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explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex lol yes that’s a warning, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks

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“What’s taking you so long!” 

Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. “Told you it’d be just a minute!” 

“I know.” Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. “But it’s been ten.” 

It’ll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldn’t he know the rule of getting ready already? 

Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. “Yeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?” 

Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know it’s because you’re both slated to be super early anyway. 

Everything’s going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, you’ll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that you’ve heard to be the best in town. 

Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone that’s been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status. 

And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you aren’t risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready. 

So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it. 

Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and they’d mistake him for a millionaire. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. “You’ll be able to see your lover soon enough.” 

Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, “Got me, huh.” 

“You’re the easiest person in the world to read.” Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. “Whatever you’re thinking is always written all over your face." 

Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. “I can’t help it, okay! It’s always been that way.” When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. “Sorry about yours.” 

Here you go again. You know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“Hobi,” you sigh. “I don’t care anymore, okay? It’s been a month.” 

“I know, but…” Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you don’t want him to, “You seemed pretty happy with them.” 

You were. In fact, you were more than happy. 

But something just didn’t feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive. 

It was the nights that made you more than hesitant. 

Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for. 

So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago. 

Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway. 

Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? It’s starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever. 

Though. There was one relationship that didn’t exactly end this way. 

But you’re never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now. 

“And now I’m happy without them,” you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. “Probably happy without anyone else, actually.” 

What a fucking lie. 

“I mean, there’s time to find someone you...” Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. “Never mind. See you out there. Love the red.” 

You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. “Thank you. This is my favorite part, look.” 

Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, “Careful with that!” 

“Says the man who’s practically naked.” 

All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone. 

At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time. 

A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours of—

Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters. 

Fuck. Never again. 

Never, ever, ever again.

Pull yourself together. You’re a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it. 

You extend ten minutes into fifteen. 

And Hoseok’s outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it. 

—

—

Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores. 

You aren’t completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. It’s the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up. 

Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But they’re on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with. 

Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get. 

Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.

Both the friends you’re sitting next to are no help, either. 

To your left, Jeongguk’s checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone. 

And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats? 

Your wish doesn’t get granted for another hour. So that means you’re still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline. 

Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck he’s scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see. 

Wanna go outside?

Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosity—and is that really jealousy?—you excuse yourself, 

“We’re gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.” 

Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.  

—

—

Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum. 

Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck. 

Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.

Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—

“Fuck.” 

Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. “You okay? What’s wrong?” 

No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didn’t even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?” 

“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?” 

Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.” 

Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Let’s go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.” 

“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.” 

Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” 

Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”

Your heart. 

It booms. 

In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.

The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity. 

Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember. 

Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget. 

Yoongi. 

He’s just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable he’s not focused on anything else.

And with a stopped heart, neither are you.

Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeongguk’s question is laden with worry, 

“Seriously, what’s going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?” 

You jolt away from his touch, but the action isn’t warranted. For fuck’s sake, he’s a friend you’ve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met.  

If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you would’ve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it you’re baring at the back. 

“No, I’m—I’m fine,” you manage to get out. “Just thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.” 

Yoongi would’ve damn near murdered that creep, too. 

Shit. 

Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing. 

However, there’s no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. There’s no way he’d be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today. 

Because you’re remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets. 

And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love. 

And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out. 

You were ready. 

He wasn’t. 

And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life. 

Because you could’ve fought harder. You could’ve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didn’t hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing. 

The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldn’t face rejection. 

Because you didn’t even tell Yoongi goodbye. 

And that’s the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside. 

—

—

You readily down two glasses of water. 

Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to “meet up with his brochachos.” 

—

—

Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.

A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti. 

To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. You’re thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high. 

Maybe not as high as it could go. 

But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. You’re supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while you’re still able. 

Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spot—and a much needed drink because you are desperate for one. 

At this point, you’ll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier. 

Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind. 

There’s no way he’s here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasn’t the man you loved. 

Because there’s no way Yoongi would even look your way again. 

Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldn’t live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.

Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now. 

“Come on,” he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. “Stay with me.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper to your stumbling feet. “I just keep messing up that damn step and it’s annoying.” 

“I know.” He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, “But you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.” 

“Okay.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Come on!” 

Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. “Where are we going!” 

Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. “Got us VIP! We’re up here.” 

“No fucking way?” How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasn’t this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? “How!” 

Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re a freak,” you call out behind him with praise. “Thank you for your service.” 

Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, it’s still crowded on the second floor, but at least you don’t have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather. 

Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone. 

Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. He’s been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell he’s extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you weren’t desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you would’ve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead. 

Mm. That still sounds like a backup option. 

“Who wants drinks!” Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. “Let’s just get bottles!” 

Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems. 

This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, it’s a paradise of a getaway. 

But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if you’re honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeongguk’s leather.

Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey? 

How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasn’t been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when you—

Fuck. That’s not him, is it? You can’t quite see his face, but that back is so… 

No. No no no. You’re staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediately—

“Here,” Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. “This is what you wanted, right?” 

You take it with shaky fingers. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.” 

When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone. 

And you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“You okay?”

Turning, you notice that Tae’s eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His honey rasp slows on the way out, “You sure..?”

“Yeah.” When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. “I just… I thought I saw…”

Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which you’re grateful for, because you couldn’t handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them. 

“Saw who?” He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality. 

“No one.” You don’t even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. “Forget it! I’ll be good as soon as we start.”

Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesn’t pry. 

“If you say so.”  

—

—

For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind. 

At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know he’s gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing. 

And you’re enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they don’t play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace. 

Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didn’t leave until the sun dipped under the horizon. 

Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea. 

Relax. Don’t throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else. 

Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase. 

Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.

It keeps falling, and falling. Because there’s no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit that’s starting to haunt you? He’s talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand. 

And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.

God. He’s here. He’s devastating without even trying.

And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you could’ve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, you’ve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what you’re seeing is real.

Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasn’t. 

At least then, you didn’t have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didn’t have to think about how you’d feel seeing him so close to someone else.

Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know he’ll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.

“Hey, you gonna go down or what?”

Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, “Shit, sorry—”

A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure it’s an accident, but that doesn’t stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt. 

“Dude, watch it!” The one behind looks back at you to apologize, “Sorry about my—”

Oh… Really… 

The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off. 

Waves you off. 

At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier. 

Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them. 

Where are they anyway? If you don’t spot them from here it’s gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground.. 

Your heart looks up before you do.  

And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking. 

…Towards you? 

Fuck. 

It’s been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything you’ve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You can’t bear him seeing how you haven’t changed your fucking mind. 

To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel. 

Because he’s the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And he’s the only light in your life you ran away from. 

There’s a reason you watch every sunset. There’s a reason you stand on the beach back home and don’t move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line. 

It’s because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind. 

Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables. 

Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongi’s on the universe’s side. There’s no way he’s seeking anything else other than revenge. 

Shit, shit shit. This isn’t good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover. 

But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they won’t fucking let go. 

Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go. 

Yoongi’s almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.

And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome he’s become. 

With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is. 

Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you don’t look back to see if Yoongi’s even still behind you. 

Chill the fuck out and don’t fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto. 

Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends. 

And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later. 

—

—

It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.

What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.

Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.

Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.

You aren't alone in being alone.

So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.

Then it starts.

The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didn’t want to.

While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Where’s the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide. 

As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until it’s nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.

With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew there’d be no one else.

Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesn’t want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome. 

Night, after night, after night. 

Suddenly, you’re back in the past, too.

Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter what’s left of your soul, 

“One last time.” 

You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.

Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you can’t think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.

And he feels so perfect against you it hurts. 

You feel how strong he’s gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach you’ve kissed every inch of a thousand times over. 

But you’re too much of a pathetic coward to turn around. 

When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you can’t help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have. 

He never loved you. You never said goodbye. 

Everything that’s left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home. 

Yoongi… Still feels like home. 

A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

So you take what you’re given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again. 

Knowing this song by heart, you know it’s approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didn’t catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end. 

Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission. 

Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you can’t bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time. 

Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes. 

The song dies. 

And immediately after, as if your world hasn’t just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when it’s extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones. 

And you need nothing else but to leave. 

Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. It’s over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free. 

And it’s done. So you start your brisk walk away.

Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage. 

Fuck.

When you turn, you forget you’re tear-streaked and full of painful regrets. 

And the look on Yoongi’s face heats your soul all the way through. 

Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes. 

And you finally get the courage to whisper his name. 

Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him. 

Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you can’t place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them. 

What is happening? What’s he doing? 

Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?

Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. “Yoongi,” you whisper again, breaking the dam you’ve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you can’t fucking stop. “Yoongi…”

Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think he’ll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that you’ve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck wait—

“You know how long,” he breathes out, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that again.” 

Have mercy.

Your soul finally snaps in two. 

You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like it’s his last minute on earth. 

And you push back with a ferocity that’s been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him. 

Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and it’s your favorite, favorite, favorite.

You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no possible way this doesn’t leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left. 

But goddamn if you don’t stay in the now more than ever. 

“I don’t give a shit,” you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought you’ve harbored in your beating chest. “I don’t care if you never loved me. I don’t care if you moved on. I just—just tonight, Yoongi, I need you—”

Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think that’s the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor. 

“Come here,” he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours. 

Time. You’re getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest don’t quell as you’re led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you don’t care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off. 

When they stare at the man guiding you, that’s what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life. 

Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor. 

Ah. This is the man you remember. 

And that just makes everything hurt even more. 

Soon, you’re led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one. 

What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You don’t know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door. 

“Yoongi, what are you—?”

A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below.  Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know you’re even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you don’t get to observe anything else as you’re being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again. 

Fuck, he’s gotten even better at this. 

Just like you have. 

As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.

A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. “Fuck,” Yoongi grits out. “I… I can’t.” 

...What? 

No. No no no. 

Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesn’t want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, you’re not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves. 

Because you did. So why shouldn’t he get that same chance to destroy you? 

“I get it,” you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. It’s only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. “I know.” 

“It’s not that.” Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. “I just… Fuck, if we do this, I can’t promise I’ll hold back.” 

Oh. Fuck that. 

You tug the warm silver around his neck. “Then don’t,” you urge to his grunt. “If this is all we get? I don’t fucking care.” 

“Even if I t—”

“Do it, Yoongi,” you plead with a gritted cry. “You can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.” 

“Fuck.” 

All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column. 

Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster. 

“The fuck,” he shoots out. “Who the fuck taught you that?”

Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. “You really wanna know?”

“No.” He switches up on a dime. “Don’t tell me.”

Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, “You’re this fucking wet already?”

“I told you,” you gasp out. “I need you.” 

Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.

Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands. “Seeing you in this? Lost my shit.”

“You're lying.”

“All fuckin' night."

“Liar.”

Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club. But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw, 

“I’d never lie to you.” 

Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame. 

The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when it’s connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed. 

The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And that’s exactly what you intend to do. 

“We’ll see,” you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses, 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” 

To show him how you’ve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he could’ve fucking had. 

To show him that you aren’t taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted. 

Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.

“Fuck…”

Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you aren’t going down completely because your kneecaps aren’t what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and he’s seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. “Shit,” you still whisper. “You’re lucky I can’t wait to swallow you.”

A curse flings out of his mouth. “Get up, babe.”

Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, “Shut up.” 

You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight. 

Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongi’s a man now. A real, grown man. 

If you both just met tonight, you know he would’ve asked for your name before anything else.

Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.

What’s going on? You haven’t even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isn’t the time to relax, but you really can’t help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling. 

It’s almost as if nothing’s changed. 

Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. “Shit, babe..”

Again? Does he even realize what he’s saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if that’s his goal it’s fucking working. 

Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better you’ve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.

Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.

“Baby..”

At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep. 

More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.

Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne he’s probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again. 

Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.

Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.

“Get up,” he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. “Get the fuck up.” 

You’re pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and you’re spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth. 

Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.

For a moment, there’s no one else in the world. You aren’t in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. You’re right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter. 

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know.”

Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs. 

You know your underwear is soaked all the way through. 

And now, so does he. “Goddamn.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” you gasp out. “Just—”

“Are you still on the—”

“Yes.”

Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels so—

“This fucking pussy,” Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly it’s like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like he’s just struck gold, “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Yoongi, please—”

He’s talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you won’t see him again? 

All questions vaporize when Yoongi’s hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck. 

You’re in heaven. You’re in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl, 

“Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I—”

“Do that shit again and I’ll come.” 

Shit. You don’t understand how he could be so shameless. You’re trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has there’s no telling what you’d be shouting out. 

But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, “Sorry.. My nails are super long right now.”

“I noticed.” Another thrust launches you into the sky. “They look good but they hurt like hell.”

“Oh.. Sorry again.” A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because he’s still placating you. 

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you haven’t seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. “I’m just not fucking done with you yet.” 

Oh. He doesn’t want this to end, either. 

Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain. 

You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but it’s nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.

Yoongi’s pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.

Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as they’re freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. “Baby!”

Goddamn it. You weren’t supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe it’s better than saying his name because every time you do there’s a charge sparking the air. 

So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know he’s claimed his own marks on your skin. 

And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.

Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and you’re acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms. 

Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. “Shit, sorry.”

“I got you.”

Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat. 

When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.

Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when you’re right here? Why agonize over the past when you’re standing right between his legs?  

“Baby.” 

You flick your gaze back up to his. 

“Stay with me.”

Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, “Stay in the now. I know.”

Yoongi’s eyes shine with a light in them you weren’t sure was there before. But you can’t wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache. 

He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean he’s thought about you, too? 

Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didn’t. 

“Still so beautiful.”

Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit, 

“You look so fucking good in red.”

There’s no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongi’s head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. They’re already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.

Still, you can’t bear to look. You know you’ll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours. 

“And,” you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, “Looks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.” 

A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. “Always said I would.”

“But you never did,” you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isn’t ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was. 

“I did eventually,” he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. “Didn’t I.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. What’s left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because he’s a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again. 

“What else is new about you,” Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. “Aside from clearly getting better at this.”

Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. “No thanks to you.”

And your world stills as he doesn’t respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. “No thanks to me,” he slowly agrees. 

Fuck. You didn’t mean to do that. 

Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs. 

He’s not gonna like this. But he asked.

You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.

And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. “The fuck?” His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. It’s confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you whisper. “Pretty hard.” 

Details of how and when it happened don’t matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isn’t exactly readily available to show. 

“I did, too.” 

What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. “When?”

Why is he kissing your scar? Exes don’t do that. Exes don’t do anything you’re doing right now. 

“Before you left.”

Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you know about it? “Sorry,” you breathe out with sorrow. “I didn’t know.”

Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because he’s since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall. 

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “I never told you.” 

He never told you many things.

Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, “We don’t have much time.”

“Mm.”

When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh. 

“Just like you said,” you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, “One last time.” Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song. 

When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave. 

This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. “Harder,” you beg. “Please, please go—”

You’re cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. “Shit, holy shit!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight—”

“So fucking big—”

As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as you’re under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap. 

Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose. 

More. More more more he’s giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.

Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word you’ve been wanting to hear for years, but that can’t possibly be true because there’s no way Yoongi would ever—

A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.

You’re so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isn’t—

“—yours.”

What?

Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. You’re so close. So fucking close it’s right within reach.

But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, “No, please, baby—”

“Not yet.” He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. “You know what to do.” 

Fuck. There’s no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down. 

Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts. 

You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you don’t, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace. 

“Fuck, baby..”

“You asked for it.”

“Don’t regret a goddamn thing.” 

You can tell he’s on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms. 

“You shouldn’t,” you hum. “Since this is all you get.” 

Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and you’re up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. “What the fu—”

To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. “Baby—! Fuck!”

“This pussy’s so.. Fuck.” You’re shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. “Say my name.”

“Babe—”

“As much as I wanna hear that every fucking day”—Yoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cunt—“Right now, I’m gonna hear my name. So say it.”

“Yoongi—”

His deep, gritted command makes you snap, “Louder.”

“Yoongi—!” 

You feel it. You’re at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, you’re inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. “Baby, I’m gonna—”

Firm arms haul you upward and you’re both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.

Yoongi’s breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,

“Come for me, love.”

You don’t know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didn’t just say—

“I said come.”

Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.

Your name rips from Yoongi’s throat. 

And it’s enough to send you right over the edge again.

How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when it’s been literal years? It doesn’t make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re your way of mourning everything that could’ve been. Everything that will never be. 

But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time. 

“Fuck it, come here.” 

Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you don’t know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out, 

“Again.” 

Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, “I can’t… I can’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need you’ve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. “I said again.” 

All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You can’t. You’re too caught in chaos. You can’t see the way he looks at you. 

“Come for me, Yoongi,” you suddenly plead, “Let go.”

“Let me pull—”

“Do it now,” you hitch out. “Come inside.”

A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know they’re going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?

Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongi’s body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know he’s racing to his own cliff to dive and you’re gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, you’re already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,

“One last time.”

Yoongi’s sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure. 

The float down doesn’t come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes. 

Why is he so quiet? 

Why are you so quiet? 

Why do you feel like crying again? 

With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,

“I know it’s over.”

Your heart flares.

“But I need you to know.”

Stars light the night sky.

“I love you. And I always will.”

A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you can’t bear to let go. 

“I know you’ve moved on,” Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. “But I’ve regretted never saying it back then. And I’m not gonna get another chance.”

What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body can’t stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything you’ve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. “I left and never came back.”

When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,

“I tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, I’d wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt to—to—” 

Bright red flares across Yoongi’s eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense. 

“At first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.” 

When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. “I did, babe.” Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. “Just never had the guts to say it first.” 

First. 

Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night that’s kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his. 

Only one question barrels through your mind. “…Why?”

Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, you’re gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. “You think I thought that way?”

“No.” He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. “And I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that I’d do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.” 

Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing he’d been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea. 

“When I saw you today? Every day I told myself I’d get over you didn’t matter. Every reason I told myself I couldn’t be with you was bullshit.” 

Your throat constricts again.

“But when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.” Yoongi’s hand falls. “And there was nothing I could do to change your mind.”

“Yoongi…”

All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing. 

He said he wouldn’t be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, you’re blessed to know exactly what he meant. 

So you also let everything go. 

“I was never done with you,” you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.”

Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter, 

“I’m not going anywhere else without you.” 

Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes. 

And it’s a beautiful, beautiful sunrise. 

—

—

When you both finally part, it’s only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And it’s only now that you feel shy. It’s only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below. 

But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away, 

“How did you know to come up here?” 

Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. “I…” He sighs. “Let’s just say I know my way around this place.”

Ah. Of course. “Come here often?”

“Not for the reasons you think.”

Your brows are fully bent now. “…Huh?”

“I own the building.” Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didn’t drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. “And a couple others in the city.”

What. 

Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone. 

Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And you’re gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that you’ve missed. 

You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky. 

But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, “You asked what’s new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?” 

Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, he’s already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, “I said more than one—”

“Oh, fuck you!” 

He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. “You wanna go again?” 

Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. “I have a pretty big hotel room,” you divulge. “And no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, so…”

Yoongi’s eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that. Take me home.” 

Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres. 

As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.

How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... table…

Wait.

Everything else clicks into place. 

The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about getting…

“...You're the one that got us VIP.” 

That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.

“Now come dance with me,” he says with teeth still flashing wide. “Let’s see if you ever got that step.” 

Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until you’re suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together. 

“All of you are crazy!” You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. “Why didn’t you just tell me!”

Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. “I told them not to.” 

“Why?”

“Didn’t know if you were really done.” He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. “But I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.” 

Holy fucking shit.

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek with purpose. “I love you.”

Yoongi’s cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.

And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight. 

“Ugh, here we go.”

“Already at it again, huh.”

"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"

“Get another room—!”

Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.

Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.  

In a beautiful, unforgettable dance. 

-

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fin :)

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hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist

a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!

a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here!

"I'm worried my dick's too big."

Laughter bubbles in your chest at the same time the beer you'd just taken a swig of swishes around in your mouth. It's so like your best friend to say something stupid. Especially when your mouth is full.

He frowns in mild annoyance as you rock back and forth with mirth, struggling not to spit out your drink and make a mess. But also trying to refrain from choking. Because if you die, you sure as hell will find a way to make sure everyone knows that a dumbo and his terrible concern over having a big cock drove you to your demise in such an unfortunate manner.

And no one wants that.

"I dunno what's so funny," the man in question irritably gripes, "but for god's sake, calm down and swallow."

Though it ends up that Chan is the one gulping first. Ears burning and eyes widening when you wiggle your brows deviously and do as he says. Sticking your tongue out for good measure — just for proof that yes, you did swallow —  but he's quickly whipping his gaze away. Head turning to the side as if that does anything to hide the embarrassing look overtaking his expression. 

He thinks you'll back off, hoping the nervous twiddling of his fingers will deter further teasing. But he should really know better. The telltale signs are littered across the table in front of him and even overpower your usual sweet scent when you lean close into his personal space.

"So, you like it when someone swallows versus spits for you, Channie?"

"You're drunk."

"So are you." 

Because that's what happens every movie night. The two of you enjoy too many beers after a feel-good show and start talking nonsense.

"Yeah, and we're having a very serious conversation right now. A drunk one. But still, serious."

