you keep staring at him, eyes growing narrower by the micron as the steely seconds pass, he’s left with no choice. 

“I missed you—“

“What the hell is this?” Your voice makes him step back, startled at the sudden way you step forward and shove your phone into his space. 

He blinks rapidly, the screen coming into focus. 

It’s a looped, blurry video of him on Twitter, lifting his shirt and exposing himself—butterflies and all—in the middle of a performance, on stage and in front of thousands of people... thousands of women. Well, that’s what it seems like but all he remembers is trying to detach the sticky fabric off his skin. 

But watching it now, it looks… suspicious… and when he lifts his gaze back to you, the glare explains it all.

“Wait, no, that’s not what it—“

“Not what it looks like?” You huff, shoving the phone in your pocket. He stammers silently, unsure how he’s somehow said the wrong thing again. 

“The shirt was wet! I was—“

“So you had to flash everyone?”

Well, truly he can’t remember what he was doing. His brain goes on autopilot sometimes during the shows and the questionable things he does aren't really in his control. That’s stage Jiung, not normal Jiung. Stage Jiung is the promiscuous harlot, not him!

He means to say all of this. But all his brain can make him do is gape like a fish. 

You click your tongue, and in his 24 years of life Jiung has never felt so chastised—not even when his dad found him after he ran away from home that second time. 

You turn to leave and Jiung lurches forward, grabbing you by the arm. 

“Love, I promise that wasn’t me—“

Okay, that came out wrong. 

You whip around again, your glare somehow even sharper, and Jiung nearly curls into himself. 

“Oh? Who was it then, prancing around the stage like a show whore?”

His face burns, his body burns. He knows you’re upset with him, but his dick doesn’t seem to get that hint. 

He swallows down his pride, wringing his hands together, eyes flitting away. “…Stage Jiung?”

The silence is somehow worse. 

Then a sigh, and you’re turning away again. 

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

And you leave him there, kind of scared that he’d actually pushed it too far this time, and kind of turned on that it just makes him want to push more.

𓆩⟡𓆪

You should’ve known that banishing Jiung to the living room would be a fruitless attempt. He’s clingier than you are possessive, and keeping him away from you for more than a workday is like depriving him of oxygen. 

So, soon enough, when it hasn’t even been an hour since you’d tucked into bed, you hear his soft footsteps pad eagerly up to your door. 

You take a breath, mentally preparing yourself for a war of attrition, completely determined to not let him win this time.

Even his quiet, endearing little “jagi?” as he pokes his head into the room doesn’t sway you. You shut your eyes quickly in hopes that he’ll just change his mind and go away. 

He doesn’t. 

“I know you’re not asleep,” he says, and his tone is so stringy and drawn out and warm in the way that makes you want to coddle him that you nearly hurl a pillow at his head. 

It makes you violent sometimes just how cute he can be with his voice alone. 

You let out an irritated huff, sharply turning to face away from him. 

Like the nuisance that he is, he crawls into the space behind you anyway. You curse yourself for not keeping it all occupied to steer him away. 

He’s quiet for a while, and you’re fine to just let it go and go to sleep without saying anything to make your point, but then he’s talking to you again in that tiny voice of his. 

“Are you really ignoring me?”

You grit your teeth. Yes, you yell telepathically. 

It’s a strategy, you remind yourself. He knows how to weaponize his cuteness. You’re not falling prey to it again. 

You feel a gentle tug at your hair—he must be twirling it around his finger like he always does when he wants to just be connected to you somehow. 

You’re about to turn around and bat him away—but then he’s plastering himself to your back. 

“Please don’t ignore me,” he whines into the back of your head. Then, he grinds his hips against your ass, and your eyes snap open at the prominent hardness you feel prodding against you. He buries his face into your shoulder, his hot breath hitting your neck. “‘M so hard… help me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pursing your lips as you turn your face into the pillow. 

Fuck, what the hell are you supposed to do now?

Nothing, your brain supplies. 

But Jiung gets restless without attention, and very persistent. He’s bound to wear you down. 

Whatever, he hasn’t earned the grace of your attention. If he wants to get off, he can get off himself. 

“Tried on my own. Didn’t work,” he grumbles like he’s got a gateway into your inner thoughts. 

You hold in a gasp as he adjusts himself to slot his bulge against you, giving just enough pressure against you that has you nearly pushing back for more. You hold yourself strong.

And he hates it, clicking his tongue as he ruts helplessly against you again like that’ll get you to cave. 

“Jagi,” he whines again, drawing out the word as he shoves his face into the back of your head. 

You swallow down your hammering heart, squeezing your thighs shut to quell the growing burn. 