You purse your lips. "You're bluffing. No way you're complaining about the hugeness of your dick. 'Cause no one does that."

"It's not like I'm trying to boast or even insecure, I'm just worried."

"Worried about what?" you snort and push at his shoulder. "There'd be no reason to worry if you know how to use it. In the end, size doesn't matter at all."

Chan quirks an eyebrow, side-eyeing you. "At all?" 

"If your technique is good, it shouldn't matter as long as everyone feels satisfied. You know, you just gotta hit that one spot…" 

You start doing hand motions to demonstrate your point that seem wildly inappropriate and are honestly so drunkenly uncoordinated to the point that Chan not only feels compelled to stop you but doubts anyone would feel good from that. Then again, he's never really managed to partake in sloppy sex, so who knows? 

He grabs your hands to still them and though you no longer move, you protest. "What? You'll have 'em seeing and feeling stars! To be honest… you prolly will too if ya try your best."

"You know, I do know how to pleasure someone. It's not really an issue once I'm inside, it's just getting there that's kind of a problem."

"Channie, are you secretly a virgin?" You lay your head on his shoulder, hand running down his forearm and weaving your fingers between his. "Issokay if you are."

"You know I'm not!"

"Well, yeah I guess you're a bit of a whore. Still love you no matter what."

Chan chokes out your name in frustration. "All I'm saying is that I have a huge cock and I'm sad about it!"

"And you keep saying I'm drunk. Look, you're valid in being… upset about having a fat dick even if I don't understand. Just telling you that sometimes a ton of prep is helpful and even a decent amount of lube. No shame in that. Not everyone's built to take a large-ass, whopping cock." And then you mumble extremely quietly, "If it's even that big."

Unfortunately, he hears you and scoffs. Popping his shoulder up to gently shove you off him. Though that only causes you to grasp for his sweatpant-clad thigh and hold onto it for dear support in your half-drunken stupor. The perverted part of both your brains flash to your hand squeezing tightly around something else; the unmistakable heat of said something else radiating towards the closest part of your hand and causing a hot rush to flare across your entire body.

Or maybe that's just the alcohol.

Doesn't stop you from shamelessly ogling what you can only presume to be his bulge, gray fabric stretched over his groin and straining against muscular thighs. 

"Are you flaccid right now?"

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious. Thinking about my different dildo sizes."

He balks at that. "Pl-please don't."

"Yeah, not sure I wanna compare what your dick would realistically feel inside me," you admit even if you find it difficult to tear your hungry eyes away to take in Chan's mortified expression. 

"Can we stop talking about my personal parts now?" he squeaks out and you shoot him a dubious side-eye even though you do easily acquiesce.

"With pleasure. Speaking of which…"

Chan's hushed groan of "Oh dear" goes ignored even after you drape an arm on the back of the couch behind his head, lay the other across his chest, and splay your legs over his lap. Your lips end up leaving a sticky residue on his cheek, neck, and ear as you graciously whisper your own sex secret — the spontaneous topic of tonight — to him. 

"Only my bullet vibe has the ability to make me squirt. None of the others, not even the thirteen-inch one with suction ridges. So yeah, hm… size doesn't matter, does it Channie?"

"Well, those are toys and uh… my big dick is simply what it is. A big, regular human dick. Nothing fancy."

"Then you should try harder."

He apologizes for having such blatant ignorance about the matter and then eventually you end up falling asleep together. 

Limbs tangled and wrapped around one another just like every other night you doze off with the comfort of the other's body warmth. And like usual, you and Chan peer at each other with eyelids heavy from sleep and goofy but comforting smiles — merely inches apart when the sun's rays sneak a peek through the blinds to shine onto your faces. Because everything's normal and just right between the two of you. 

Like always.

Except it's not.

All you can think about is your best friend's dumb, gargantuan cock and his weird embarrassment about it. If you didn't know Chan as well as you do, you might think he was just using that as an excuse to get into your pants but you know better. He's genuinely perturbed over his too-big dick! 

You let out a sigh. Warm breath fans the tip of your ear while large hands lay on your hips, ringed fingers teasing the bare skin revealed by the daring crop top you decided to wear tonight.

"Am I boring you, baby?"

"Kind of," you admit, displeased that you weren't enjoying the usual thrill of grinding on the dancefloor with a hot man. Turning around to face said man, you purse your lips. "How would you feel if you had a big dick, Cheol?"

He raises an eyebrow in the self-assured way only the Choi Seungcheol can. "Shouldn't you be asking what it's like possessing the largest dick of the century?"

"Not helping, I'm not talking about big dick energy."

"That's not what you said when it was shoved halfway down your throat."

"Can't say much if I'm sucking someone off, you dolt. And I said you made my jaw hurt 'cause you're a guy that likes it rough, not 'cause I thought your dick was overly huge."

"Brat," Seungcheol says rather affectionately, "so whose humongous cock are you taking tonight?"

Your eyes wander over his shoulder to the bar, the same place he noticed your gaze strayed towards all night. A glee-filled smirk is on your face when you meet his eyes again though you only casually state with a shrug, "An absolute loser's."

"Wasn't aware it was self-pleasure night, sweetheart," he jokingly snorts, nudging you in that direction before you can get too mad at him. But not without delivering a playful slap on your ass as a 'good luck to charm' to send you on your way. "Go get 'em, Tiger!"

The cocky bastard must think you're after Soonyoung tonight, who greets you by placing a polite kiss on the cheek and a casual side hug. Though he looks hella fine tonight with slicked-back hair and donning the signature head-turning 'leather jacket, silver jewelry' fit that Seungcheol is sporting, he's not who you have in mind.

You squeeze him back though, always ready to return the affection you receive. "Rare to not see you dancing, tough crowd tonight?"

"Nah, I just have my priorities set." He angles his head toward the bartender who sneaks subtle glances at the two of you as if to distinguish what intentions you had approaching such a striking man. 

That they just so happen to have their eyes on. Luckily Soonyoung does too.

"Ah, well, so do I!" 

Never one to want to get stuck between two people and cause a potential misunderstanding, you pat him on the arm, wink encouragingly at the bartender, and skip away to find the person who's been occupying your mind for the past few days in a very different way like crazy.

Chan hasn't moved from where you last caught sight of him — in the corner of the bar nursing the same glass of bourbon for far too long. There's distinctly more water in it from the rapidly melting ice ball than alcohol but you still ease it out of his grasp. Taking a sip only to wrinkle your nose in disgust.

Your best friend observes your expression with a bemused one of his own after you hand it back, lip gloss staining the rim. A far cry from the darkened, sultry stare that followed as you moved from one gyrating body to the next. You wonder how you've never noticed it before. But then again, you yourself have never thought about him in that kind of way until now. 

While momentarily lost in your thoughts, Chan's working on getting the attention of Soonyoung's flirt target to order your favorite drink. But you place a hand on his arm, squeezing the firm muscle beneath your fingertips. 

"I wanna go home."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just feel like leaving."

He shakes his head. "You looked like you were having a good time."

"Ooh… are you jealous?"

"Hah, jealous? No. Concerned that someone did something you didn't like? Yeah."

"There will be," you tug him by the open collar of the flannel he's wearing so you're nose-to-nose, "if he doesn't take me back to his place right now."

His eyebrows raise, eyes widening as they drop down to the pouty curve of your lips. You swear he even peers at your cleavage with the tiniest of squints before finishing what little bit of liquor is left, standing, and pulling you along with him outside.

Walking to his car parked by the sidewalk is truly a breath of fresh air, the chill of the evening breeze and city noises rushing by helps bring Chan back down to earth. No longer on the crazy high fueled by the hypnotic, seductive thrall of the nightclub's booming bass that adds to him being wholly entranced by your teasing allure. 

Now it's just you and him. Simple as usual, getting ready to drive around.

"You want to go to my place?"

"Yeah."

He starts the engine, checking the side mirror to estimate when there will be an available opening to pull out. "Whaddya wanna do, stop somewhere for snacks?"

"Sure. Maybe condoms too."

"I'm sorry, what?" It's a good thing the car's still in park when his foot stomps on the gas pedal out of shock, revving the engine and making you both jump. "Why?"

Chan even goes as far as to steal a glance over his shoulder at the backseat. As if you had miraculously snuck in someone from the club that you were planning to fuck and he didn't know about it. 

There's no one there, of course.

"Why… are we picking up… condoms?" he repeats. "I um, I have a bunch of unopened boxes i-if you need them."

"You do? Good."

"Uh, can you at least let me know how many are used so I don't suddenly run out?"

Your eyebrows raise though he doesn't even dare look at you. "Do you think you'll cum that much?"

"Pardon?! N-no, I only have a surplus because I bought them in bulk!"

"I thought you weren't having sex a lot because you have such a big cock. One that rarely goes inside anyone."

His hands cover his face. "I'm saying it's fine if you want to use them!"

"Gee, thanks. You want me to make condom balloon animals or something?"

One brown eye glares at you between fingers. "… If you're into that."

"I bet extra large ones would make brilliant animal balloons but that's a sad waste when they could go around a dick instead. I mean it can't be easy for you to find ones that don't break. Whatever, at least you have a ton. And as you know I'm on the pill."

He has to know. He has to ask. "Are you confused or is it just me?"

"Clearly, because I don't know why you think I'd be into filling condoms with air and not cock."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but — I mean like there's no way — but are you implying that you want to… you know, with me…?"

"Whaddya mean 'no way'? Fuck yeah, I wanna fuck you! Sorry, was that not clear?" 

Chan chokes on his saliva and has a brief hacking fit. "No?!" 

"Damn, uh… my bad. Sorry, I thought it was super obvious. Simply put, I can't get the thought of you out of my mind or my pussy, so yeah. We should totally bang. Have sex and all that. Only if you want to obviously. No hard feelings if not."

Oh god, yes he does. Since he now knows that you can squirt, let alone with something as small as a little bullet vibrator, all he can think about is what would happen if he teased your cunt with the thick head of his cock. It's been driving him absolutely feral and fueled a rather ugly feeling when he saw Seungcheol all over you earlier. 

But now that he knows you want him? Maybe just as much as he wants you? Explicitly? 

He starts driving in an attempt to help collect himself. You're at ease, able to read him well and know he'll need some time to process and organize his thoughts. So, you wait in silence while he does just that, and when he speaks again his voice is low, laced with utter desire.

"You've been thinking about me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Your pussy has too?"

"Mhm, Channie… she's been crying for you like crazy."

"Fuck," he mutters and grips the steering wheel tightly to avoid swerving into the berm. He rasps out in a desperate beg, "C-can you touch yourself for me? Let me hear how loud she is?"

And you sweetly oblige with a hushed, "Of course," and can't lift your miniskirt up faster than you do now, pushing the drenched thong underneath to the side. Your clit's been buzzing nonstop ever since he whined about his big cock and you got to glimpse the outline of it. And with him now sitting beside you as your thumb rubs at the tiny nub, pointer fingers dipping in and out of your clenching hole, you both let out groans — you at the thrilling sensation and him at the insanely filthy sounds.

Chan steals a moment to take in the sight when he switches lanes, loving the way your tongue lolls past glossy lips that part to release little whimpers of pleasure. It's unlikely you'll squirt right now. But there's still a slick sheen of arousal glistening on your thighs so he holds onto the sick twist of hope that a trace will be left behind. He's pleased and licks his lips but has to swiftly pay attention to the road again, especially when your head rolls to the side, eyelashes pleadingly fluttering at him.

He needs to get home fast. Now.

The car fills with the sloppy noises of you playing with your cunt which grows wetter and wetter by the second. The air is heavy and oozes sex, the compact space growing more humid as you work and rile up your pussy, yourself, and the man beside you. You keep easing up to that delicious edge but never fully dipping over it, making sure to continue growing needier and more wanton until the blurry scenery rushing past the windows half-registers as familiar in your already fucked-out state of mind.

"Wanna get a feel of your cock," you whine out with no shame at how pitiful it sounds. "Gotta know how many fingers to stuff inside to stretch myself out for the real thing."

The way he spits out your name like a curse word makes your gummy walls contract tightly, emitting a moist suctioning sound when you pull your fingers out and bully them back in. 

"No. You have to wait."

"Don't wanna! Been waiting long enough."

"So fuckin' needy," he taunts as if he's not panting heavily with his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I don't think they'll come even close to opening up that tiny hole of yours effectively for my dick. But size doesn't matter, so whatever. Right, sweetheart?"

You cuss him out jokingly while working knuckle-deep inside your cunt. Humping against your palm and pulling at your nipples with the other hand underneath your top when he rolls to a stop at an empty four-way in the neighborhood. 

He swats your arm out and away, curiously sweeping his own fingers across your damp folds that flinch at the sudden contact but still mourn the devastating loss of being filled before he slaps at them. Chan grins like a total heathen at the way your hips jolt upon impact, growing more and more delirious at the way droplets of your arousal splash out at the action.

"If you cum by rubbing yourself on that seat — no hands — before I pull in the driveway, I'll let you touch me to mentally prep yourself before we get inside. Before I get inside you." His words are enunciated with a smirk that drops after bringing soaked fingers to his lips — eyelids fluttering with a grunt at your taste eagerly licked clean with his tongue. "God, do you know how delicious you are? Need you to sit on my face at some point, wanna drown in that sloppy pussy."

His dirty talk could be enough to finish you off, you belatedly realize. The earlier command to rut your aching clit against the scratchy fabric to soothe it makes you thrillingly feel like a depraved whore. 

"You're a fuckin' perv, Chan," you growl out as if you aren't doing exactly what he asked on instinct and loving how he's talking to you. How good he is at making you feel divine.

"Yeah? But I want something to remember this by."

"Sick," you snarl through gritted teeth like the knowledge of him thinking about this moment every time he gets in his car and looks at the passenger seat isn't getting you off even more. Bonus points if he jerks off to it. You act like it's not the catalyst to you coming undone, blaming it fully on the bump of the asphalt connecting to the concrete driveway hitting your hard nub just right — absolutely defiling his poor car with your arousal. "Sick in the head."

Neither one of you care. 

In fact, Chan's so pleased he ignores the words you both know you don't mean. Grabbing the hand you buried deep within your hole, but then chose to use it to grip at the console while following his command, and guides it to his mouth. Happily repeating the same thing he did to his own, maintaining eye contact as he tongues at your fingertips. Pupils dilating with how addicted he's become to your taste. Growing more and more eager to have it straight from the source in the very near future. 

Then he places your spit-coated fingers where his cock strains against dark jeans. A darker, damp spot on the denim signifies how much precum the tip is leaking, begging to be released. He squeezes the hand sandwiched between his and the hardening length, shallowly thrusting up into your palm so you can completely grope at its mouth-watering, jaw-aching girth. 

"Feel that?" he goads, "that's gonna have to fit inside your tight cunt."

Your eyes nearly cross at the realization. And of course, your pussy forlornly clenches around nothing, dripping out more arousal to add to the already soiled mess beneath you. 

Oh, you cannot wait.

He wasn't lying, positive every single finger stuffing your hole couldn't compare to the size you just felt beneath those very appendages. Tears collect at your lash line, already anticipating the sheer amount of pleasure you know you'll be feeling with a very warm and real dick. And he's not even anywhere inside of you yet!

Chan coos and wipes the tear that escapes to your cheek. Then he gets out of the car and comes around to the other side to help you walk since your legs are weak and shaking — for more than one reason. That's fine because it gives him almost a weird sense of pride and an excuse to grind and grope at you as he pleases while unlocking the front door. Surprisingly, both of you are giggling together as if you're naughty teens again, always up to no good. It feels strangely wholesome, a light sense of relief blooming and filling your entire body.

Until you're on the other side of the door and those feelings morph back into something carnal. More primal. And Chan must feel it too because you swear he growls when pinning you against the wall. 

"You'll let me eat you out, right? 'Course you will." 

Now it's your turn to feel perverse satisfaction, watching as his lip trembles at the very thought of getting denied such a treat. Feeling the man's absolute desperation through the fingertips that dig into your hips and slightly hike up the already ridiculously short skirt you're wearing.

"C'mon bestie, please."

"… You did not bestie-zone me right now."

"I — " Chan hesitates and you fear the reality of the situation has hit him. That he'll back out and leave you a yearning mess like this. But then he leans in close to whisper hotly against your ear, "What, you want me to call you something like baby?"

Your hum of consideration encourages him to continue, palms sliding down the sides of your bare thighs and lowering himself at a pace that matches the syllables of each word leaving his mouth. Keeping eye contact with you the whole time as a mischievous smirk lights up his stupidly handsome face. 

"Darling? Babe? Lovely sweetheart? Or…" His voice gets thicker, more gravelly until he's finally on his knees and peering up at you. "A vixen? Seductress? Little whore? My slut?"

His hands sneak upwards again, pausing when they're hidden under the pleat of your skirt. 

"Still, you'll always be my dear best friend." He acknowledges and for some reason, it fills you with a comforting sense of reassurance.

And then he waits, hoping — praying — to get your permission.

The coy way you lift up the skirt in no way matches the cute grin you flash at him. Biting your pointer finger as you reveal your pretty pussy for Chan, its puffy lips spread by the continually soaked thong stuck between them. His eyes flick almost nervously away from yours to get a look, letting out a strangled moan at the sight. 

Automatically drawn like a bee to honey. His heart thumps anxiously when your fingers bury in his bangs to yank at them, halting him just short of being able to stick his tongue out for a taste that he already misses. He whines, fully surrounded by the heady scent of your arousal and unable to feast. But you have something to tell him first.

"You can't make me cum."

"What? Why? Need to stretch — "

"No. I already spent hours practicing with my thirteen-inch, so it'll be fine. We're doing this so you know what the telltale signs are when I'm about to cum when this," you briefly release his hair so manicured nails can pet the outside of your glistening wet cunt, "is wrapped around your dick." You smile when he moans quietly at the revelation and you tug lightly again at silky strands, eager to hear more before you absolutely break him. "And don't you want to see me squirt?"

"God, yes."

You shove his face between your inner thighs. "Then this'll help, baby boy. So, don't you dare let me cum unless it's on your cock."

Chan really can't protest against what you call him and honestly wouldn't want to because that would mean leaving the delectable meal he's finally being allowed to dine on. Though your thong remains in the way, he uses it to his advantage. Sucking all the wetness out of it with a hearty groan of appreciation, pushing it back between your folds, and running his tongue that put it there in zig-zag motions along the sorry excuse for fabric. Then repeating the same motions on either side of the bare supple pussy lips that clench at every nibble, suck, and brush on them.

It isn't very long until he gets frustrated by its restrictions though, feeling outrageous at how jealous he's getting of a piece of cloth that gets to wrap around your cunt all the time. Like you can read his mind, you pull him off with breathless laughter at his inevitable moan of sadness and mumble words of reassurance that you're doing it for his benefit.

He can't really hear with the rush of adrenaline roaring in his ears but he surely sees how you rip the offending thong away. It tears easily, falling apart at its most sodden point. And finally, your pussy is truly bare all for him and he rushes to dive back in. Slurping and sucking at your drenched hole like a dehydrated man finding an oasis in the desert.

Again, Chan's intentions were to leave you weak with the magic his mouth and tongue could work but you don't really allow him. His neck's cranked at an awkward angle as you continue to grip at his hair and smother his lips and tongue with your cunt, sloppy ruts back and forth causing your clit to catch and bump against his nose. He doesn't mind even if he's ninety-nine percent positive this is how you'd get off on one of your toys — no, he definitely has not imagined that — but he's not complaining.

There's something in the way that you're utterly using him like he's nothing but an object for your ultimate pleasure. It has the blood rushing down to swell up his cock even more. And maybe he's willingly happy to do so. Offering his body for your pleasure, making sure to stiffen his tongue so it will hit part of your clit as you move and grind all over his face. 

It's kinda hot. He also might be enjoying this a little too much.

And just as his eyes roll up for the umpteenth time out of delicious, delirious dizziness, he feels it. 

The buildup must have been when you started humping his chin shamelessly, slamming down harshly enough that he's sure he'll have bruises to show off. Settling more and more of your weight forward to arch your back, breasts heavy as they follow gravity, and your nipples visibly poke through the crop top's thin material. 

Your hips jerk up and away a few times, the subtle wiggle in them certainly has your ass jiggling cutely. He also notes how your "ah" moans turn to "mhms", positive you're biting your lip with closed eyes and a pleased grin. By now the hands tangling in his hair have made their way to the back of his head and Chan knows one thing for sure.

You're on the brink of climaxing.

And as much as he wants you to make more of a mess on his face, he's a little afraid of what you might do — or might not do — so he obediently, but regretfully backs away and sinks down to sit on his heels. Pathetic, the way he has to simply watch like a good boy as your slit flutters above him and you release the death grip hold you had on his poor hair.

Once all of your weight is supported by the wall again, you slide down it to plop on the floor. A sheepish grin on your face as you praise him for doing such a great job, reveling in what a sexy, fucked-out look he's wearing — mussed-up hair, swollen lips, and a shiny mix of sweat and arousal decorating his face as his eyes struggle to refocus while he catches his breath.

He embarrassingly thinks you might kiss him when you lean in. Only to jolt with surprise at your hand slipping into his back pocket and he flinches after you squeeze at his well-shaped ass with a naughty giggle. 

"A souvenir," you murmur in his ear and he feels the spongy ball of your torn thong when he stands like it's a gold coin weighing down his jeans.

"Can't believe you ripped those yourself."

"Can't believe you didn't rip them."

"Didn't wanna ruin them," he admits because he'd honestly feel bad. Though you shoot him a funny look that he doesn't quite understand as he assists your wobbling frame on the walk to the bedroom.

"Dude, you've already ruined so many, what's one more pair?"

"Huh?"

It's amazing how serious you are when you ask, "Don't you remember how wet I've been getting thinking about your dumb cock? Almost ran out of panties to wear."

With that admission, Chan is immediately rushing you down the hallway and has you on his bed at record speed. It's so comical that you have no choice but to once again fall into that giggly headspace like earlier as you help one another strip each other's clothes off.

"God, why are you like this? Such a fucking little tease."

"You love it."

"Hm, yeah," he looks at you with such tenderness, "guess I do."

You verbally agree even as you grab at his wrist before he can throw his boxers to the ground. "Hand 'em over. It's only fair if you have mine," you point out when he raises an eyebrow.

"Someone's full of surprises."

"Well, somebody's loved all of them so I'm sure he'll like this one too."

Though he falls onto his back easily when you push him down, he can't help but raise concern. "I get that you… practiced, but wouldn't a better position be with me on top? You'll like — "

"And I get that you liked being used like a dildo, baby boy." 

You miss the chagrined look that rapidly spreads across Chan's pretty face at the callout. But that's okay because you turn around to throw a leg over and straddle his prone body, staring at your prize of the night — the fattest dick you've been fantasizing about in the flesh.

"Thanks for these, by the way." You send a wink at him over your shoulder, waving the boxers that dangle off your pointer finger. "Need something to bite onto," you add and moan when you deliberately let your tongue meet the salty patch of precum smeared on them before clamping the black cloth between your teeth.

His heavy cock jerks up, already overwhelmed by everything you're doing. His hips follow suit, also lifting once the feeling of your dripping cunt soaks his abs as you sit and press him back against the bed and reach a hand out. He groans, clutching at the blanket when your palm rubs at the sensitive skin. You marvel at how your decently sized fingers fail to fully wrap around the entire girth.

It already weighs a ton laying against the hand you're using and struggling to prop it up. Shining in all its glory from the excess that's leaked and coated it thoroughly. You seem happy to add to it and Chan's eyes widen at the couple of clear globs of arousal that drip out of your cunt, aided by two free fingers spreading your pussy lips and contracting your inner walls to squeeze them out. And then you sink a little lower, kissing the tip of his cock with your clit before rubbing the thick head between your folds.

"You're… you're so w-wet, mhm, fuck!" He's already on the brink of tears and this is just the beginning. And the gasping man might've just let out a sob at the sight of both of your hands shaking, clasped around his dick as you position it at the right angle and slowly ease the tip inside. "God, 'n so soft," he fucking gargles out due to how much he's drooling.

You're no better off. The saliva that's pooling in your mouth at the delightful ache and burn has completely saturated his boxers. They do nothing to muffle your moans that only grow higher in pitch with the few additional inches you attempt to take, a little more each time. But at least you won't grind your teeth together, plus you're buried in the taste and scent of Chan's essence. Even more so as you topple forward, nails digging into his shins.

It's almost humiliating. How you've ended up face-planting into the mattress and your hips take on a mind of their own, humping up and down midair yet still on the top of his cock. Circling and gyrating as they attempt to both run away and plop firmly up and down onto the hard, thick length begging to fully bury into your tight cunt that's slowly widening to accommodate. 

Luckily, it's not like Chan can make fun of or even blame you, focusing everything he can on not thrusting up into your wet heat on his own accord right now out of consideration. The man understands it's a stretch, a painful one at that.

He doesn't mind staying mildly distracted. There's so much to take in. Ogling the way your ass bounces and jiggles, pornographic sound effects of his cock absolutely bullying your pussy as it squelches in and out. Filling the room with nasty noises audio porn wishes it could truly replicate amid both of your pants, moans, groans, and whines.

It feels like forever until his length has finally made its home within your squishy walls that welcome it inside with a multitude of affectionate squeezes. But honestly, that barely lasts because your hips refuse to let up and once the stretch no longer burns as much and instead melts into mind-numbing pleasure, all you can do is ride him into delirium. And Chan fucking loves it, continuing to watch how your ass reverberates with each downward slam accompanied by the sting of ass cheeks slapping against his stomach over and over again.

"S-so slutty f'me, b-best friend actin' like a whore on my dick."

"Ah, mm… cock… your cock! It's makin' me act slutty!"

"Yeah? You like being my slutty best friend, baby?"

You lug your head onto the leg you'd been riddling with love bites and salivating all over after spitting out his ruined boxers, looking tearfully in his direction. Cross-eyed with a goofy smile on your face at how fucked-out you've become as your clit grinds against his squishy balls that tighten, firm, and fill up with each thud of your hips. 

"Mhm… yeah."

"You gonna be my slutty baby from now on?"

"Ohhh, touch me Channie… please!"

"Since y-you asked so nicely." He squeezes at your ass cheek though it's quickly wrenched out of his grasp because you can't stop moving. "But I… I asked you a question." And then his palm flies out, skin meeting skin in a loud crack against your other cheek. As if it's actually a punishment. "My pretty whore's too fucked out to answer, h-huh?"

"Mhmph! More… more!"

A gasp leaves your mouth and impossibly, your hips only speed up before they suddenly halt. Practically screaming at this point with how good your best friend's cock is buried so deeply and fully seated inside as you somehow manage to sit up with inhuman strength. 

Oh, but your darling Channie knows why.

He lazily grins, empty mind now playing all the signs through his head along to the same moments happening in real-time. You have a death grip on his thighs, certain he'd really impale you in a morbid way if you lose your hold as you bounce haphazardly. How nice, he decides to aid you — giving into the urges to thrust up into your suffocating little cunt whenever you rise up so you constantly remain stuffed full every single time.

Your back does its arch thing and he runs a hand down the curve, pushing down ever so gently as he takes over. It's his turn for a slapping assault, his balls returning the favor on your tender clit that pokes and rubs at them, egging on the brutal pace you started in the first place.

"Gonna squeeze the life outta me," and you clench even tighter around him so that even the air in his lungs is sucked out by the squeeze of your cunt. "You wanna murder me with that sweet pussy of yours? Choke the life outta me, sweetheart? Like the well-behaved little whore that you are?"

Chants of "yes, yes, yes" fall in between salacious moans of "mhms" and "fuck Channie, so good" and it fuels Chan into true unleashed feral mode. The addition of the white ring forming at the base of his cock in no way, shape, or form is helping to reign him in at all. He presses appreciative bruises into the skin of your hips, aiding your sore and tired legs with the powerful strength of his arms.

"A creamer too… oh my god, what can't your cunt do baby, fuck — so freakin' perfect."

"All… all for you!"

Chan laughs and it's mean, a petulant frown causing your lips to jut out at his mocking tone. "For me? You gonna be a-all mine from now on? Let me be the only one t-to stretch this sweet hole out?"

Ongoing cries of "yes" mixes and slurs with "yours" but it's enough for him, especially when you manage to moan out with a promise that you're definitely his slutty whore and will only be his forever.

That pleases him, an elated grumble rumbling in his chest. "Gonna fill 'er up real good and you'll swallow me whole baby. Feel me for days, drippin' outta — ah, shit!" 

His voice cracks, the hands assisting your movements haul your hips up and then down, anchoring them firmly against his pelvis. You peer over your shoulder at him in utter dismay at suddenly being empty. His missed cock trembling without your warmth, flopping hot and hard against your stomach. Granting a helpful outside visual of how deep it can drill up into your cunt. But that's kind of useless when you already experienced it first-hand, so all you can do is send Chan a weepy glare.

"S-sorry babe, we just, I should probably… " His eyes dart to the unopened drawer of his nightstand. "Gonna throw a condom on."

You let out a scoff of disbelief and discontent, surly brat behavior poking through. "Doesn't matter, wanna feel you fill me up. 'N then squirt it all out, won't matter anyways."

"That's not how it works."

Chan's grateful the usual post-nut clarity somehow hit before. It's still awful timing and might have been a complete mood killer but you're both so worked up — you in particular — it doesn't seem to matter. Even as he nudges you off while reaching for a package, you back up and try to grind against his cock to change his mind. But you reluctantly give up, especially when he ends up reacting with a harsher hiss more from rolling the latex down the sensitive length than your plump ass rubbing it. 

You're honestly a little offended. 

He hushes and tries to soothe you. Fumbling with the slick mess around your gaping hole and dipping inside occasionally with one hand as he works on the condom. But you know for a fact you've been ruined because you barely feel a thing after your cunt's been stretched out for and filled specifically with his huge cock. 

Now you just wish he'd ultimately finish the job of ruining you. Oh, and maybe continue some more after. And a lot. 

You grimace because you're able to think too much. And then Chan's finally all ready to go and your cheek is suddenly pressed into the rumpled sheets, nipples brushing deliciously against them. You're pushed onto your forearms and he helps widen your knees at a spread angle so your pussy is fully presentable and gapingly accessible. 

"Good thing I'm flexible." 

"Yeah," Chan licks his lips, "just as I'd expect from my sweet slut." 

"You gonna fill this slut up then, Channie or — " 

You're cute off by the squeal at his cock ramming back inside of where it belongs. Meanwhile, he chuckles darkly, running a hand through sweaty bangs as he tries to distribute weight solidly with how he's risen to his knees. Finding little support from the mattress to support the onslaught of powerful thrusts in and out of your pussy and discovers a better method with a tight hold of your hips where his hands instinctively fall. 

"Best way to shut a whore up is to fuck them." He clicks his tongue in disapproval because you're nuzzling face-first into the bed, muffling the sounds that drive him crazy. "Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear you moan f'me, baby."

What he doesn't know is you're trying to find something to bite into that won't end up being your poor tongue. 

To manhandle you as he sees fit, Chan's fingers slip down to splay around where your vocal cords lie. Thumb digging beneath your jawline into the soft fleshy skin of your neck. Teasing you with a not-quite-there chokehold that causes you to pulsate around the cock sliding in and out with little resistance thanks to the help of the slick that pools endlessly out of your core. 

Then he's turning your head to the side to watch your eyelids flutter rapidly. Noticing how your jaw is clenched, teeth practically gnashing at each push into you that now relentlessly strokes that bundle of nerves. Taking pity, he lends a finger. Prying open your mouth and not caring when you bite down on it with a ferocity that could break skin — that's what he offered it for anyways — though it will definitely leave behind bruising indents that'll take days to heal. 

But he wouldn't care if you ended up breaking his bones too. With the way he's driving his dick over and over into you like a madman, he possibly could break something by that alone. The new position benefits the both of you greatly, granting him a better angle to reach deep and you find comfort in the way his body lays against yours. Pressing you down further into the bed, the weight comforting.

Even through the latex, he can feel the little bump of nerves his tip brushes against that's just rough enough to make him shiver. He purposefully aims his pelvis to be able to hit it each time. The lone arm at your hip wraps around your abdomen and he moans at how he can feel the bulge of skin pressed against his forearm from the size of the monster dick within you. 

It drives him feral, punctuating each sharp thrust with a praising hiss of, "Best. fuckin'. pussy. ever!"

And then it's happening. You can literally see the tightly-wound knot unraveling. Can feel as it loosens while your cunt suctions around his cock in a hard, vice-like grip. You cling around him, refusing to let him leave your warmth for a second. Not even daring to let him slide even a bit out. Though he wouldn't even think of it. As the mental ties come undone in your brain, so does your body — plummeting over and free-falling off the cliff of pleasure.

White flashes across your vision as your body writhes and shakes beneath Chan. Overcome by how fucking amazing it feels to be so full with the devastatingly huge dick of the person you care about the most tearing apart your insides. You're sobbing, tears drenching your face and where it lays. 

Chan's praising you through it all, complimenting how good you are for him, how perfect everything about you is, and how only you — his bestest, sluttiest, sweetest friend — could take him so well.

"Fuckin' knew you would be the one," he confesses and presses a kiss against your neck. It's so tender, full of love and gentleness despite how his hips cruelly still haven't let up, and it makes you wail even louder. "Ever since you smiled at me. Now, c'mon sweetheart 'n give it all to me. Show's only just gettin' started."

He's guiding you through the most intense orgasm you've ever had as it spirals from a crashing wave into a soon-to-be gushing waterfall. Yes, you've squirted before. But never with such a delightful buildup like this. And he knows you can take it, knows it's what you want as he coaches himself to hold off from his own finale. You let out a hearty moan, shaking at the overstimulation and feeling him twitch repeatedly inside. Almost as if his dick itself is begging for your release so it can do the same.

Your body listens and obeys, utterly charmed by your best friend's cock. Not like that would change the impending fate bound to happen anyway. Your cunt expels him out with a spray that splashes against his abs and drips down his thighs. Chan swears and grabs his length that bobs in the air upon being freed, fingers holding the condom tightly at the base like a makeshift cock ring. 

Furiously jerking off just a little bit to reach completion and then he's emptying what feels like a life's worth into the poor condom that can barely contain it. Unlike your pussy that would take it all if given the chance. It inflates, ballooning out and filling up with so much cum it's threatening to pop. As if it wasn't working overtime, straining around the sheer size of his cock.

It's so full and heavy, gravity weighing it down to flop against your folds that squirt out a tiny bit more upon contact that has your legs seizing. Your lower body — now growing numb — was somehow still sustained by Chan's insane one-arm strength until he flops onto you. Bringing you both down onto the wet mess on the bed.

"Get off, you're heavy," you grouch though a dumb smile lights up your blissed-out face.

He laughs breathlessly and rolls onto his side, bringing you into his arms and looking at you with stars in his eyes. You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his comforting scent you never want to be without now that you've been fully encompassed by it in such an intimate manner. So you wait, feeling the way your hearts both beat rapidly and he takes a deep breath. Chest expanding as his lungs fill with much-needed air after so much exertion. 

Anticipation brims from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes when Chan finally asks, "Hey, do you still think size doesn't matter?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. Definitely not the question you were expecting.

There's a lively spark still dancing in his tired eyes and you match it with a playful smile. "I'm not really sure, I think you'll have to prove it to me a few more times."

"Suppose there's still a lot of condoms we can't let go to waste."

"Aw, you don't want me to make you some balloon animals?"

"That offer is tempting but…" Sneaky hands tickle the swell below your breasts and you giggle, half-heartedly batting him away. "Not as much as you are."

"And you know… there's still a lot of chances to confirm some things while we test out whose theory is right."

"Confirm what, my dear? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I've already staked my claim on what's mine." It's embarrassing how easily Chan can read you, a know-it-all smirk on his face as he cups your warm cheek oh-so-lovingly. "My slutty bestie's the only one who can take my cock like a champ, there's no way I'm letting you go now."

It's even more embarrassing that your heart and sore hole flutter at crude words that totally shouldn't make you feel like a silly fool in love. But because you are, it only makes you fall harder.

"So, you're mine now too?"

"If that's okay with you."

And of course, it's okay with you, you verbally affirm. Feeling his smile against your own when he leans in to kiss you. You'll confirm later that size really doesn't matter.  After all, you just happen to be lucky that your bestie-now-turned-boyfriend has a huge cock to complement the equally huge amount of love he has stored for you in his heart.

Seokjin felt he got priority as the oldest of the group, picking a Thursday evening after all the guys were off work. It takes very little effort to convince Jimin to go for dinner with his friends, but it takes more effort to convince him to drink alcohol while they’re out. Still, ever-agreeable Jimin doesn’t want to disappoint his oldest hyung. 

So he orders himself a discounted margarita and tries not to make too twisted of a face when the waitress places it in front of him. 

Taking a bite out of a mozzarella stick, Jimin lets the stringy cheese pull away, instantly regretting the decision as the heat of the oil burns his tongue. Moving his attention from the mozzarella sticks to the electric blue frozen margarita in front of him, he uses his straw to stab at the slush on top. The drink's coolness soothes the part of his tongue that’s burned. 

“Tell us the rest of what happened, Jungkookie.” 

Namjoon props his elbows on the table and holds his chin in his hands. His bright eyes are eager as he stares at the man across from him. 

Jimin realizes he has zoned out of the conversation while trying not to make a face at the sourness of the margarita. So many of them are crowded around the table that it’s hard to keep up with all the side conversations. Right now, everyone appears to be focused on whatever Jungkook has to say.

The grin Jungkook flashes makes Jimin’s stomach flip. He continues sucking on his margarita; the slush keeps clogging the straw. He has to suck extra hard to get anything out, his cheeks hollowing and his lips puckering around the straw. Jungkook’s eyes flicker in Jimin’s direction, and he quickly releases the straw from his mouth, his face growing warm despite the cold drink. 

“You’re so dirty, hyung,” Jungkook accuses with a smirk that has Namjoon protesting until Seokjin is shushing him for being a baby. “Well, his head game was out of this world. I’ve never seen someone so eagerly gag on cock like he didn’t even need to breathe. But what really shocked me was his cock, though. It’s fucking massive.” 

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. “I think we shouldn’t be talking about Yoongi hyung like this, especially when he’s not here.” 

Jimin inhales sharply and a piece of mozzarella stick gets lodged in his throat. It takes Taehyung slapping the shit out of his back for him to cough himself into shape. He’d had no idea that the person Jungkook was bragging about fucking was Yoongi. 

“How could he be mad at me? I’m only telling the truth,” Jungkook sniffles, his innocent pout slowly morphing into a grin. “If I was him, I’d be happy to know that my cock was being advertised so well.”

Seokjin lets out a loud snort. 

Jimin finds it concerning how Namjoon is hanging onto every word Jungkook utters. 

“ Anyway ” – Jungkook gives Taehyung a pointed look – “this whole time, I thought he would be a pillow prince. I was fully prepared to be doing all the work, but fuck was I wrong. We went so many rounds my dick is sore.” 

“Shhh, shut the fuck up; here they come.” 

Jimin follows Seokjin’s gaze to see Yoongi and Hoseok give the group little waves as they approach the table. Unsurprisingly, Yoongi chooses to slide next to Jungkook in the booth, even though the side Jimin is sitting on has more room. 

It’s not like Jimin and Yoongi aren’t like, best friends or anything. Not like they haven’t known each other for their entire lives, or anything. Nah. It’s fine. This is nothing to even think about, really. 

“Hey guys,” Yoongi says with the gummy smile everyone is so in love with. 

An image of Jungkook, sweaty and balls deep inside Yoongi, lodges itself in Jimin’s brain. 

Hoseok beams a greeting, quickly flagging a waitress to order more alcohol. They all know it’s a bad idea, but they let Hoseok do what he wants anyway. He deserves to let loose, even if it means becoming a zombie by the end of the night. 

The look Jungkook gives Yoongi makes Jimin taste bile in the back of his throat. He rips his eyes away from the plumpness of Jungkook’s bottom lip when his pink, wet tongue swipes over it while Yoongi watches. 

Jungkook is so tactless. 

Jimin can’t understand why Yoongi allows himself to get caught up in that type of behavior. Just seeing Yoongi tongue at the inside of his cheek when Jungkook’s hands disappear beneath the table makes Jimin want to throw up. 

Tactless and not subtle whatsoever. 

Jimin can’t believe he has to live with him. It was a split decision, agreeing to let Jungkook move in when his old roommate moved cities. Hoseok was the one who convinced Jimin to do it. “Jungkook is our friend!” Hoseok had said with a cheerful smile. 

The thing is, Jungkook has always rubbed Jimin the wrong way. Jimin doesn’t really know why. He just does.

Being roommates with Jungkook means Jimin is forced to spend too much time with him, especially when their other friends are busy. 

He’d be lying if he said Jungkook’s invitation to a secret rave hadn’t surprised him. Jungkook and Jimin rarely hang out alone. They had very little in common compared to their mutual friends, and Jungkook has a habit of making Jimin uncomfortable. It’s like he lives for finding ways to bother Jimin.

But this time, Jimin vowed to make an effort. After Hoseok’s plea for Jimin to stop acting like he has a stick up his ass, he’s determined to be friendlier to Jungkook. 

Only for Hoseok. No other reason. 

They met up with a few of Jungkook’s other friends, so Jimin didn’t have to worry as much about being alone with him. Even better, they drank before going to the club. Pregaming is the only way to do events like this the right way; having a buzz from the start makes it more bearable, even if Jimin isn’t fond of alcohol. Hanging out with someone he isn’t particularly close to, one-on-one, makes Jimin nervous. Some liquid courage usually helps.

This time, the liquid courage helps a little too much.

“I'm so drunk. Why did you let me drink?” Jimin rubs his bloodshot eyes with his palms. It’s been hours , and all the drinking and dancing has finally worn Jimin down. He can barely think straight from the alcohol buzzing in his system. 

He’s also pretty sure he did acid with Jungkook and one of his friends, but he can’t remember. 