The thin fabric of your sleep shorts is a feeble barrier to hide the way his cock pulses against you with heavy need. 

He lets out a short grunt, frustrated when you still don’t respond. 

“Fine,” he huffs and you can almost hear the pout. 

You think it’s a cue to him leaving and you nearly protest the idea—until you hear the shuffle of clothes and then feel the blunt head of his cock nudging against the back of your clothed cunt. 

“Just—” He cuts off with a guttural groan as he traces your slit, the heated line of pressure of his cock carving through you as he pushes into the warm crevice created between your thighs. 

His arms wrap around your waist, clinging desperately as he messily bucks into you, slathering your silk shorts with his precum and quickly making you make a mess of it too with your own growing arousal. 

“Please,” he mumbles, words slurred against your ear. “Jus’ let me have this… just this, ‘ma make you feel—hah—feel good too…”

You fight to hold in every little noise that threatens to escape you whenever he nudges against your clit, but the pressure is so quick and short lived that you kind of want to throw a tantrum and demand he fuck you properly. But that would mean him winning. And you’re very egotistical in that sense, maybe even worse than him. 

Your fist clutches into the sheets as he drives himself against you, very uncoordinated and clumsy, but the careless noises that spill out of him that he would normally contain point to that fact that he couldn’t give more of a fuck about anything if it doesn’t mean him getting to cum. 

And it’s becoming almost unbearable for you to hold it all in, with the thick pressure of his cock sliding against your heat just a barrier away, so hot and so enticing. 

Your cunt weeps with the emptiness. And you nearly sob when he stops moving, just for a second. 

“‘M sorry I’ve been misbehaving,” he mumbles into your ear, gasping when he starts to rut into you again, even quicker and even clumsier. “Promise it was a mistake… fuck—” he breaks when his cock slips into the leg of your shorts, pushing into the wet mess of your folds. 

You can’t hold your gasp back then, your body seizing at the sudden friction of his bare cock against you. 

“Sorry,” he gasps, but just starts to fuck into that space anyway, apparently not very sorry. 

He holds your hip with one hand to keep you still, whimpering when his tip catches against your hole. 

And instead of heeding his own word to get himself off and pulling away, he pushes in.

“Sorry!” He gasps again, grunting at the tight heat of you clamping down at the sudden intrusion. 

“J-Jiung,” you heave, starting to squirm, but your train of thought gets completely derailed when he starts chanting ‘sorry, sorry, sorry,’ as he just pushes in and in and in until he’s seated deep inside you. 

You both settle with deep, shuddering breaths, bodies seized tight to get used to the feeling after days of nothing. 

And then you push your hips back, just a little, and the dam breaks. 

He clamps both his hands on your hips, pulls you back into an arch, and starts pounding into you, whispering and begging and sobbing into your hair about how he needs you, wants you, has to cum in you or he won’t be able to sleep.

And it drives you mad, how even after thoroughly pissing you off, he somehow manages to piss you off even more with how good he can fuck that anger out of you. 

Your body melts into the mattress as he flips you down and pistons you into it, muttering his apologies and singing his gratitude. 

“Won’t be bad ever again,” he vows into the back of your shoulder as he fucks right into that gummy spot inside you. “‘M just yours—fuck, thankyouthankyouthankyou—fuck!”

His cock pulses inside you, but just before he can spill, he rips himself off of you and flips you over. 

Because Jiung has an obsession with filling you with his cum that it doesn’t matter what position you’re in, he’ll fold you in half and drive in as deep as he can to make sure he’s giving it to you properly. 

And you lay there, eyes rolled to the back of your head as the warmth of his cum pools deep in your womb, his head buried in your chest, that you thank whatever power that’s out there that makes him act like a whore on stage, because none of them know just what Jiung reduces himself to for you and only you.

taglist: @jellyybelly, @jseobbie, @tintedsvn, @fixonfreak, @stxrxyyz, @hxraiiii, @peachy-x-k33n, @choxochip, @ozzysoatsolivesandpasta, @boptak, @kittyshotak, @oyasumiaikko, @straystar-8, @meow4seonghwa, @evemds, @willowedjelly, @velvetjoong, @seonghwaswifeuuuu, @delicatechris, @orchidves, @lycxee, @girlcrushd, @halaziasupremacy, @chandlxa, @soulssnucky, @snyngjhn, @jiungsangel, @kyoluvrs, @princessthelsa, @nichozzystuffs, @mo8ny4951, @rockstartaeyang, @shmooooo, @cherryyberry1 @keymeadoww @p1issocool @tikfreakingtak @nota10butadefinite8 @snuckyyyy @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @kha0sblossom @sstrawbxrry @momochips @mydearandy @seomisaho @fairylix @ericlvr @kisseobies @saranghoeforanton 

𓆩⟡𓆪 check out my masterlist for my other works

1 reblog/comment = 1 virtual kiss <3

“isn’t that yn?”

sions head whipped around , and sure enough there you were — walking through the campus , walking and giggling with another dude. “damn they seem close.”