“Do you wanna leave?” Jungkook asks. 

The thought of Jungkook leaving him alone, drunk, at a nightclub makes Jimin’s anxiety spike, but he doesn’t want to sound desperate.

“Maybe get some fresh air?” 

Jungkook nods and follows Jimin through the sea of people dancing and crowding the bar where Jimin had sucked down a glass of water. It takes deliberate steps to get to the front doors, and the chilly air nearly knocks Jimin over, but he welcomes the sharpness that cuts through his intoxicated mind.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jungkook points out once they’re outside.

“Well, I am so fucked up.” Jimin punctuates his statement with an uncharacteristic giggle. He feels like his heart is clawing its way up his throat, thudding against him, offbeat.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Jungkook’s typical teasing doesn’t bother Jimin the same when he knows Jungkook is also drunk and high. Which is probably why one of Jungkook’s arms wraps around Jimin’s waist. 

A small sound of contentment hums from Jimin as he leans into Jungkook slightly, appreciating the extra body heat. The response is his body running on its own, Jimin’s inebriated brain struggling to swim through the slosh in his skull. In any normal setting, he would have never thought to even touch Jungkook, let alone nuzzle against him. Jimin closes his eyes, hoping the world would stop swimming with him, and all he sees is pulsating darkness.

“Umm, we could…” Deep swallow, clammy palms sliding against the thighs of his jeans. Where is the Jimin who normally radiates confidence? “Yeah, go home. If you want.”

“Is that what you want?” Even without the psychedelic lighting of the rave tumbling along inside, Jungkook’s expression sparkles against the night. 

Jimin’s gaze moves from his brightly lit phone to Jungkook. Calling a rideshare or a taxi, checking his bank app to make sure he has money in his account, or texting Hoseok that he is maybe dying–all are tasks Jimin can’t complete when he feels like he’s getting sucked inside of the screen. He feels like he isn’t making sense. 

“I want you.” Jimin’s words fall out of his mouth faster than his brain can keep up. He quickly looks back down at his phone, realizing his error as his cheeks grow even pinker. “To decide. Where we go.” 

“Hmm, is that so?” Jungkook purrs. The deep tone of his voice is unexpected, and it brings heat nipping at Jimin’s chest and up his face. 

“I–” 

Jimin lets out an audible gasp when Jungkook’s firm grip on his waist pushes him backward. 

“You want me ?” 

Jimin is sober enough to feel nervous looking at Jungkook in his darkened eyes, so he settles for Jungkook’s tongue poking just outside of the corner of his mouth. 

Jungkook smirks. “I can make a decision for you.” 

His lips are soft as they drag against Jimin’s. Jimin suddenly feels hyper-aware of his lack of chapstick, having left it in the jacket he chose not to wear out. As Jungkook squeezes Jimin's hips and shoves him against the wall, Jimin pushes the thought from his mind as quickly as it came.

Jungkook moves with a commanding sense of power that has Jimin easily malleable in his hands. Jimin gasps against Jungkook’s mouth when he feels the firmness of his chest beneath his fingers. Maybe it’s the drugs or the alcohol, or simply Jungkook , but Jimin’s brain splinters and shatters when he shifts his body, causing his thigh to brush against Jungkook's. And that’s when the reality of the situation hits him. 

Jungkook is hard. 

Fuck.

Jungkook’s teeth dig into Jimin’s bottom lip when he pulls away. He’s sure his mouth is now shiny and pink like Jungkook’s. It’s all Jimin can focus on as he attempts to blink away the dizzy feeling in his brain. 

Jungkook has one hand pressed against the wall beside Jimin’s head, the other squeezing his hip. Something about being caged in, the heat of Jungkook’s body burning against his, makes Jimin feel small. He doesn’t want to think about why he likes it. 

“I’ll get us a ride, okay, Jimin-ah?” 

“Yeah.” He breathes the only word he can get out, widened eyes scanning Jungkook’s face, too shocked to be embarrassed by how his chest is erratically rising and falling. He immediately lets go of Jungkook’s shirt after holding on so tightly his knuckles ache. He watches Jungkook pull up the app on his phone and struggles to keep his mind from wandering into the darkness that is Jungkook’s eyes on him every time he looks up. 

They burn into Jimin’s core.

How the fuck did they end up here? 

“You’re shaking.” Jungkook smirks as he leans in to rest his chin on Jimin’s shoulder as Jimin struggles to unlock his apartment door. “Do I make you nervous, Jiminie?” 

Jimin is barely holding it together with Jungkook’s cheek brushing against his neck. He flip-flops between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean further into him.

“I don’t get nervous,” Jimin says. 

The statement is flat, and nowhere near as convincing as Jimin hopes. Maybe even laughable, with his pink face and his heart pounding in his throat. It doesn’t help that his fingers fumble so terribly with his keys that he drops them and has to quickly bend down to scoop them up.

Finally getting the door unlocked, Jimin kicks off his sneakers (proper house etiquette present even when fucked up) and turns a bit too quickly on his heel. His socks slip against the wooden floor as he wobbles to stay upright.

“What’s up?” Jungkook’s voice is filled with amusement, and his eyes are bright despite being bloodshot. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re not real?” Jimin stares at Jungkook, unable to pull himself out of the darkness of his pupils. He asks the next question quietly, just like the first, muted enough for only Jungkook to hear. But there is only Jungkook. “Or like you were meant to be someone else?”

Before Jungkook answers, Jimin brings his free hand against the back of Jungkook’s head to pull him into another kiss, this one harder and heavy with the weight of knowing he shouldn't be doing this.

A broken, pathetic whimper comes from somewhere inside Jimin when Jungkook grinds his hips into his, making their cocks drag against each other through their pants. The feeling is unlike anything Jimin has ever experienced. Kissing Jungkook is safe; Jimin can pretend he’s kissing anyone. But to feel Jungkook’s cock hard against his own, shifting to press against his thigh, then moving back again… There’s no denying what he’s doing, and there’s no denying who he’s doing it with.  

Reaching between their bodies, Jungkook rubs his hand over the bulge in Jimin’s jeans and another whimper escapes Jimin’s lips. The sound is so loud and pathetic that it startles him, but Jungkook seems to love it. 

“What was that, Jiminie?” Jungkook asks with a smirk. 

Heavy panting is all the response Jungkook is going to get from Jimin, especially when his other hand drops to unbutton Jimin’s jeans. The pressure of Jungkook pulling his zipper sends dull shocks of electricity through Jimin’s cock, making it twitch uncontrollably. He’s never been harder in his entire life, and he hates it. 

Does he hate it? Jungkook is so…

“You’re so fucking hot.” 

Jungkook verbalizes what Jimin can’t. Then he does exactly what Jimin is scared of: he curls those cute little fingers around the edge of Jimin’s jeans and tugs. 

“Mmm, hyung , why have you been hiding such a beautiful cock from me?” 

Jimin feels his face burn with heat so searing he thinks he might pass out. 

Jungkook presses his thumb against Jimin’s slit to smear the beads of precum around the tip. The gentle massage is enough to make Jimin buck forward. 

“Fuck,” Jimin whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“You’ve never done this before, have you, hyung?” Jungkook’s breath is hot against his ear. The deep chuckle that punctuates his question hints at the devious smirk he wears. “Never had another man touch you.” 

Jungkook clenches Jimin's cock. He’s leaking so much that working up a steady rhythm is easy. Jungkook drags his fingers through Jimin's hair with his free hand, pushing his bangs up and securing a solid hold on the soft strands. He tugs hard until a moan tumbles from Jimin’s pretty lips. 

“Not going to answer me?” 

Shame burns into Jimin’s cheeks and mixes with the unfortunately undeniable lust wreaking havoc on his body. “No, I’ve-I’ve, n-never–” Jimin moans, shocked to hear his voice come out with so much need. 

Jungkook hums with a bite of his bottom lip, eyes twinkling. “So I’m special .” 

Jimin tries to nod, but Jungkook’s fingers are still tight in his hair.

“You have such a pretty cock. So soft and heavy, with such a cute little curve, hm?” Jungkook swipes his thumb over Jimin’s tip as another bead of precum dribbles out. Then, with the liquid smeared on the digit, Jungkook locks eyes with Jimin as he sticks out his flattened tongue and presses his thumb against it. “Taste good, too, baby.” 

Jungkook tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. He keeps his eyes trained on Jimin but allows his body to sink slowly until he is on his knees in between Jimin’s legs. 

“Wanna choke on your cock. Will you let me? I promise I’ll do it better than those boring girls you’re always bringing home.”

"Jungkook," Jimin whines as he squeezes the base of his cock. 

He parts his lips slightly and drags the head of Jimin’s cock over his mouth, rubbing his precum like lip balm. When he seems to have enough, Jungkook lets Jimin’s cock rest on his face as he laps his tongue at the underside. Occasionally, he drops further to suckle Jimin’s balls, tonguing the smooth skin. In everything he does, Jungkook maintains eye contact with Jimin. His normally sparkly eyes are dark and lidded; the expression makes Jimin’s cock throb harder. 

“Yeah, hyung? Want your cock in my mouth?” Jungkook teases. “I want to hear you say it. Ask me to ruin you like a good boy, okay?” 

Waiting for his response, Jungkook swirls his tongue around the tip of Jimin's cock. 

"Oh god," Jimin sobs. He reaches down to dig his fingers into Jungkook's shoulders and tries not to buck his hips into his face. His mind is screaming at him to relax, to think this all through because every ounce of this interaction feels laced with the promise of regret. But his mouth is speaking before his brain can keep up. "I want it." 

Sliding his hands up Jimin’s thighs, Jungkook grabs his ass cheeks and pulls his body flush against his own. In one swift motion, Jungkook swallows Jimin until the head of his cock rams against the back of his throat. His moans make pleasure ripple through Jimin’s abdomen.

Jimin’s legs shake and he grabs Jungkook’s shoulders to steady himself. “I’m- I’m…” 

Jungkook's jaw goes slack as Jimin gasps, feeling his nose press into his abdomen. No one has ever taken Jimin all the way like that before. Jimin can feel Jungkook swallowing around him, constricting and relaxing his throat muscles while humming against him. Jungkook's tongue against the underside of Jimin's cock has Jimin bucking forward. 

Instead of pulling away and scolding him as Jimin expected, Jungkook tightens his grip on Jimin's ass, rocking his body forward and forcing himself to gag.   

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jungkook.” A weak moan is the only warning that Jimin was quickly spiraling.

Colors blossom and then burst behind Jimin’s eyelids as he shoots his release down Jungkook’s throat. Every swallow further milks more of his cum until his cock is so sensitive that the head hitting the back of Jungkook’s throat makes Jimin tremble violently. 

“Jungkook, please,” Jimin lets out a strangled moan and weakly pushes Jungkook away from him by his shoulders. 

“Shit,” Jungkook groans once he sits back and stares up at Jimin with glassy eyes. “I wanna fuck you so bad.” 

Fear dances with desire in Jimin’s chest, stirring up his heart until it’s beating through his ribcage.

“I… I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not… not yet.” 

The disappointed look on Jungkook’s face makes Jimin’s heart shrivel up.  

“Okay,” Jungkook says softly, his expression eventually growing into a small smile. “That’s okay.”

The only sound in the room is Jimin’s heavy breathing as he attempts to calm himself down. 

After a moment, Jungkook stands up. He catches sight of himself in the mirror hanging in the hallway. If he wasn’t already struggling to breathe, Jimin would have had difficulty inhaling as he watches Jungkook smooth his hair and adjust how his jeans fit against his crotch. 

Jimin can’t know what Jungkook is thinking, but he thinks Jungkook looks beautiful.

“I’m sorry.”

Holding the side of Jimin’s face, Jungkook kisses away whatever other apologies he has lined up on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs against Jimin’s lips, providing just enough time for them to breathe before diving in again. 

Jimin thinks he likes the way he tastes on Jungkook’s tongue.

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“I don’t own anything with tiger stripes!” you’d exclaimed into the phone to your friend, the one who was dragging you out tonight. 

A birthday party for a friend of a friend. You hadn’t been on board initially, not one for clubs now that you had reached the age where hangovers weren’t so easy to bounce back from, but your friend promised to buy your drinks in exchange for being her plus one, and that had you singing a different tune. 

A hangover is infinitely more worth it when it’s free. 

“Just wear that cheetah print top you have from college,” your friend responded. 

“What year is it?” you muttered to yourself, digging deeper into your dresser for the tube top she was talking about. 

The only reason you had the shirt in the first place was for a jungle-themed frat party you were goaded into attending by that same friend. 

“Animal print is making a comeback,” she argued. 

“Is it?”

“Hoshi’s… unique. And it’s his birthday, okay? Just put the shirt on!” 

-

You put the shirt on, only for it to come off a couple of hours later in the cramped space of one of the club’s bathrooms. 

Soonyoung, you think he said his name was, has his hands under your skirt and his mouth on one of your tits. He has you up against the sink, almost on top of it. You’re gripping the edge of the countertop with one hand and holding his head against you with the other. 

“Fuck, can I touch you?” Soonyoung asks when his fingers find the hem of your panties. 

“Yeah,” you gasp, “yeah- please.”

It’s all the permission he needs. He touches you over the fabric at first, gently testing the waters. You moan when his thumb brushes over your clit and he chases the reaction, applying more pressure and testing different patterns to find one that gets you to make that sound again. 

You want to touch him, too. You reach forward and begin to fumble with the buttons of his tiger-print shirt. Where he found one, you have no clue. You were only half-aware that he was also a party guest when you stumbled into the bathroom together. You only knew that he was hot and funny and liked doing shots.

He’d approached you at the bar, asked if you liked tequila, and put the round on his tab.  

What that said about you, that that’s all it took to get into your pants, you’d rather not think about. 

You’d rather focus on the present moment, on his tongue on your nipple and his fingers on your pussy. 

He pauses briefly to help you with his shirt, practically ripping it open with no regard for the poor buttons. The sound of them pinging against the mirror and the floor gets ignored as you run your hands over his body. 

He’s ripped. It shouldn’t be surprising but you can’t help the quiet gasp of awe that slips past your lips. You feel him smirk before feeling him flex for you. Show-off. 

You want to roll your eyes, and you do, but not out of exasperation. At the same moment, he pulls your panties to the side and pushes a finger inside of you, causing your head to fall back as your eyes roll involuntarily. 

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he mutters. 

You brush it off. “Tequila does that to me.”

He scoffs. “Oh, really? It’s just the alcohol? If that’s the case, should I stop?”

“No!”

He levels a look at you. ”Then tell the truth.”

You whimper as he pulls his hand from between your legs, holding your pleasure hostage until you give him what he wants.

You relent. Your pride isn’t that important to you. 

”It’s you, you’re the one who’s making me… like this.”

There’s that smirk again, but he keeps his end of the bargain and slips his fingers back inside of you.. “You’re letting a guy you’ve just met finger you in the bathroom but you can’t say I’m making you wet? Cute.”

You turn your head in embarrassment only to be met with your own reflection in the dirty mirror. You squeeze your eyes shut but it’s too late. Soonyoung can feel your reaction to seeing yourself all fucked out and desperate, he can feel it dripping down his fucking wrist.

It makes you squirm but he uses his free hand to hold you in place. 

“Is this getting you off a little? Me talking down to you?”

“You’re the one who’s so hard I can see the outline through your jeans,” you point out. 

“We’re both learning a lot about each other.”

“It sure seems that way,” you agree, leaning forward to grab him over his pants. “I feel like I’m really starting to get to know you.”

He sucks in a breath and half-laughs. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Time blurs as the party goes on on the other side of the door. You lose yourselves in each other, your hand eventually venturing past his belt and waistband so you can stroke him for real while he continues fucking you with his fingers.  

“Do you want to keep going?” Soonyoung asks in between kisses. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to cum all over your hand but I thought I’d ask-”

You don’t even let him finish. “Fuck, yes. Please. Your cock is so pretty.” 

The compliment makes him twitch against your palm but he can’t resist turning it around on you. “What happened to my shy girl? Couldn’t even say the word ‘wet’ a few minutes ago.”

“She wants to get fucked.”

“Fair enough.”

You don’t miss the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth when you disentangle yourselves from each other. The sight is enough to make your knees weak but luckily you’re already braced against the sink so you think he might not notice. 

It’s a bit of an awkward shuffle for Soonyoung to get his pants down low enough and fish a condom out of his pocket but he manages to do it and still look hot despite it all. 

“How do you want it? Bent over the sink, or...” he trails off as he rolls the condom on, letting you be the one to call it. 

“Can we do it like how we were before? Your face is pretty too.” 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s blushing. But it’s probably just the flush of exertion. Probably. 

“O-of course,” he stammers, “but leaning on the sink might not be comfortable for you.”

“Oh, right.”

He holds out his hands for you to take and pulls you upright. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Put your arms around my neck. Hold on tight.” 

It’s all the warning you’re given before he reaches under your thighs, hoists you up onto his waist, and presses your back against the wall in one fluid motion. Turns out the muscles aren’t just for show after all. 

“Is this okay?”

You nod. 

 “Great.”

You’re wet enough that he doesn’t have to start slow and thank god he doesn’t. He lets gravity do most of the work, allowing you to sink onto him completely the first time you try. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, starting to gently bounce you on his cock.

“You feel better.”

“Not. Possible.”

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t even tremble when you clench around him. You have no idea how he’s doing it because you’re losing your goddamn mind on his dick and you’re barely doing anything to contribute. 

“God, are you- are you doing anything after this?”

You almost laugh but the breath is punched out of you by a particularly harsh thrust of his hips. “You’re literally inside of me right now and you’re already thinking about the next time you’re going to fuck me?”

“Can you blame me? Your pussy’s fucking insane.”

“Yours isn’t so bad either- I mean, fuck.”

He does manage to laugh, albeit shakily. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you mean. I know you’re close. You got so close on my fingers earlier, didn’t you?”

All you can do is nod and whimper but Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock. I’m right behind you.”

His words coax you over the edge in no time. You hope the music outside is loud because you’re practically screaming into his shoulder when it hits you. You feel Soonyoung’s body tense up beneath you while you’re still riding out your own orgasm. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his own cries of your name as he fucks you both through it. 

When you finally come down and start to catch your breath, he moves one of his hands to brush some hair out of your face and kisses the tip of your nose. Somehow that feels more intimate than everything you’d just done to each other, and it threatens to factory reset your brain, but before it can, he’s pulling out and gingerly putting you back down.

“I don’t want to rush you, but we should probably clean up and get back out there before someone finds us and kicks us out.”

-

You’re ambushed by a group of people the minute you step out of the bathroom together. In hindsight, you probably should have left one at a time with a significant gap in between... oh well. No going back now. 

“Hoshi, where were you?” one of them demands. “We’ve been looking all over for you! It’s time to blow the candles out.”

You blink in confusion. Hoshi? Wasn’t Hoshi the birthday- “Wait, what? But...”

His friends take notice of your disheveled appearances and come to the same conclusion almost instantaneously. You spot your own friend among them looking just as shocked. You mouth what the fuck at her but she just shrugs, not bothering to hide a chuckle at your expense.

“Dude, seriously?” another one sighs. “At your own party?”

Soonyoung turns and gives you a sheepish look. “For what it’s worth, that was the best birthday present ever.”

ding

You pick up your phone, seeing a DM notification from Twitter. As you open the app you smile — it's exactly who you hoped would be messaging you.

@/xcalibur_: wowwww you look amazing in the new vid 😍

It's Nico — one of your mutuals. Due to the nature of the content you put out, and the fact that you choose to remain anonymous online — posting everything under a pseudonym, Berrie — you are constantly having to balance casually flirting with other adult content creators to build your network while also not getting too close to anybody. It's good business, and also for your own safety. But you and Nico have followed each other for a few months now, and he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. It also doesn't help that he is outrageously hot, and has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. You should probably be ashamed by how many times you've cum to his videos, but shame surrounding sex is something you left behind a long time ago.

@/strawberriebaby: thanks love😘 your new pics are sooo hot btw @/xcalibur_: thank you gorgeous ;) i didn't think the bulge pics would be so popular tbh but people seem to love it @/strawberriebaby: it's the gray sweatpants babe, that'll drive any girl crazy in a heartbeat @/xcalibur_: that's good to know, i'll keep that in mind 😏 hey btw, if you ever want any free personalized content from me lmk. i've cum to your videos so many times, so i definitely owe you haha

That last sentence makes your stomach do an excited flip. Sure, you post porn on Twitter. Of course other people are going to be jerking it to your videos. But something about hearing it from him specifically is really fucking hot.

@/strawberriebaby: that's crazy bc i cum to YOUR videos all the time too 🥰 @/xcalibur_: wow, what an honor to hear that from my favorite account holy shit 😍 @/strawberriebaby: lol i'll bet you say that to everyone @/xcalibur_: nope, not at all. just you baby ❤️ @/strawberriebaby: alright then, prove it. send me a video of you jerking off right now 😊 @/xcalibur_: say less 🫡

A proud grin creeps across your face. Your thighs instinctively squeeze together, excitement flooding your senses at the prospect of receiving a personal video from Nico. Figuring you'd give him a few minutes, you decide to get up and start some laundry in the meantime. By the time you've sorted your clothes and started the first load in the washer, you already have a new DM in your notifications.