“that’s just her friend.” he said , trying to save face.

“if a guy had his arm wrapped around my girl like that i don’t think i would be able to take it.” of course he was seething on the inside , but he was in a complicated situation , him being upset would make sense to his friends , you’re his girlfriend.

but it would genuinely piss you off — because you two weren’t really together. sion and you were good friends , who sometimes hook-up when there’s no one around and you use each other to ward off crazy exes and unwanted advances. “he’s giving her fuck me eyes bro , you better fix that.”

hearing that did fill him with jealousy because there’s only so many times you could call him over when you were horny , and slip your hand into his in public around everyone before he caught feelings — he was only a human after all.

‘i’m here open up’ you climbed out bed , shuffling to the door , opening the door , sion walking in taking his shoes and jacket off ; it was like he lived there. the way he carried himself made the pit in your stomach grow. “you can’t say we’re dating then going around getting cozy with different guys , i don’t like being seen as a cuck by my friends.”

“what are you— oh shit.” you remembered walking with the guy from your class after he offered , you hadn’t even noticed soon and his friends. “i completely fucking forgot.” you said. “he offered to walk me to class because my exes was harassing me again?”

“again? i just told him off like a week ago.”

“i don’t know , im sure he’s just bored.” he sat down on your coach , looking up at you — a smirk forming on your face.

“what?”

“you came all the way here to yell at me about.” you climbed into his lap. “you were jealous.” rubbing his shoulders.

he rolled his eyes. “i wasn’t jealous.” he said , his cheeks red. “to the outside you’re mine.”

“but i’m not yours.” teasing the nape of his neck , tugging at it he groaned. “but it was hot watching you come in here like that.” he grabbed your wrist.

“you’re a fucking brat you know that?”

“and you’re jealous.” he hand coming up to your neck , shutting you right up.

“such a mouthy girl.” squeezing your throat , you moaned out. “should put it to good use.”

“get on your knees.” he watched you sink down to your knees , unbuckling his pants. “good girl.” freeing his cock , leaking with pre-cum , he tapped it on your lips. “open up brat.”

he sighed as your lips wrapped around his tip , sucking. “fuck.” holding the back of your head , moving it up and down in his cock , his head falling back against your couch. “such a good cock sucker.” pushing your head down , your throat squeezing his cock as you gagged around fuck. “taking my dick like a champ -fuck- i’m gonna cum.”

his moans getting louder and louder , cock twitching in your mouth. “oh fuck… fuck i’m cumming! fuck!” he groaned as you took him fully , his cum shooting to the back of your throat. “shit.”

“come here.” he stood , following you , he pushed you on to your knees , you grabbed the back of the couch. “fuck look at that.” he slapped your ass , you moaned moving your hips back against him , he groaned.

“you want my dick so bad.” he stroked his half hard cock , watching it hardened as he rubbed it against your cum. “fucking dripping for it.”

he pushed the head in , sighing as your cunt closed around him. “fuuuck , you’re sucking me in.” grabbing your waist , pushing you down into a deep arch as he began to pound into you. “yeah , fuck take it.”

“sion!” you screamed , his hand pulled you back against his chest by your hair.

“you’re mine? understand.” the new position making his cock hit deeper inside you. “no one will fuck you like i do.” the sounds of your skin slapping together along with your moans. “this pussy… it’s mine.”

“fuck sion i’m gonna cum!” he let you go, you fell back on to the couch as he continued to dig deep into you. “fuck!”

“fuck… make a mess all over my cock , gonna fill you up with my cum.” your jaw slacked , eyes rolling to back of your head as you came. “look at you -fuck- all cock drunk.”

“gonna claim this pussy.” he cursed , cumming squeezing your ass as he emptied his load into your. “fuck , take it for me , take all my cum , dont waste it.”

his thrust slowly coming to a stop , slipping out of you. “so pretty , all fucked out.”

cleaning you up , pulling you into his lap. “if your ex bothers you again , don’t ask another guy to handle it , i told you i got it.”

“i don’t want other guys or my friends think i don’t know how to take care of what’s mines.”

“what’s yours?”

“yeah what’s mines.”

SHOTARO:

EUNSEOK:

SUNGCHAN:

WONBIN:

SOHEE:

ANTON:

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──