Excitedly you make your way to your bedroom, figuring you might as well enjoy yourself as you watch. Plopping onto your bed, you open Twitter and click on your chat with Nico. Sure enough, you are greeted with a seven minute-long video attachment, with a blurry image of what appears to be his bulge in the thumbnail, and an accompanying message that simply says for my favorite girl❤️.

You click play, immediately being greeted with soft moans from behind the camera as you watch him stroke himself through his sweatpants, the thick bulge heavy beneath his grasp. He's already growing hard, the soft fabric doing little to hide the shape of his cock as he touches himself, the delicate sighs escaping his lips sounding whiny already. You feel a rush of heat in your core as you watch him; he may be fully clothed still, but that doesn't stop your mouth from watering at the salacious sight.

Before long he has a full-blown erection; reaching into his pants, he takes his length in his hand, letting out a hiss at the sensation. Slipping the waistband of his sweats down he frees it from the confines of his underwear, revealing the thick, veiny shaft you've committed to memory at this point. He begins to jerk himself off, slow, measured strokes as he grips his cock tightly in his fist.

"F-fuck," you hear him groan from behind the camera. "I'm so fucking horny right now."

Grinning, you slip out of your pants with one hand, the other holding your phone as your eyes remain fixed on the pretty cock on its screen. You recline into your pillows, lightly dragging your fingertips over your pussy, discovering yourself to be much wetter than you expected. You collect your pooled arousal and spread it over your clit, sighing softly as your fingers graze the sensitive bud.

"Feels so good," he whines. "Wish it was your mouth, baby. Fuck…"

He begins to stroke himself faster now, his hand pumping up and down his length with urgent need. You slip your fingers into your pussy, fucking yourself as you watch; you start slow, but the pitiful sounds coming out of him soon have your hand flying as fast as his is. You feel like you could cum already, but you want to wait until he does. Your stomach tightens as you picture the savory sight of that in your head; checking the timestamp on the video, you're about halfway through. Just a few more minutes to go. The time seems to pass at a painfully slow pace, forcing you to pause more than once, taking the time to catch your breath as you watch Nico getting himself off with uninhibited pleasure. Your clit throbs, aching for the release of your orgasm. Finally, his whimpers begin to turn utterly pathetic — sharp cries and loud moans escaping him — and you can tell he's about to cum. Thank god, you think to yourself. You don't know how much longer you can wait.

You watch the shiny dribble of precum drip down the head of his cock, which is turning an angry shade of red as his climax begins to overtake him.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he cries. He vigorously pumps his length, cock throbbing in his grasp, until finally — he releases. With a vulgar groan white ropes of cum spurt from his tip, shooting into the air before falling onto his hand and stomach. The sight is enough to send you over the edge — your palm presses into your clit as your fingers fuck into your cunt, and you cum too. Your head falls back, eyes tearing up at the bursts of pleasure rolling through your body, but you don't take them off the screen for a second. You ride out your high, chest heaving with deep breaths as you stare at the delicious mess of cum all over Nico.

As you drift back down to earth, you watch as he lets go of his spent cock; it twitches against his stomach as he shows off his cum-coated hand, the sticky white substance dripping all over his fingers and the silver ring on his pinky. You've seen his hands plenty of times by now, and you've always thought they were exceptionally pretty. However, for some reason in this moment they seem… familiar. His long thick fingers, his pretty nails, and also the ring, too. You swear you've seen it somewhere before. You figure it's just from watching so many of his videos, but something in the back of your mind is telling you otherwise. But your mind is spinning, and it's hard to think straight right now anyway, so you push that thought aside.

You take a picture of your soaked cunt and DM it back to him.

@/strawberriebaby: that was so fucking hot, thank youuu 😘

Your phone dings as he replies immediately.

@/xcalibur_: fuck, need that pussy so bad

Maybe it's just the high from your orgasm, but his message practically has you swooning. The typing bubble pops up again right away. You watch him type for a minute, then stop. It pops up again a few moments later. You wait patiently to see what he has to say, and finally you receive another message.

@/xcalibur_: i'm not sure if you're open to collabs, so no pressure at all, but if you're ever interested lmk ;) more than willing to travel for u lol

Your heart nearly skips a beat. You've had other creators ask to collab before, but you've politely turned them all down. It's something you've definitely considered, but you don't want to do it with just anybody. It would have to be with the right person — and honestly, Nico would be perfect for the job.

@/strawberriebaby: i've never done one before, but i've been considering it tbh👀 i'm kinda nervous about it though @/xcalibur_: that's totally fair, it's a big ask! i've also never done one, mostly for privacy reasons. might end my career if anybody finds out i do this lol @/strawberriebaby: i'm a freelance artist, so that matters less for me haha. i'm just mostly nervous because i've never done a face reveal before @/xcalibur_: you wouldn't have to do one if you don't want! @/strawberriebaby: oh yeah, i mean more like… what if i met somebody irl and they weren't into me :/ @/xcalibur_: i can guarantee that won't happen if we meet, i promise :) @/strawberriebaby: i'm just kind of an awkward person 😭 @/xcalibur_: that doesn't matter to me. you're hot and i'm very into you 🙂‍↕️ @/strawberriebaby: you haven't even seen my face though!! @/xcalibur_: but i know you're fucking beautiful. and i'm not just saying that!

This conversation is a lot flirtier than you usually have with people on Twitter, even your mutuals that you know fairly well. Normally if a man was talking to you like this, you would just assume it's business as usual, just another stranger on the internet trying to get into your pants. But Nico is… different. Maybe you're delusional — maybe he talks like this to everyone he wants to fuck and you're not special. But your instinct tells you he's being genuine.

@/strawberriebaby: you're crazy, but fortunately i'm into that lol @/xcalibur_: that's great news for me😌 but fr, if you're ever in the bay area hit me up. i'll clear my fucking schedule @/strawberriebaby: wait, you're in the bay area?? @/xcalibur_: born and raised! @/strawberriebaby: no fucking way. i'm also in the bay area! @/xcalibur_: omg @/xcalibur_: not to jump the gun but this might be destiny idk @/strawberriebaby: well, one way to find out @/xcalibur_: does this mean you want to collab :) @/strawberriebaby: let me sleep on it, but good chance the answer might be yes @/xcalibur_: YAYYYYY @/xcalibur_: i mean uh, yeah that's cool. totally a good business decision. @/strawberriebaby: oh, totally, for sure. well i have to go now, i'm meeting a friend for dinner. pleasure doing business with you ;) @/xcalibur_: you too babe 😘 enjoy your dinner!

Between your orgasm and your conversation with Nico, you're feeling very hot and bothered — so you decide to take a quick shower. You feel much better afterward; you get ready and head out to meet your friend, and you end up having a really nice night. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't spend the whole rest of the evening with thoughts of your potential collab lingering in the back of your mind.

On Saturday, you have a gig as a wedding photographer — one of the many hats you wear. The wedding isn't until the afternoon, but you're supposed to be there by 11am to get set up and run through the schedule with the wedding planner. You're running slightly behind, but you're still on time — as long as you leave by 10:30, you'll be fine.

At 10:25am you are on your way out of your apartment. As you lock the door behind you, you spot a figure out of the corner of your eye approaching from down the hallway. Turning your head, you see that it's your neighbor, Seokmin.

"Hey y/n!" he tells you cheerfully. "Haven't seen you in a minute!"

Seokmin lives down the hall from you, so you run into him fairly frequently in passing. You usually don't go out of your way to talk to other people in your building outside of polite small talk, and you don't know Seokmin all that well truthfully. You pretty much only know that he's a lawyer, and apparently a pretty good one at that — but with his gregarious nature and bright smile, he's easily one of the nicest people you've ever met.

"Hey Seokmin," you smile back, giving him a small wave. "Yeah, I've been working odd jobs lately, so my schedule is kind of all over the place."

Seokmin reaches his front door. Still facing you, he rummages around in his bag, presumably for his keys.

"Nice, where are you off to today?"

"Photography gig," you answer. "I'm working a wedding."

"Oh, fun!" he beams at you, his arm still digging around the bottom of his bag. Finally, his hand closes around the small cluster of metal; he pulls the keys out, turning to the door to raising his hand to the lock. As he does so, you notice a silver ring around his pinky, and suddenly you realize where you've seen this exact same hand before.

Your eyes widen, staring at Seokmin's hand, looking for anything to tell you you're wrong, that can't be the same hand… You blink, hoping you're just imagining things — but deep down you know your eyes do not deceive you.

Seokmin peers back at you, about to say something else, but you look like you've seen a ghost.

"Are you okay?" he asks, slightly concerned.

"I just— I forgot something," you say in a panic, plastering a faux smile on your face. You spin on your heel and rush back into your apartment before he can ask any more questions. "Catch you later!"

"Bye!" Seokmin shouts after you. He turns and enters his apartment, not thinking anything of it.

You, however, are now spiraling. You pace around your apartment as you take your phone out and open Twitter, scrolling to your DMs with Nico and playing back the video he sent you the other night. You fast forward to the end, stopping when you see his cum-coated hand in frame. Without a doubt, it looks just like Seokmin's. You might've been able to convince yourself that they just look similar, that there's no chance in hell they belong to the same person — but the presence of the identical ring makes it undeniable.

"What the fuck," you mutter under your breath, trying to process this information. Sure, Seokmin is objectively an attractive man — but you've never thought of him like that before. But the more you think about it, the way Nico talks and his amicable, sweet nature match Seokmin's demeanor perfectly. And he does have the exact same build you've seen fully nude from the shoulders down dozens of times on your phone screen.

But you don't have time to stand here and freak out about this right now. You have to get to work. You peek out your peephole, just to make sure he's not still out there for any reason, but the hallway is vacant. You lock the door behind you and make your exit as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, the wedding setup and the ceremony itself keep you busy enough to keep your mind off the fact that Nico is your literal neighbor. After the reception ends, you head home, but decide to stop at the CVS on your way back. You grab the couple items you need from your list and head to check out, but on your way to the register you pass the condom section. You stop for a second; you do have a box at home already, but Nico/Seokmin's video drifts to the front of your mind, reminding you just how fucking huge his cock is.

Stop it, you think to yourself. You didn't even say you'd collab with him yet. Do you even want to do that now that you know he's been living across the hall from you this whole time?? But you know in your heart that the answer is a resounding yes.

With a sigh, you grab a box of XL condoms off the shelf and toss it in your basket.

You spend the whole evening trying not to think about Seokmin, to no avail. You even put on Howl's Moving Castle, hoping that your favorite movie will be a good distraction, but even that isn't enough to get your mind of that fucking video he sent you. You can't even blame him, because you're the one who asked him to send it in the first place.

Idiot, you chastise yourself. He did say he was also in the Bay Area, but so are seven million other people; never in your wildest dreams would you have expected him to live in your exact building — because what are the fucking odds of that? But regardless, it's true, and now you have to figure out what the hell you are going to do about it. You pretty much have two options: tell him you know, or pretend like you don't. Neither one is very good — the latter would probably be the smarter option, but it doesn't change the fact that you still want to hit like so bad.

Your phone buzzes. Looking down, you see a DM from Nico pop up in your notifications.

"Speak of the devil…" you mumble to yourself. You pick up the phone and open it to his message.

@/xcalibur_: heyyyy cutie ❤️ how was your day?

You stare at the screen for a minute, deliberating, but eventually you decide to respond.

@/strawberriebaby: honestly i had such a weird fucking day 😭 @/xcalibur_: oh no! what happened? (if you don't mind me asking) @/strawberriebaby: nothing bad, just… weird. can i ask you something? @/xcalibur_: of course baby @/strawberriebaby: what would you do if i said i think we might know each other irl?

Your heart races as you hit send. You have no idea how he's going to respond, but you decide fuck it. Worst case scenario it'll make things so awkward you will have to move, but that's a problem for later. You watch the typing bubble anxiously as you await his reply.

@/xcalibur_: wait, seriously? how so? @/strawberriebaby: i recognized your ring in the video. @/xcalibur_: i'm sure a lot of guys have a ring like mine tho, maybe it just looks similar to someone you know? @/strawberriebaby: that's what i was thinking. but then i saw you in the hallway this morning when i was on my way to work

The typing bubble does not pop up again. A few minutes pass, and you start to wonder if you've royally fucked up — but then you hear a knock at your front door.

You get up and walk over to the peephole, peering out to see none other than Seokmin standing there, wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that puts his thick biceps on full display. You open the door, coming face to face with him; you stare at each other for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say.

"You…" he finally starts, but you just grab him by the wrist and pull him inside. Door shutting behind him, you are now alone together, standing far to close to one another in the entryway of your home.

"It is you," he says in a hushed tone, staring at you with sparkling brown eyes. "You're Berrie." You nod, locking eyes with him, making your stomach do a nervous flip.

"And you're Nico," you reply softly. He nods back, a bewildered look coloring his face.

"This is crazy," he laughs incredulously. "I've always thought you were so pretty, but I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything."

"Well, turns out we've already seen each other naked," you point out. He lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, I suppose so…"

You stare at each other for a moment, the tension in the room turning palpable.

"Well, my offer still stands, you know," he says, suddenly turning a bit flushed. "About the collab. If you want."

"Do you mean… right now?" you ask, taking a step forward.

"Yeah," he whispers, also stepping forward to bridge the gap between the two of you. "I do." Slowly he raises his right hand, cradling your cheek in his palm as he holds your face, the metal of his ring cool against your cheek. You let out a soft gasp; your hands drift to his torso, pressing them against his muscular abs, sliding them up across his chest before you take his shirt in your fists, yanking him toward you closer still.

"Kiss me," you tell him, and without a moment of hesitation his lips are crashing into yours.

His hand drifts from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling your face into his so he can kiss you with unrestrained vigor. His other hand drifts to your waist, rubbing your hip slowly as he tastes you, his lips tugging on yours in sheer desperation. You kiss him back, grabbing him by his sides as you press your body into him.

"Fuck," he grumbles, barely taking his lips off you as he grabs your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh."You're so perfect."

The stiffening in his pants is undeniable, pressing against your stomach as he holds you close. You want nothing more than to rip your clothes off and throw yourself at him, but you know that teasing him for a bit first would be enticing for the both of you — and you want to savor this.

You break the kiss, staring up at him sweetly, before you take his hand in yours and start pulling him toward your bedroom.

"C'mon," you say, looking back at him as you tug him along. He grins, gazing at you excitedly at he eagerly follows. Entering your room, he lets out a chuckle.

"Wow, so this is where the magic happens, huh?" he asks, gesturing at your ring light and tripod set up at the foot of your bed.

"Sure is," you smile. "I was planning on filming tonight, let me move this real quick—"

"Wait," Seokmin says, grabbing hold of your wrist. You turn to face him again, his soft brown eyes staring at you lustfully. "You should go ahead and film."

"It's okay, I can do it tomorrow—" you start, but he grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up to his so he can kiss you again.

"I want to watch," he mutters into your lips. A smile spreads across your face.

"Okay," you beam at him.

Grabbing your phone, you set it up on the tripod, the video camera open and ready. You strip your clothes off as you make your way over to your bed, plopping into the center and making yourself comfortable. You spread your legs, revealing your bare pussy, already glimmering with arousal in the dim lighting.

"Ready?" Seokmin asks, his finger hovering above the record button.

"More than," you grin.

He taps the button, and the video begins.

Slowly you slide your hand down your body, dipping your fingers into your cunt, pulling them out again to show off the stick mess of juices dripping out of you. Seokmin licks his lips, palming himself through his sweatpants as he quickly starts to grow hard. You touch yourself lazily, staring up at him as you start to get yourself off; you were planning on taking your sweet time, but having him watch you like this is making you unbearably horny. Soft moans escape your lips as you begin to play with your clit, causing him to grip his bulge in his fist tightly as he takes a deep breath. Your other hand grasps at your breast, squeezing it as your fingers start to move faster. The sight is too much for Seokmin. Mouth watering, he pulls his pants down and frees his cock, stroking it slowly in his large hand. You've seen it dozens of times, so you knew exactly what to expect — and yet seeing the sheer size of his cock with your own two eyes has you clenching around nothing. You swear you've never craved anything more in your life.

Your fingers begin to work faster, flicking back and forth over your clit, hips rocking slowly as a burning heat begins to fill your gut. Watching Seokmin masturbate as he watches you masturbate has to be the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His eyes don't leave you for a second, his gaze flickering from your pussy to your breasts to your pretty face, savoring the sight of every inch of you. Soon, he's stroking himself with a sense of urgency, his hand working his cock faster and faster, egged on by your incessant whimpering as you approach your high. Your body writhes against the mattress as an explosive orgasm suddenly overtakes you — your legs tremble, your head falls back into the pillows as you release, crying out with pleasure as the shockwaves of your climax pulse through you.

Your mind spins as you come down, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to recover. Your eyes flutter open again, seeing Seokmin still standing there, staring at you like he wants to devour you. His hand has stilled, gripping his thick hard cock tightly, his tip glistening with his leaking juices.

"Turn that off and come fuck me already," you tell him, grinning eagerly. He stops the video and walks over to your bed, climbing over you and pressing a long kiss against your lips. You reach for his cock, but he's already scooting back down, positioning himself between your legs.

"I will," he replies, suddenly grabbing you by the thighs and folding you in half, making you gasp. "But first…"

You cry out as he drags his tongue over your cunt, groaning as he laps up the pool of juices.

"Fuck, even better than I imagined."

He slips his tongue into your hole, fucking it in and out as his nose bumps against your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

"Oh my god—" you moan, brushing your fingers through his dark hair and grasping onto it. You hold his head in place, but he had no plans of pulling away anyway. He eats you out slowly, savoring every drop of you, his tongue running through your folds and over your clit until you feel the pressure of a second orgasm building inside you. Your hips begin to rock against his face, rubbing your clit over his nose, until you are cumming again. His hands grip your thighs as he doesn't stop, licking your pussy as you ride out your high.

"Fuck," you gasp for air as you pry his head off of you. He grins at you sheepishly, his entire chin dripping.

"Sorry, got a bit carried away," he admits.

"No, don't apologize," you smile at him. "That was fucking amazing."

He dives in one more time to press a soft kiss into your spent clit. Crawling back up to you, you pull him in for a kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth to taste yourself on him.

"Now will you fuck me?" you tease as your lips part.

"Of course, baby," he says with one more kiss. "I didn't bring any protection though, I kinda ran out the door without thinking…"

"It's okay, I have some," you tell him. Reaching into your drawer you pull out the unopened box of XL condoms you're grateful you bought on a whim. As you open the package, he gives you a quizzical look.

"Do you always keep these on hand?" he asks teasingly.

"Nope," you reply. "Bought them today."

"Oh," he says softly, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. "So you bought these specifically for me, then."

"Yes," you answer matter-of-factly, making his cheeks turn flushed.

"I guess we're kinda obsessed with each other then, huh?" he asks, grinning widely.

"Seems that way," you beam back at him.

You pull one of the small packets out, tossing the box aside and ripping it open. You pull the condom out and reach for Seokmin's cock. You give it a few pumps, making him groan.

"God, it's so fucking hot to have you actually touching me."

"Good," you grin. You take the condom and stretch it over his tip, rolling it down his length. You grab his cock and guide it to your entrance, rubbing his head over your folds. He moves his hips, pressing it in gently, but you're so soaked that it slips in with ease. You gasp, staring at his cock as it disappears into your cunt, filling you up like never before.

"Oh my god you're huge," you say mouth ajar. You gaze back up, meeting his eyes as he stares at you hungrily. Slowly he begins to fuck you, pulling his cock out and pushing it all the way back in.

"You feel incredible," he mutters as he leans his head in, kissing the side of your neck delicately. You let out a soft, involuntary whine, making Seokmin's head spin more than it already is.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he groans. "Keep making those noises baby, I like it."

"Feels so good," you whimper as he fucks into you harder.

"You're taking me so well," he coos, his hand drifting to your nipple and tugging on it lightly. "Such a good girl."

"Harder," you plead. He smirks, then starts fucking you faster, giving you exactly what you asked for.

"Oh my god, I wanna cum," he moans, leaning in to kiss you, tugging on your bottom lip. He slows to a stop, breathing heavily above you. "Will you please ride me?" he asks, staring deep into your eyes. You nod eagerly, making him grin excitedly. He gently pulls out of you, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. You straddle him, rubbing your cunt over his cock. You pause for a second, giving him a curious look.

"What is it, love?" he asks softly.

"Let me take it off," you say, dragging your fingertip over his wrapped length. "I want you to cum in me."

His eyes widen. "You're gonna be the death of me," he says with a laugh.

"Is that a yes?" you ask, tugging lightly at the tip of the condom.

"Yeah," he nods. "Absolutely."

You giggle excitedly as you remove the barrier, discarding it and quickly positioning yourself over his cock. It slides in with ease as you sit on it, making you groan as you take his full length inside you.

"Holy fucking shit your pussy feels so good," he moans, his jaw dropping. "Oh my god…"

You begin to ride him, slowly gliding yourself up and down his length, but before long you're fully bouncing up and down on him, crying out from pleasure as his cock reaches deep inside you.

"F-fuck," you whine, pressing your hands against his chest to support yourself as you ride his perfect cock.

"Don't stop," he begs. "I'm so close."

Obediently you keep up your pace, tears welling in your eyes as you stare down at Seokmin. His head drops against the pillow, his eyes rolling back as you feel his cock start to pulse inside you.

"I'm cumming, baby," he groans. He cries out as he releases, and you feel his hot ropes of cum shooting against your walls as a string of delectable moans drifts from his lips. He grabs your hips, squeezing them tight in his grasp as he holds you in place, fucking his cock up into you with careless abandon. His cock twitches as he gives you all of his cum; eventually his hips begin to slow, coming to a stop, his hands still holding a strong grip on your sides.

"Wow," he sighs as he comes back to earth. He smiles, letting out a giggle as he opens his eyes to look at you again. "You're fucking perfect. Let me see," he says, gesturing to your filled pussy. You lift yourself off his length, letting the cum drip out of you, coating his cock and stomach with the sticky mess. Collecting the remainder of his cum from your cunt on your fingers, you lift your hand to your mouth, licking them clean.

"Goddamn," he mumbles as he watches you. You unstraddle him and lean over, licking up the cum from his abdomen as well. He watches you through heavy eyelids, petting your hair as you clean him up.

"C'mere," he says when you finish, pulling you up into his embrace. You snuggle in next to him as he wraps his broad arms around you, holding you tight as he kisses your forehead. You rest there for a few silent moments, breathing together as he gently rubs your back.

"I suppose we could've filmed that," you say after a few minutes, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him. "But I didn't even think of that. I was too distracted by your huge fucking cock."

Seokmin laughs. "That's okay," he replies sweetly. "Besides, I wanted you all to myself. But we can do this again, if you want."

"Absolutely," you nod.

"Good," he says as he smiles brightly. He pulls you into a tight hug, kissing you again, kissing you over and over for as long as you'll let him — which is very long time, but neither of you mind it one bit.

[TWO WEEKS LATER]

You wake up to thousands of notifications, all from Twitter.

You think you're seeing things at first, but as you scroll you confirm that, indeed, you have more notifications right now than you've ever seen in your life. Smiling, you go to your text messages and open your chat with Seokmin, who has already texted you this morning.

Seokmin: wow, i guess people liked the video :)

You open Twitter and go to your profile, looking at the video you have pinned. The caption reads: We finally collabed @/xcalibur_ 💕 Full video on OF. The clip is a preview of the nearly 30-minute-long sex tape you uploaded to your OnlyFans account — your first official collab with Nico.

Since the first time you fucked, it actually took the both of you about six more times before one of you remembered to turn a camera on. You've been too busy being utterly and completely obsessed with each other, fucking on seemingly every possible surface in both of your apartments. But finally, you decided to film it for real, and it appears Twitter is having a fucking field day with it. Overnight alone, the tweet gained over 5,000 retweets and 12,000 likes. You decide to scroll through the replies to see what people are saying.

holy shit this was so hottttt The collab of a LIFETIME!!! omg my two favorites in one video?? i'm in heaven 😍 bro i just nutted in 1 minute wtf pls make more videos together 🙏 y'alls chemistry is FIRE

Smiling, you return to your texts and reply to Seokmin.

You: i guess so ;) i can't believe we went viral lol Seokmin: i can. that video was so hot ☺️ You: you're so right Seokmin: what are you doing tonight? You: you, hopefully Seokmin: oh for sure!! but, i was actually hoping to take you out to dinner. it's about time i took you on a proper date You: wait, are you're saying you want to date me? 🥺 Seokmin: absolutely i do. if you want, of course You: i'd love nothing more ❤️ Seokmin: YAY :)))

taglist: @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower @hanniebub

@luvseungcheol @escoupsue @shininghoshstar @coupsv 

You shuffle back on the sofa, cozying into the pillows behind you, ready to aimlessly scroll on your phone for a while.

A sudden loud thump, followed by a hissing sound and cursing makes you almost drop your cup. God damn, you almost spilt the matcha on yourself and the couch. The noise undoubtedly comes from your next-door neighbor. You would have strangled Jin had he made you soil your new cushions.

He was actually the one to put you on to the strawberry matcha. Jin’s always in for a fruity treat, never one to care about being judged for his ‘girly’ drink choices. Just yesterday he knocked on your door, as you were getting ready to go out with some girlfriends, to borrow some of your strawberry mush. With a pout and a big sigh too, as if he’d die weren’t you to provide him with the missing ingredient for his matcha. Jin is big on dramatics, that’s also why hanging out with him is always a fun time. You think he might actually implode if he doesn’t do anything dumb for a few minutes.

So, what the hell is he doing now, causing all this ruckus on a sunny Saturday afternoon?

Jin’s voice keeps thundering through your shared wall. “Fuck, fuck, shit, no!” you hear him yelling. Well, now you’re worried. Did he hurt himself?

You sigh and put your drink on the coffee table, already mourning the relaxing day you had planned to enjoy. With urgency in your step, you hurry out of your door, not even bothering to put on shoes. You know Jin never locks his door when he’s home, a habit you’ve scolded him for multiple times. Now though, you are glad about it as you fling open his front door.

“Jin? Are you alright? What the fuck?” you call out.

“Kitchen!” he just yells in reply, and you scurry further into his apartment, following the loud clamor.

Your worry immediately dissolves into incredulous laughter when you spot Jin. He’s on his knees in front of the open cupboard under his sink. The pipe is spraying water all over him with the pressure of a fucking fire hose.

“What the hell did you do?” you ask him, still snickering. He looks up at you, obviously trying to glare at you for laughing at his misery, but you can tell that there’s a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Even in the worst situations imaginable, Jin is always keeping his spirits high. You always admired this about him, his endless optimism.

“Grab my sweater from the table,” he pleads, kneeling there in the relentless spray of his sink pipes, in a white shirt and some light blue cotton boxers.

Not trying to draw out his troubles, you move to take the hoodie that’s slung over the back of one of the dining chairs. Turning back to Jin, he waves you down to the floor next to him. You crouch and put the sweater towards the leaking pipe, trying to stop the fountain of water. The fucking cold water you realize as the stream hits you, immediately soaking your clothes. You shriek and now it’s Jin who’s laughing.

“The drain was blocked, I just tried to check what the problem was,” he chuckles while wiping his wet hair out of his face with the back of his hand.

“Did you empty the coffee grounds in the sink again?” you immediately accuse him. “I’ve told you not to do that!” This is not the first time his kitchen sink is mysteriously clogged. 

“I might have,” he admits with a sheepish smile. You snort and lean towards him to nudge him with your shoulder, hands occupied trying to unsuccessfully stop the water from leaking. You are basically sitting in a puddle by now and the hoodie around the pipe is already soaked through as well.

Jin is now scrambling to get up from the floor, moving to finally turn off the kitchen’s water supply. You slump your shoulders in defeat, feeling useless as you cover the leak with the dripping sweater, but you’re huffing out a laugh while doing so. This is not how you imagined - or hoped - your weekend to go.

Suddenly, the water stops flowing and you sit back on your heels with a relieved sigh.

You hear footsteps and when you turn, Jin is standing in the kitchen door, scratching his neck. Now that the chaos has come to a stop, you finally look at him properly for the first time. He’s just standing there, water dripping off his body. Your eyes start to wander further down, from the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead, to his chest, where the white t-shirt is clinging to him, at this point completely see through from the involuntary shower. Damn, when did Jin start working out for his body to look like this? Absent-mindedly, you start nibbling on your bottom lip as your gaze lands on his very defined v-line, uncovered as the shirt has ridden up a little, revealing the skin above his boxers. When your eyes roam even further down, you gulp, almost choking on your own saliva. You can basically see his whole dick through the wet fabric, calling it an outline would be the understatement of the year. And dear god, is that one hell of a dick. Fuck, get a grip. You try to snap yourself out of ogling Jin when you start to imagine what his cock would be like hard if it’s already this impressive soft.

You shake your head to get rid of the thought and return your gaze to Jin’s face. 

The corner of his mouth is pulled up into a smirk and you can tell he caught you drooling over his body.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he pouts and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “At least take me on a date first, Jesus.” His fake frown only lasts a second - Jin was never good at keeping a straight face - before he chuckles. 

You know he’s not actually offended but you’re still embarrassed, even though he managed to draw a little giggle from you with his dumb comment. 

You drop your gaze to the puddle you’re kneeling in, mumbling more to yourself than him while doing so. 

“Well, why’d you have to walk in here all indecent and wet?”

“You’re one to talk.” His reply makes you lift your head to find his eyes, not immediately grasping what he’s getting at now. 

And, oh. He’s staring right back at you. With his mouth slightly agape, he’s eyeing you up and down. A cold shiver runs down your spine and suddenly you are very aware of what you are wearing. A white flowy dress. Which is not so flowy anymore in its wet state - it’s clinging to your curves instead now.  Why, of all days, did you have to wear white today? With horror, you remember that you are also not wearing a bra. You look down to your tits and find your nipples sticking straight out through the translucent fabric, hardened from the cold. A bead of water is currently running down between your breasts and Jin's gaze is unabashedly following it. 

With heat spreading up from your neck to your cheeks, you clumsily get up from your kneeling position. When you lock eyes with Jin for a moment, the tip of his tongue slips out and licks a droplet of water from his lip that’s dripped off his hair. You feel a familiar tightening in your abdomen and look away in shame, mortified by the fact that all it took for you to be turned on by your neighbor of 8 months was a leaking pipe. Maybe you should have listened to your friends and downloaded a dating app after your last relationship because this is ridiculous. 

“Um, you should probably mop up this mess,” you mutter as you get up and try to move past Jin, your head lowered, eyes trained towards the floor. Well, he definitely should, because after just three steps, you slip in the puddle on the tiles and stumble until arms wrap around you and keep you from falling on your ass.

“You okay?” you hear Jin’s soft voice close to your ear. When the adrenaline of the almost-fall wears off, you find yourself pressed against him, his arms around your back holding you close.

Your breasts are squished against Jin’s chest and one of his legs ended up being wedged between yours. His heartbeat is synced to yours, going fast and hard.

“Yeah,” you breathe out with your forehead resting against his shoulder. “I’m fine.” Neither you nor Jin make any effort to move. It’s as if time has frozen and you’re stuck in his embrace, turning your cold and clammy bodies warm again.

His breath is fanning over the side of your face with each exhale and when you finally turn your head up to face Jin, he is, once again, already looking at you. This time, a shy smile is painted across his face. An unusual sight for you, but to be fair, the whole situation is new territory. Yes, you’ve hugged before, but only quickly and mostly in greeting or to say goodbye. You’ve never been flush against his body without an inch of space between you. You are very aware of the thigh between your legs too, applying slight pressure to your groin. It’s making your stomach flutter with each tiny movement of his leg as you’re standing there, holding on to each other. Consciously fighting the urge to rut against his thigh, you blink up at him through your lashes as one of his hands moves from your lower back up to your face and he pushes your hair behind your ear.

“You’re pretty when you’re flustered,” he whispers, his fingers still softly resting against your jaw. You could swear his leg moves against you with more intent as you feel your cheeks heat up at his words. Feeling shy, you nuzzle your face into the space where his shoulder meets his neck.

Not letting you evade his eyes, he gently lifts your head up again, cupping your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, looking down at you.

All you manage is a nod.

When he bends down and his lips meet yours, the fluttering in your stomach intensifies and you sigh against him. Jin is softly slotting your lips together, the pads of his fingers caressing your cheek. He’s humming when you catch his bottom lip between your teeth and tug carefully. His tongue slips out and traces your lips, before licking into your mouth to meet the tip of your own tongue. It’s a sweet kiss, unhurried, but it has you in a frenzy nonetheless. 

Your hands are holding on to Jin’s sides when his own palm moves to the back of your neck and the arm around your waist pulls you against him harder. You unintentionally rub over his thigh with your crotch when he presses you to him and you whimper into the kiss, surprised by the sensation. Your reaction has an obvious effect on Jin as he immediately licks into you with more urgency. His digits slowly wander down from your back to the curve of your ass. He doesn’t quite squeeze but firmly rests his hand there with splayed fingers.

At this point, you can feel Jin all over your body. He’s pressed into all your sensitive parts and your body is about to go up in flames. You can’t hold back and your hips start moving on their own accord, seeking stimulation where you need it most. Your obvious excitement isn’t lost on him. You can feel his mouth twist into a grin and his hand snakes down further and under the moist fabric of your dress. He properly grips the flesh of your ass now as if to guide your movement. His dick is twitching against your right leg, slowly filling out.

That’s when Jin breaks the kiss and pulls away from you a little.

“Are you alright with this?” he asks you with slight uncertainty in his eyes.

The sight is making you giggle. It’s not like you were just humping his leg from how horny he’s got you by just making out.

“Am I giving you the impression I’m not?” you ask him grinning with your head cocked to the side.

He just huffs out a laugh and you get up on your toes to catch his mouth in another kiss while he’s kneading your ass cheeks with both of his hands now. After a moment of your mouths tangled and bodies rubbing against each other, he peels away, breathing heavily.

“Let’s move out of this mess,” he smiles and playfully slaps your butt to get you moving into the direction of his bedroom.

With your naked feet you carefully trudge through the water still all over the kitchen tiles, producing squelching sounds with each of your steps. It’s making you laugh for some reason, your head feels airy and you giggle like a teenager as Jin leads you through the apartment.

Once inside the bedroom, he grabs your hand and spins you around, so you are back in his arms. He walks you towards the bed while placing kisses all over your face, neck and shoulders. When the back of your legs hit the bedframe, you go to plop down on the mattress but Jin stops you by picking you up with his arms under your thighs. He turns around and sits down himself, placing you in his lap in the process.

With your knees on either side of Jin’s legs, you grind down immediately, making Jin groan and fall back. His fingers are pressing into your sides while you roll your hips, gliding over Jin’s now hard cock still confined by his boxers. You giggle again, elated by the fact that he’s already so unraveled too. 

You remember your wet dress in that moment and lift it up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Your initial coyness has completely dissipated. Although this is far from a normal situation between you, you feel at ease with Jin. The fact that the horniness is mutual might have played a part in that.

“Fuck,” you hear him breathe out from under you and when you look down, you see that he’s propped up on his elbows, watching. With his eyes darkened by hunger, he comes back up and catches one of your nipples in his mouth. You lift up on your knees to give him better access. His tongue is flicking over your hardened nub and he sucks before releasing your tit with a plop to kiss up your neck again, now gently rolling your nipple between his fingers instead. You bite back a whimper, but apparently you’re not doing a good job as you hear Jin tease you from where he’s attached to you. 

“You’re gonna be all shy now? I'd love the feedback.”

You groan, but as his tongue runs over the skin of your throat and he latches on to mark you with bruises straight after, you erupt into goosebumps and finally let out a high-pitched whine. You are going crazy between the soft and harsh sensations, impatience gradually building up until you can’t take it anymore and you push Jin back down into the mattress.

Before you settle in his lap again, you grind down hard just once, eliciting a low moan, a stark contrast to his airy laugh from just a few minutes ago in the kitchen. Your fingers grip on to the moist fabric of his shirt and you slide it up until his stomach and chest are bare. You could already make out his abs through the white top earlier, but now, out in the open, the sight is making saliva gather in your mouth. With your gaze trained on his skin, your fingers splay across his torso, feeling the taught muscles beneath your touch. Your index finger traces from his abs to the line that’s leading from his side down into his boxers. It’s so fucking hot, you’ve always loved a good v-line and Jin’s is absolutely driving you insane currently.

His breath hitches when you don’t stop at the waistband of his underwear but instead start to peel it off of him while moving from his lap to get down on the ground between his legs. He lifts his hips up to help you pull the clingy fabric down his thighs until his dick slaps up against his stomach. Dear. God. That is the biggest cock you’ve seen in your life. Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear Jin chuckle at the sight of you drooling over his dick with your mouth agape.

“Before you ask - no, I don’t need a license for that.” 

He shuts right up though when you wrap your hand around his shaft, not wasting a second. You tug once before letting a big bead of spit drip down on the tip of his dick where it’s mixing with the precum already pooling there. You spread the slick around with your thumb, easing the glide of your palm when you start to slowly pump him. With each flick of your wrist Jin huffs out quiet hisses.

His dick looks so damn delicious between your fingers that you can’t resist leaning in and licking at the head. Jin’s thighs tense up when you suck the tip of his cock into your mouth. You let your tongue swirl through his slit before carefully lowering yourself down on his length. There’s no way you’re getting him all the way in. You get about halfway down his shaft before you feel your gag reflex kick in so you move back up. His hands are gripping the sheets as you bob your head up and down. Just as you’re getting a good rhythm going, his fingers tangle in your hair and he gently peels you off his cock.

You look up at him, a string of saliva still connecting your mouth to his dick and he mutters out curse words at the sight.

“Come back up here,” he directs you and takes your hand to help you up the bed. You move to straddle him again, but once you’re on top of him, he grabs your hips and rolls you off his body onto your back.

He is sitting back on his heels next to you, his eyes roaming over your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispers before leaning over you and catches your mouth in a kiss. While his tongue is gliding against yours, he comes up on top of you, one knee between your spread legs and one of his hands finds its way between your thighs. His fingertips are trailing the seams of your panties, just ghosting over the soft skin where your pussy meets your inner thighs. You whine against his lips, you can’t take the teasing touches.

“P-Please,” you stutter.

“Hm?” he hums into another kiss, his fingers still not where you need them.

“Jin, please,” you almost beg. You can’t be arsed to think about how pathetic you sound; your composure has long crumbled to dust by now. “Touch me.” It comes out in nothing but a whisper, but it’s enough for Jin to finally comply.

His fingers press into your clothed pussy, the fabric is pushed in between your folds by the movement. Jin hums when he feels your arousal seeping through it. 

“Did I make you so wet or was it the sink?” he wonders while his fingers rub up and down your labia, feeling the slick that’s soaked through your panties. “You’re dripping.”

He shuffles back to remove your underwear, lifting your legs up to slide them off and discard them on the floor. He places a soft kiss on your calf before lowering your feet back to the mattress. The shirt still bunched up at his chest follows suit as he slips out of it and throws it to the side.

Jin pushes your legs up into a bent position and spreads them with his hands on your knees. He gazes at your exposed pussy with droopy lids and blown pupils. “I want to taste you so bad,” he exhales before his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “Can I?”

“Yes, please,” you mutter and rest your head on the mattress as he leans in closer to your core. Your hand finds the back of his head while he slips his arms under your legs to pull you towards his face. It sends sparks through your body when his soft lips finally make contact with your pussy. He buries his face in your heat, his nose brushing against your pubic mound as he immediately licks between your folds. His tongue drags from your entrance up to your clit, not quite focusing on it yet though. He’s savoring the taste of your arousal, eating you out as if you were the juiciest fruit he’s ever gotten his mouth on to. He moans into your body while he’s working his tongue. He’s not in a rush to leave his place between your thighs anytime soon it seems. All you can do is gasp each time he makes contact with your clit, as he keeps increasing the pressure before finally giving all his attention to your most sensitive spot. He’s switched to harder flicks now, dragging you close to the edge with each pass.

With one hand in his hair and the other gripping the blanket you’re lying on, the coil in your abdomen finally snaps and your legs press close around his head, trembling. Your voice comes out in a high-pitched shaky moan as your back arches off the bed. Jin doesn’t stop until you basically melt into a puddle under his mouth. He detaches from your pussy just as you start to get overstimulated and moves back up to your face, caging your head in with his arms. He kisses you swiftly, before lifting himself back up.

“See how sweet you taste?” he asks you, looking down at you fondly.

Heat rises up your face and you have to avert your eyes, but you still reach up to stroke his arm next to your head.

Your eyes fall to Jin’s hard cock twitching between your bodies and your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Need you inside me,” you whisper, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Okay,” he breathes against your neck, leaving another trail of kisses down to your tits. He flicks his tongue over both of your nipples before he sits back up on his heels.

One of his hands is caressing your thigh, the other wraps around his cock and strokes a couple times before he reaches for his nightstand and fishes out a condom.

XXL, you can make out on the foil. Well, shouldn’t be a surprise, but it still makes you giggle in excitement. You can’t wait to find out how he feels inside you. Your pussy throbs, just as impatient as you are, so you grab for his leg, trying to urge him to hurry up.

He rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls the rubber over his length before giving it another tug. His eyes are locked on where he lines his cock up with your entrance then and he curses under his breath as he slowly watches it sink into you.

Without any prep, you feel your pussy stretch around him with every inch entering you and you whimper. 

“Hurts?” he asks you when he notices your scrunched up face and halts his movement.

“A little,” you huff. “But in a good way. Keep going.”

Jin nods and you can tell he’s going slower than before, but he keeps pushing into you until he feels the resistance of your cervix and backs up an inch. He stills for a moment, looking into your eyes for any signs of discomfort. He pulls out a little before thrusting back in slowly. It’s a delicious drag against your inner walls as he goes in and out, the feeling eliciting moans from you each time. 

He is biting his lip while watching his cock disappear inside you with every pump until he finally picks up pace and he falls forwards, head lowered now as he grunts synced with his thrusts. 

You lock your hands behind his neck and your legs are wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

It doesn’t take long until his movements start to go a bit choppy and his breathing increases in speed. He sits back up again and places his hand on your lower abdomen. When your own palm follows his to your stomach, your eyes go wide. You can actually feel his cock bulging out from inside you. You press against it, making Jin lose his rhythm for a moment as he huffs out swear words again. You let your hand rest there, stunned by the new sensation. His thumb finds your clit and he rubs in tight circles that immediately make you clench around his cock. You didn’t realize how close to another orgasm you were already until his touch sends bolts of electricity through you.

You meet his thrusts with a lift of your ass, pressing yourself into his hand harder in the process as well. All you can feel is Jin, Jin, Jin. All over you, in you, even protruding from your insides. The room is filled with the nasty sounds of skin slapping against skin and your moans and grunts meddled together as he fucks into you. He’s going harder now, but you can tell he’s still trying to be careful. You wish he’d just let go. You could take it, you are sure.

“Gonna come,” he warns you before his hips start to stutter as his head shoots up with his eyes squeezed shut. His mouth hangs open as he releases inside you, every spurt of cum accompanied by loud, broken moans echoing through the room.

You look at him unraveling on top of you and the sight takes you over the edge too. With a gasp your pussy throbs, milking Jin through his own orgasm as you whimper, his thumb still brushing over your clit, dragging out your bliss. You throw your head back, panting, all your limbs tingling and twitching, just as Jin is on top of you, his orgasm slowly ebbing down. He finally collapses, his arms giving out, but he’s careful not to crush you, so he plops down next to you on his side. His chest is heaving as you turn to look at his blissed-out face. You reach out to stroke his cheek softly and he sighs into the touch.

He throws his arm around your middle after pulling off the condom to tie it and put it aside.

“Cuddle?” he asks you with a tired smile. 

“Yeah,” you let yourself melt into his embrace and turn to face him. You feel him go slack against you, sighing happily. Blissful exhaustion starts to wash over you and your eyes slowly blink shut. 

You doze off for a few minutes and when you open your eyes again, you nudge Jin’s shoulder with your forehead.

“Hey,” you wake him up. “We still have to deal with the mess in your kitchen.”

“Way to ruin the mood,” Jin pouts and then suddenly starts chuckling as if he’s just thought of something.

You turn your head up to raise an eyebrow at him before rolling onto your back.

“This is like the plot of the cheesiest porn ever,” he chortles. “Next time I’ll get stuck in the dryer I guess.”

You swat at him, but you can’t deny that he’s absolutely right. And you’d like a next time, you decide for yourself.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Jin suddenly asks, ripping you from your thoughts.

“What?” you ask him, smiling up at the ceiling.

“Strawberry matcha.” Jin sighs in content before he leans up on his elbow and looks down at your face. “You have some puree left?”

Masterlist

SOONYOUNG IS AN EASY ALPHA TO READ. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, you rarely have a problem reading him now that you know him well enough. Plus, whatever isn't on his face or in his tone is usually coming directly from the source himself, never the one to shy away from communicating exactly what he thinks of something.

So it's unusual when you realize on a Friday afternoon that something is wrong with Soonyoung but you don't quite know what that something is.

The sun is slanting through the western windows of the house, turning the floors honey-warm and catching the dust motes floating lazily through the air. You're curled into the corner of the sectional - a spot that has become yours over the last few weeks - with a book in your lap. It's some novel that Wonwoo recommended and that you're half paying attention to because Mingyu keeps singing off-key in the kitchen where he's baking and because there's base thrumming from Jihoon's studio basement, vibrating up through the couch into your spine.

It's the kind of afternoon that's calm but doesn't exactly leave space for reading, especially when Chan flops down on the couch next to you, immediately pushing into your side to nuzzle close and lay his head in your lap.

"Hi," he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back to look up at you. "This okay?"

You grin, running your fingers through his hair. "Of course it is."

He nearly purrs under your touch, melting into your lap as he settles, his dark hair soft against your fingers as he gets comfortable with one arm draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the edge of the couch. He smells like the laundry detergent the pack uses, warm and clean and the distinct lavender and sea salt smell that is so him.

Putting the book down, you continue to stroke his hair, feeling him relax into your lap, heavy and solid. You smile. You like this - you're glad that you finally have figured this out, the intimacy that's both physical and mental, both casual and sexual. Now that you've finally settled and figured them out, this kind of contact is easy. Welcome. Craved.

The afternoon light catches the side of Chan's face and you notice the faint freckles across his nose, the way his face is soft, eyes closed and content as he drifts. It's moments like this that make you understand why the pack works and why fourteen people in one house don't feel chaotic and feel like this instead.

Soonyoung's voice is what cuts through the silence, reminding you that the pack has its bad days too. You turn to look over the back of the couch the way his voice is coming, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. Chan shifts too, the beta making an unhappy noise as he cracks an eye open.

"I said I would handle it, Seokmin," Soonyoung snaps somewhere. You straighten, the alpha's voice rigid and more severe than you're used to hearing. "So stop."

"I'm just trying to help." Seokmin's calmer voice barely reaches you, careful and placating. You can hear his confusion even without seeing his face. "If you'd just listen-"

"I don't need to listen."

Footsteps keep your attention pinned to the entryway from the hall. Soonyoung rounds the corner into the living room and the sight of him makes something in your chest clench. His jaw is tight, muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his shoulders are drawn up and rigid. There's something wild in his eyes that make your instincts prickle, a warning bell going off in the back of your head that's telling you there's an alpha in distress.

Seokmin trails behind him with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and frustrated. He's still in his work clothes, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened around his neck, but the tension in his neck has nothing to do with Soonyoung.

Your book is long forgotten. Chan's head is turned in your lap, watching as Soonyoung storms into the room, Seokmin behind him. Seokmin looks at you before his eyes dart meaningfully between you and Chan, a silent request. You understand immediately and pat Chan gently. The beta stirs immediately, unfolding from your lap with a quick kiss to your forehead before he heads toward Seokmin.

"Help me with something in the kitchen?" Chan asks Seokmin, reaching for him.

"Sure," Seokmin sighs, moving toward the hallway. He shoots you one last look, mouthing thank you as he follows Chan out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.

The moment they're gone, Soonyoung is moving toward you, his agitation evaporating. He falls onto the couch, settling against you instantly, head finding the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he breathes you in.

"Hi," he says quietly, voice muffled as he presses in closer. "You smell good."

His scent washes over you as he burrows closer, deep teakwood with an undercurrent of warmth that you've come to associate with him, though there's something slightly off about it now. Something sharp and acidic underneath. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly even as your omega instincts purr at his proximity.

"Hi," you murmur, tugging him further into you.

"What are you reading?"

"Something Wonwoo recommended."

He hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, and leans even closer to peer at the cover. You can feel the heat of him along your side, can see the way his hair falls into his eyes as he tilts his head. "Is it good?"

"It's okay. It's a little slow."

"Do you want company? I can sit with you."

There's something almost desperate in the offer, something that makes your chest tight. You study his face, trying to understand what just happened, trying to reconcile the alpha who just snapped at Seokmin with the one who's looking at you now like he might die if you say no. You'd never say no, though, so you smile and nod.

"Always," you say softly, and watch the way relief floods his expression like sunrise breaking over water. “Just keep the teeth away, yeah?”

He nods and shifts, adjusting his position so he's lying more fully against you, his head pillowed on your thigh where Chan had been moments before. The weight of him is different, heavier and more solid, radiating a heat that seems to seep through the fabric of your leggings and into your skin. One of his arms wraps around your leg, holding on like you might disappear if he doesn't anchor himself to you.

Without thinking, you card your fingers through his hair, and the effect is immediate. He melts. There's no other word for it as the tension that had been coiled through his shoulders and jaw just dissolves under your touch, his whole body going soft and pliant against you. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a groan, and he presses his face harder against your thigh.

"That feels nice," he mumbles. "Don't stop doing that."

You smile, continuing the gentle motion, your fingers sliding through the dark strands. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly mussed from where he'd been running his hands through it earlier, and you work through the tangles with careful attention. Each pass of your fingers seems to pull more tension from him, until he's practically boneless against you, his breathing evening out into something slow and deep.

The afternoon light has shifted, no longer streaming directly through the windows but casting everything in a softer, golden glow. That's when you notice it again. That off note in his scent. It's subtle, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but it's there, sharp and acidic beneath the familiar teakwood warmth, like something fermented or turned. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly, your omega instincts prickling with a vague sense of concern. You've never smelled him like this before. Usually his scent is all warmth and depth, grounding and steady, but this is different.

You frown slightly, your fingers pausing in his hair as you try to place what it reminds you of. Your first thought is rut, that sharp, aggressive edge that alphas get when their biology starts to take over, but you dismiss it almost immediately. You've been with the pack long enough now to know everyone's schedules, the careful tracking system they use to make sure no one's caught off guard. Soonyoung isn't due for a rut for at least another three weeks. You'd know. Seungcheol keeps a calendar, and you've seen it enough times to have most of the dates memorized.

So it's not that. Maybe he's just stressed? The thought settles uneasily in your chest. He has been more on edge lately, more irritable with the others, though you'd chalked it up to work or pack dynamics or any of the hundred other things that can make an alpha tense. Maybe it's manifesting in his scent, some kind of stress response you're not familiar with yet.

You let it go, resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Whatever it is, he clearly needs this and you're not about to pull away because of some vague concern you can't even properly articulate. If it's serious, someone else will notice. Seungcheol will notice.

Soonyoung makes another one of those soft sounds and you feel your heart do something complicated in your chest. You smile, thinking about how much you like him. The realization isn't new - you like all of them. But it hits you fresh at this moment, with him soft and sleepy against you.

"You're really good at that," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and content. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. "Like, unfairly good."

"Just scratching your head," you say, but you're smiling, your fingers finding that spot behind his ear that makes him practically purr.

"Mm, no. It's more than that." He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look up at you, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's something raw in his eyes, something open and honest that he usually keeps hidden behind jokes and easy grins. "You make everything feel easier."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He reaches up, his hand finding yours where it's resting against his temple, and he threads your fingers together. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate. "I really like being close to you. Is that okay? To say that?"

"Of course it is. I like being close to you too."

His smile is small but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if you told me to."

You laugh quietly, resuming the gentle motion through his hair with your free hand while he keeps the other one captive, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your knuckles. His touch is comforting and you can feel the way his body has gone completely relaxed against you as the house settles around you, the sound of pack life continuing in other rooms.

You don't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light to shift again, the golden glow deepening toward amber. Long enough for your legs to start going numb under his weight, though you don't mention it. Long enough for you to memorize the exact shade of his hair in this light, the pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he says eventually, so quiet you almost miss it.

"For what?"

"For not asking questions. For just letting me be here."

You want to tell him he never has to thank you for that, but the words feel too big, too revealing, so instead you just squeeze his hand and keep running your fingers through his hair, and hope he understands anyway.

He seems to. His eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out. And despite that lingering concern about his scent, despite the confusion about what happened with Seokmin, despite everything, you let yourself have this, relaxing against the couch as Soonyoung dozes in your lap.

-

The second time you notice something off with Soonyoung is worse.

It's Saturday morning and the kitchen is alive with the weekend chaos you've come to expect now that you eat breakfast at more reasonable hours. Mingyu is at the stove making what smells like pancakes while Vernon sits at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee that you think has gone cold. Joshua hums as he sets the table in the dining room while morning light streams through the windows, coffee and the scent of bodies filling the room.

You're standing at the counter making tea, watching the kettle when you hear the commotion start somewhere just outside the kitchen.

"I'm just saying," Junhui says, his voice measured and calm in a way that suggests he is trying very hard to be patient. "If you'd communicated better, it would-"

"I don't need you to tell me how to communicate, Jun." Soonyoung's voice cuts through the morning peace like a knife, sharp enough that you see Mingyu's shoulders tense at the stove, see Vernon's fingers still on his keyboard.

Your hands tighten on the edge of the counter, your whole body going alert. Not again. Please not again. You glance at Mingyu who winces and shrugs his shoulders before turning back to stare intensely at his pancakes, preferring to let the alphas argue it out.

"I'm not telling you how to do anything." Junhui's voice is still calm but you can hear the edge creeping in, can hear the alpha authority starting to bleed through. "I'm just saying that if you'd communicated better, we wouldn't have had the conflict with-"

"Right, so it's my fault."

"That isn't what I said-"

"It's what you meant!"

You turn your attention back to the kettle, listening with half an ear as the argument continues. It's not the first time you've heard pack members disagree, and it probably won't be the last. The whistle is building now, getting louder, and you're reaching for your mug when you hear a crash loud enough that you jerk your hand.

The kettle wobbles but you catch it, steadying it with both hands as you let out a breath. Your heart kicks up for a moment before settling back down. Just an argument. Just pack dynamics working themselves out.

Mingyu has turned from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression somewhere between concerned and resigned. Vernon has closed his laptop, watching the doorway.

"Soonyoung." Junhui's voice is harder now, carrying that alpha command that says stand down. "You need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down."

There's a beat of tense silence, and then footsteps, quick and purposeful before Soonyoung appears in the kitchen doorway. He looks wound tight, his chest heavy slightly, his eyes bright and a flush high on his cheeks that tells you he's stressed. His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it, and his t-shirt is rumpled, twisted slightly to one side. For a second he just stands there, breathing hard, his gaze sweeping the kitchen like he's looking for something.

Then his eyes land on you, and everything changes.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and his expression softens immediately, the wild edge in his eyes gentling into something warm. He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, he’s pressing into your side like he needs the physical contact to breathe.

"Hi," he says quietly, his voice rough but softer than it was seconds ago. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and he leans into you, his forehead coming to rest against your temple. "You making tea?"

"Yeah." You can feel the heat of him along your entire side, can smell that sharp acidic edge underneath his usual teakwood warmth. It's more pronounced than it was yesterday. "Want some?"

"No. Just want to be here."

"Alright."

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, scraping the blunt edge of your nails against his scalp. He hums, chest vibrating against you as his eyes flutter, scent blooming warm and rich, the acidic note vanishing. The kettle is whistling properly now, so you pour the water one-handed, Soonyoung still plastered to your side like he has no intention of moving. He doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arm around you, his breathing evening out as you finish making your tea.

Behind you, you can hear Mingyu returning to the pancakes, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting the pan. Vernon has reopened his laptop but you can feel his attention still on the two of you. Joshua appears in the doorway, takes one look at Soonyoung wrapped around you, and just nods to himself before heading back to finish setting the table.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Mingyu says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "If you guys want to sit down."

Soonyoung makes a noncommittal sound against your hair but doesn't move. You smile, wrapping both hands around your mug now that it's ready, and lean back into him slightly.

"Come on," you murmur. "Let's go sit."

He follows you without question, his hand sliding from your waist to tangle with your free hand, keeping you connected as you move into the dining room. The table is set thanks to Joshua, who looks between you and Soonyoung before winking.

You choose a seat near the middle of the table and Soonyoung immediately claims the chair right next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours when he sits. His hand finds your knee under the table, his thumb rubbing small circles against the fabric of your leggings, and you can feel the way he's still wound tight despite the softness in his expression.

Junhui appears in the doorway a moment later, and you watch as his eyes land on Soonyoung pressed up against your side. Something complicated crosses his face - frustration, maybe, but also understanding, and what looks like relief. He lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, and when he meets your eyes there's gratitude there.

Thanks, he mouths silently and you nod.

He takes a seat across the table, his posture still tense but no longer aggressive. The argument isn't resolved, the set of his jaw and the tension in his hands making that much obvious, but it's set aside for now for when Soonyoung isn't whatever this is right now.

Soon, the table fills out with the rest of the pack and loud conversation backtracked by the sound of silverware on plates. Soonyoung serves you first, putting pancakes on your plate before his own, his hand never leaving your knee. He eats one-handed, the other staying firmly on you like he needs the anchor despite Seungkwan poking fun at him.

Soonyoung gradually relaxes against your side. His scent is still off, but his breathing has evened out, and the tension in his shoulders has eased. He's not talking much, just listening to the conversation around him, but every so often he glances at you like he's checking that you're still there.

Across the table, Junhui catches your eye again and gives you a small nod. The message is clear: Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.

So you do. You finish your tea and eat your pancakes and let Soonyoung stay pressed against your side for as long as he needs, and you try not to think too hard about what it is that's bothering him, ready to wait him out and let him come to you.

-

By Sunday, Soonyoung's tension has been noticed by everyone.

It's the kind of afternoon where the house has that lazy, syrupy feeling of the weekend as people scatter across the estate with their routines. You can hear Seungkwan's laugh coming through an open window, backtracked by someone playing music.

Sun bakes down on the top of your head as you stretch, sweaty skin sticky against the cloth of the cabana seating. Mingyu is tucked next to you, the smell of his clean, floral musk and sunscreen soothing.

The afternoon sun turns the pool surface into liquid gold, the light dancing and refracting in patterns that shift with every ripple. The air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the jasmine that grows wild along the fence line, music playing from the speaker next to Mingyu softly while the two of you lounge

He's stretched out next to you in swim shorts that are slung low on his hips, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in his lap that he's been so called reading for the past twenty minutes despite the fact he hasn't turned a page in at least ten. His chest is bare, shoulders already warming to a golden tan, and there's a faint sheen of sunscreen on his skin that catches the light.

You are definitely not reading your book. Instead, you're acutely aware of the way Mingyu's chest rises and falls with each one of his breaths, every defined line of his abs, and the way his muscles in his shoulders flex when he shifts his position. Your eyes drift from his collarbones to his sternum to the dip of his waist where his swim shorts sit low on his hips, and you have to physically force your gaze back to your book.

When you glance sideways, you catch the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows. Of course he knows. Mingyu always knows when you're looking.

Footsteps draw your attention on the pool deck. Soonyoung is approaching, jaw tight and shoulders tense. You frown and his scent hits you a moment later as the wind shifts, sharp and acrid. You shift and Mingyu notices, glancing at you from behind his sunglasses before he realizes Soonyoung is there.

"Mingyu," Soonyoung says, voice clipped. He stops at the edge of the cabana, his eyes locked on Mingyu with something that makes the beta tense. "You left the fridge door open this morning. Again."

Mingyu blinks. "What?"

"Yeah."

"Soonyoung, I made breakfast at seven. It's been hours." Mingyu shields his eyes, looking up at Soonyoung, his tone more bewildered than defensive. "What even is-"

"And yesterday," Soonyoung continues, "You left stuff all over the kitchen counter. It's rude and messy."

You watch as Mingyu's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to exasperation. "I cleaned that up. Wonwoo saw me clean it up."

"Not very well, apparently." Soonyoung's voice is sharp. "And you were making noise in the kitchen at like six in the morning. Some of us were trying to sleep."

"You were literally in the gym at six." Mingyu closes his book deliberately and sets it on the small table next to the cabana. When he looks up at Soonyoung, his expression is guarded, not angry. "What's your actual problem Soonyoung? Spit it out."

"I don't have a problem. I just think it would be nice if people actually thought about the shared spaces instead of just doing whatever they want."

"Nobody's doing whatever they want."

Mingyu stands now so he's facing Soonyoung directly. He's a beta, but he's not small. He towers over Soonyoung, imposing in a way that makes your instincts flare, feeling the shift of tension between the two.

"You're picking a fight," Mingyu says, softer than before.

"I'm not picking a fight."

"Soonyoung, you're-" Mingyu cuts himself off and sighs. You can see him trying to control his temper, trying to figure out what Soonyoung is actually mad about. "You know what, whatever. You're right."

He turns to leave, his movements sharp and frustrated, stepping away from the cabana toward the pool deck. The afternoon sun hits him full-force, turning his skin golden, and for a moment you think maybe that's it. But then Soonyoung's hand darts out, wrapping around Mingyu's arm just above the elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to dimple Mingyu's skin.

"Don't walk away from me," Soonyoung growls, teeth flashing.

"Okay, enough."

Your voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding in a way that surprises even you. You're on your feet before you've consciously decided to move, a frustrated growling rippling through you at their bickering and Soonyoung's obvious struggle with something.

The effect is immediate and absolute. Soonyoung's hand drops from Mingyu's arm like he's been burned, his eyes going wide as they snap to you. Mingyu takes a step back, his posture immediately shifting from defensive to something closer to chastened. They're both staring at you now, and you can see the moment they register your expression.

"I don't know what's going on with you," you say, your gaze locked on Soonyoung, "but I am tired of watching you pick fights with everyone in this house. And Mingyu, you know it sets him off when you walk away like that."

"I wasn't-" Mingyu starts, but you hold up a hand and he stops immediately, his mouth closing.

"I don't want to hear it. Not from either of you. Soonyoung, put the teeth away."

The afternoon sun is hot on your shoulders, the chlorine smell sharp in your nose as a beat of silence passes. Soonyoung looks like he's been slapped, his expression crumbling from aggressive to something that looks almost like shame. His shoulders drop, his hands unclenching, and you can see the way his whole body seems to deflate.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice smaller than you've ever heard it.

"I know, Soonyoung." Your voice softens a fraction. "But you need to figure out what's going on with you, because this isn't okay. Mingyu didn't deserve that."

Soonyoung glances at Mingyu. "I'm sorry."

Mingyu is rubbing his arm where Soonyoung grabbed him, and you can see the red marks already forming, can see the shape of fingers pressed into his skin. His expression is a mix of anger and hurt, and you can tell he's struggling to not let his temper flare again. He takes a deep breath and nods, the frustration melting out of him in the way that betas are always good at.

"You need to talk to Seungcheol," Mingyu says, his voice much calmer now. "Today."

"I know."

Mingyu doesn't seem convinced. "I'm serious."

"I know. I'm going to."

For a second, Mingyu hesitates. Then he nods and glances at you, tilting his head toward Soonyoung subtly. You nod and Mingyu backs up a few paces, keeping his eyes on you until he's sure that you'll be fine with Soonyoung before he turns, sulky and irritated but knowing that Soonyoung needs space and recently, you're the only one who can reason with him.

Soonyoung looks wrecked, his expression apologetic. He's trembling a little, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but can't or won't, his scent a mess. His pupils are blown wide, somewhere between fighting whatever instinct is making him so cagey and panic that he's upset you - he hates upsetting anyone, but most of all he hates when you're mad.

"Can I…?" He drifts off and gestures vaguely in your direction.

He's asking permission, deferring to you completely, and you can see in his eyes that he'll accept whatever answer you give. That he knows he just got put in his place and he's not going to push.

You let out a breath, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. "Yeah. Come here.

He crosses the distance between you in two quick strides, but when he reaches you, he's careful, his arms coming around you slowly enough to give you time to pull away. You don't and instead let him pull you close so he can bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and scenting you enough to make you both dizzy and clinging to one another. Your lashes flutter, a rush going through you as he brushes his nose against the softness of your neck, blood turning molten.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your skin, and his voice is broken. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry."

Your hands come up automatically, one sliding into his hair, the other pressing flat against his back. You can feel the knobs of his spine through his shirt, can feel the way his muscles are locked tight with tension.

"I know you are," you murmur. "But you need to figure out what's wrong. This isn't like you."

You can feel the way he's trying to calm himself down, trying to match his breathing to yours, trying to use your presence to anchor himself. You feel a pang in your chest, hugging him a little tighter. Soonyoung is always hard on himself - harder than he needs to be - and he hates fighting with anyone, especially Mingyu. Especially in front of you.

You guide him back to the loungers, settling onto one and pulling him down beside you. He goes willingly, curling into your side like he's trying to make himself smaller, his head resting on your shoulder. The afternoon sun has shifted, the shade of the cabana stretching longer across the pool deck, and the water has gone still and mirror-smooth in the absence of any breeze.

"You should talk to Cheol," you murmur.

Soonyoung nods against you. "Okay."

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxes incrementally with each pass, the tension in his shoulders easing degree by degree. The strands are soft, slightly damp from the heat and humidity, and you work your fingers through them slowly, deliberately, the way you know he likes. His scent is still sharp underneath, still carrying that acidic edge that speaks to whatever is happening inside his body, but it levels out now, teakwood baked under sun.

"Better?" you ask softly.

He makes a small sound of agreement, his arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah."

-

Someone knocking on your door pulls you from sleep. You squint at the clock on the nightstand, the blurry numbers telling you it's well past three am. Your bed is warm, blankets tangled around you and the faint smell of Jeonghan lingering from the hoodie of his you have shoved under your pillow. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you get your bearings.

"Come in," you croak.

Before the door even opens, you know who it is. You can smell Soonyoung before the door fully opens, but when it does, it hits you like a physical force. It's his normal warm, woody smell but there's something new now, something hot and thick and almost overwhelming. It makes your mouth water, omega instincts kicking in, warmth pooling low in your belly.

Soonyoung steps into your room and closes the door behind him with a soft click, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains from the streetlamp outside, you can see that something is very, very wrong. Or right, by the smell of him.

He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose sleep pants that hang low on his hips, skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat despite how cold the house is at night. You can see the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. His hair is a mess like he's been pulling at it again, and when he looks at you, his eyes are dark and dilated, pupils blown so wide there's barely any iris left.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is rough, wrecked. "I know it's late."

You push the blankets aside and shift to the edge of your bed, feet finding the cool hardwood floor to stand. "What's wrong?"

His entire body reacts to the sound of your voice. He sways slightly toward you, nostril flaring as he scents you, a shiver rippling through him. You take a step toward him and he makes a pitiful sound, looking entirely at war with himself.

"I feel like I'm burning up," he mumbles. "Feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I don't see you."

"Come here."

It's a command - softly given, but a command none the less. He listens like it's instinctual, crossing the room to you in three strides. You feel the heat radiating off of him when he stops in front of you and you reach up without thinking, pressing your palm to his chest. He's fever-hot under your touch, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You're burning up," you say softly, frowning.

"I know." His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm harder against his chest like he needs the contact, needs the pressure. His eyes close and he takes a shuddering breath. "You smell so good. You always smell good but right now it's maddening."

Something clicks into place in your mind. The aggression. The clinginess. The way his scent has been getting sharper and hotter for days. The fever. The way he's looking at you right now like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"Soonyoung," you say slowly, carefully. "Are you in rut?"

His eyes snap open, meeting yours, and for a long moment he just stares at you. You can see him processing the question, see the moment the realization hits him. His expression shifts from confusion to understanding to something that looks almost like relief.

"Oh. Um. It does feel like that."

"But it's early, isn't it?" You keep your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palm. "You're not supposed to go into a rut for another few weeks."

"Right." He seems to think about something and he makes a small sound, leaning into your touch. "I've never had an omega in the house though."

"Oh."

"I think having you here made my body kind of freak out and decide it was time even if it wasn't."

You can feel your own body responding to his proximity, to the thick, heady scent of him in rut. Your omega instincts are screaming at you to help, to soothe, to give him what he needs. But more than that, you want to. You want to pull him into your bed, want to feel his fever-hot skin against yours, want to take care of him the way every cell in your body is telling you to.

"Let me help you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended, almost pleading.

His eyes go wide. "What?"

"Let me help you through it." You slide your hand up from his chest to cup his jaw, feeling the way he leans into your touch like he can't help himself. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to suffer through it."

"I can't ask you to do that. You haven't been here that long and haven't been through one…"

"It's pretty instinctual. I'll be okay."

He's trembling now, and you can't tell if it's from the fever or from nerves or from the effort of holding himself back. "What if I hurt you? What if I can't control myself?"

"Soonyoung, you won't hurt me."

"You don't know that." But even as he says it, he's leaning closer, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath is hot against your lips, coming in short, uneven pants. "You don't know what it's like. What I'm feeling right now."

"Then take it," you whisper. "Take what you need."

He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a whimper and a growl, and his hands come up to grip your waist. His fingers dig in, not quite hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you can feel the desperation in his touch.

"But what if-"

You cut him off by kissing him.

It's soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his to turn off his spinning thoughts, but the moment you make contact, something in him breaks. He makes a desperate sound against your mouth and kisses you back like he's drowning and you're air. His lips are fever-hot and slightly chapped, and he tastes like mint toothpaste and something underneath that's purely him, purely alpha, purely Soonyoung.

His hands tighten on your waist and he pulls you closer, eliminating the last few inches of space between you. Your chest presses against his and you can feel the heat of him even through your thin sleep shirt, can feel the way his heart is racing, can feel the slight tremor in his muscles as he holds himself back from taking more than you're offering.

But you want him to take more. You want him to let go.

You part your lips and he groans, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes heat pool low in your belly. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and you can feel the moment his control starts to slip. His hands slide from your waist to your hips to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him harden against your stomach, the way he's already straining against the low slung sweat pants.

Knowing he wants you this much makes your head spin. You omega preens and you shiver, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily, driven by a more powerful want than you have ever felt in your life. He responds in kind, walking you backward toward the bed, feet tangling until you're falling backward and he's caging you in.

For a moment, he just hovers over you, his arms bracketing your head, his chest heaving as he stares down at you with those dark, dilated eyes. You reach up and trace his jawline and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering. You've always thought he had the prettiest eyes, dark and hungry and so full of life. Right now they're burning with something hotter than you've ever seen and it makes you sing.

"You're so beautiful," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long."

"Then have me," you whisper. "Take me."

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips moving against you with gentle purpose like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth. His hands start to wander, sliding up your sides, pushing your sleep shirt up inch by inch until his palms are pressed against your bare skin.

The contact makes you both gasp. His hands are so hot they're almost burning, and everywhere he touches feels like it's on fire. He explores slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts.

"Can I?" He asks, twisting a fistfull of your shirt in his hand. You nod and he grins.

He sits back on his heels and helps you pull the shirt over your head, and the moment it's gone, his eyes go even darker. He stares at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful, his gaze tracking over every inch of exposed skin.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect."

He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your breast, then another to your stomach. His lips are hot and soft, and every place he kisses feels like it's been branded. He works his way down slowly, kissing and licking and occasionally scraping his teeth gently against your skin in a way that makes you arch up into him, his name broken and shaky on your lips.

Soonyoung's sounds are equally as needy, groaning low in his throat in a way that makes your thighs close around his waist, the ache between your legs growing despite the way his hips pin yours to the bed. Friction. You need friction but any thoughts of asking for it vanish from your head when he leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, the heat and wet slide of his tongue making you cry out.

Your hands fly to his hair, threading through the messy strands, holding him against you as he sucks and licks and occasionally scrapes his teeth gently across the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every pass of his tongue.

"So responsive," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So perfect for me."

He gives the same attention to your other breast, his hand coming up to play with the one his mouth just left, and the dual sensation makes your head spin. You're panting now, your hips shifting restlessly against the mattress, seeking friction that you need so badly.

"Soonyoung," you gasp. "Please."

"Please what?" He lifts his head to look at you, and his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes dark with hunger. "Tell me what you need."

"Touch me. Please touch me."

His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers light and maddening. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he pauses again, waiting for permission. You lift your hips in answer, and he hooks his fingers into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.

Cool air hits your overheated pussy and you whine. Soonyoung growls in response, looking down where your thighs threaten to shut. He keeps you pressed open, his hands firm on your thighs as he makes an appreciative sound low in his chest, almost a purr.

"You're so wet," he says, his voice rough. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," you breathe. "All for you."

He stays kneeled there on the bed, his hand tracing down your thigh until he’s sliding his fingers through your sticky, heated folds. He explores slowly, the drag of his fingers making you tremble, thighs twitching until he presses gently against your clit and you let out a high-pitched sound, the contact sending a bloom of warmth spreading through you.

"There?" He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice, smug.

"Yes. Please."

Soonyoung obeys, circling your clit slowly, increasing the pressure as you buck under him. You feel yourself dripping, a wet mess as he plays with you, making little appreciative sounds as his slick fingers work you higher until you're tangling your hands in the bed and writhing under him.

When he slides one finger inside you, you cry out, your hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. It feels good but you want more, immediately asking him for more, mumbling and messy and lightheaded and overwhelmed with the thick scent of him and the heat of his finger pressing against your front wall.

"Yeah?" He asks. "You can take another?"

"Yes. Please. More."

He adds a second finger and the stretch is delicious, perfect. He curls them inside you, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes you see stars, you nearly sob with relief.

"There," you gasp. "Right there. Oh god, Soonyoung, right there."

He works you with single-minded focus, his fingers curling and stroking while his thumb circles your clit, and you can feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building higher and higher until you're teetering right on the edge.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come."

You turn your head to the side, pressing it into the mattress as your hips roll toward his hand, letting him fuck his fingers into you until you're coming around them, clamping down hard on his fingers. He moans with you, pumping his fingers through it as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, the pleasure so hot you stop breathing for a second.

"Too much," you gasp, and he immediately gentles, his fingers slipping out of you carefully.

He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he hums in delight. You stare at him, panting and sweaty, sheets sticky against your skin as he opens his eyes, the moon reflecting off them.

"Taste so fucking good," he growls. "Bet you taste better from the source, but if I don't fuck you right now I might lose my mind."

"Please," you beg. "Want it so bad."

He makes a desperate sound and reaches for his sleep pants, shoving them down his hips. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and leaking, and the sight of it makes your mouth water. He's thick and throbbing, and you watch like you're hypnotized as he grips himself, stroking slowly a few times as he settles on the bed between your legs.

Soonyoung leans forward, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your wet cunt where he pauses, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds. You whine and he grins, clearly loving the effect he has on you.

"You sure?" He asks after a minute, the head of his cock notching on your entrance but not pushing in. "We can stop."

"I want you," you assure him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, alpha."

Your words have an immediate effect. He shivers, a ripple going through him as he growls low in his throat and presses in. You're wet enough that he slides in smoothly, but you can still feel every inch of him, can feel the way your body has to adjust to accommodate his girth. The drag of him against your walls enough to make you gasp.

"Fuck," he breaths, pressing in until he bottoms out. "You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect." He rolls his hips experimentally, grinding deep, and the pressure against that spot inside you makes you cry out. "Yeah, there it is. I can feel you clenching around me already."

You can feel the fever-heat of his skin, the way his muscles are taut with restraint. His scent wraps around you, that deep teakwood gone sharp and heady with rut, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell is him. It makes your head spin, makes you want to pull him closer, to drown in it.

"Soonyoung," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Move. Please move."

"Impatient," he says with a grin, but there's heat in his eyes.

He pulls out so slowly that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock, all the way until just the head of him is inside of you before he snaps his hips forward, driving deep in one smooth thrust, and the sudden fullness makes you cry out. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he's pulling out and driving in again, setting a rhythm that's deep and steady and absolutely devastating. Each thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Oh fuck," you groan, going tight around him. "Fuck fuck fuck."

The sounds of the wet slide of him fucking into you fills the room backtracked by his breathing, ragged and uneven as he groans everytime you clench around him. You dig your nails in, scraping down his back to his waist where you urge him faster, your fingers sliding against his sweaty skin.

"That's fucking it," he pants. "Taking my cock so well, huh? Were you made to take it?"

You nod, his words making heat flood through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. He feels it and grins, that cocky, confident smile that makes your heart race.

"You like that?" he asks, his pace never faltering. "Like hearing how perfect you are? How good you feel wrapped around me?"

"Yes," you gasp as he thrusts hard, jostling you up the bed. "Fuck. Yes, Soonyoung."

He shifts the angle slightly, pressing deeper, and suddenly every thrust is dragging against your g-spot with devastating precision. The pleasure builds rapidly, a tight coil of heat low in your belly that winds tighter with each movement. He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right speed.

"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. "Can feel the way this perfect pussy is clenching. You gonna come for me?"

"Yes!"

You can feel yourself climbing higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your cunt clenching hard, breath hitching as you start to shake. He drives in harder, finger speeding up until you're standing on the edge of your orgasm, breath held, waiting to dive over.

"Come on," he murmurs, leaning down to nip your heard. "Come for me, baby."

You do, the orgasm hitting you hard. It steals your breath and your entire body locks up as you cry out his name, your pussy clamping down on him. His rhythm stutters immediately as he groans, but he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're shaking and feeling like you're going to come apart again, unsure if your orgasm has stopped or if it's another one starting.

"I can't-"

"You can," he urges, breath hot against your ear. "You're going to give me another one, baby."

He pulls out suddenly, and the loss makes you whimper. But before you can protest, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips and pulling them up.

"On your knees," he commands, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.

When he slides in from behind, the new angle makes him feel deeper. You can feel him everywhere, the stretch, the fullness, the way he's pressed against every single spot inside of you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to dimple the skin, holding you exactly where he wants you as he fucks you in earnest, hips snapping and bed hitting the wall.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans. "Taking me so deep. You're perfect. So fucking perfect."

One of his hands slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, and you let yourself collapse forward onto your forearms. The change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you cry out with the intensity of it.

"Too much?" he asks, but there's a teasing edge to his voice. He knows it's not too much. He knows you can take it.

"No," you gasp. "More. Please, more."

"Greedy," he says with a laugh, but he gives you what you want.

His pace increases, his thrusts getting harder, faster, and you can feel another orgasm building already. It's different this time, deeper and more intense, starting low in your stomach and spreading outward like fire.

His hand slides around to find your clit again, and the added stimulation makes you sob with pleasure. You're so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but you don't want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

"Come on," he urges, his voice strained now. "Give me another one. Want to feel you come apart on my cock again."

The orgasm builds and builds, the pressure almost unbearable, and when it finally breaks you scream into the pillow. Your whole body shakes with it, your inner walls clenching around him so hard you can feel him groan, can feel the way his rhythm falters.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, you feel so good."

His hips stutter, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully, and then he's coming with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his chest. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, can feel the pulse of his cock, and the sensation triggers another small aftershock that makes you whimper.

He collapses over you, his chest pressed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel his heart racing against your spine, can feel the way he's trembling slightly, can feel his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder.

For a second, the two of you lay there like that, hearts pounding in sync, the messy slide of your bodies warm and comforting, his scent blooming around you as the mess between your thighs runs down your legs and onto the mattress. You don't care, going near catatonic as Soonyoung presses closer to your scent gland, his tongue darting out to taste you. It makes you moan and push back into him, wanting more and he laughs.

He shifts slightly, starting to pull out, but you make a sound of protest. "Not yet. Stay."

"I'm crushing you," he points out, but he doesn't move.

"Don't care," you say. "Want to feel you."

He makes a soft sound and settles more comfortably against you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He's still inside you, softening but not pulling out, and there's something intimate about it that makes your chest feel tight.

You lie there in the darkness, your bodies cooling, your breathing gradually evening out. You can feel the way his scent is already starting to shift, still hot and thick with rut, but not quite as sharp, not quite as overwhelming.

"How long do ruts usually last?" you ask quietly.

"Three days, usually. Sometimes four." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "But I don't know if this one will be normal. Everything about it has been weird so far."

"We'll figure it out," you tell him.

He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, vulnerable. "Thank you. For this. For helping me. For not being scared of me."

"I would never be afraid of you."

"Even after the past few days?"

"Especially after the past few days." You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, and even in the dim light, you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "You were in pre-rut and you were still gentle with me. You were still asking permission. You were still you. That tells me everything I need to know."

He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, and when he opens them again, they're suspiciously bright. "I don't deserve you."

"Shut up," you say, but there's no heat in it. "You deserve everything good. And I'm going to make sure you get it."

He kisses your shoulder, soft and sweet and perfect. When he pulls back, you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Round two?" he asks, and you can already feel him starting to harden again inside you.

You laugh, the sound surprised and delighted. "Already?"

"Rut," he says, rolling his hips experimentally and making you gasp. "Told you it was going to be intense. Think you can keep up?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe. Think you can handle it?"

"I can handle anything you give me," you tell him, and you mean it.

"Good," he says, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone that makes heat pool in your belly. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."

"Prove it."

"Oh, I will," he promises. "We've got all night. And all day tomorrow. And the day after that."

"Good," you tell him, rolling your hips and feeling the way he's already fully hard again inside you. "Because I'm not letting you go."

- The knock comes around late morning, soft but insistent.

You're half-awake when you hear it, drifting in that comfortable space between sleep and consciousness where everything feels warm and syrupy. Soonyoung is sprawled across your chest, his head tucked under your chin, one arm thrown over your waist. His breathing is deep and even, his body finally relaxed after taking you four more times throughout the night on and off. There's an ache between your legs but it feels good, feels right. Like you're right where you should be, pressed against a member of your pack, scents twisted together.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time.

"Come in," you call quietly, not wanting to startle Soonyoung awake too abruptly.

The door opens and Jeonghan steps inside, cradling bottles of water and bowls of rice and chicken. You realize it's what you both need to sustain yourself through Soonyoung's rut and you're immediately grateful, shooting Jeonghan a tired smile. He smirks in response, trailing toward where you and Soonyoung are tangled on the bed.

Soonyoung senses Jeonghan's presence, eyes snapping open. He's up on his elbows in an instant, his body going rigid, and a low growl rumbles from deep in his chest. His lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl that's pure territorial aggression, his pupils dilating as he positions himself between you and Jeonghan like a shield.

Jeonghan doesn't even flinch. Instead, he sets the food and water down on the dresser and turns to Soonyoung, face calm and placid before his face shifts, lips pulling back to bare his teeth at Soonyoung in kind. There's no anger in it, but rather a reminder to Soonyoung that Jeonghan is number two in this pack and Soonyoung's senior and he is not intimidated.

Soonyoung's growl falters. You can feel the moment he recognizes the dynamic, the moment his rut-addled brain processes the hierarchy and accepts it. His teeth retract, his lips closing over them, and he settles back down slightly, though his arm never leaves your waist.

"Keep the teeth away," Jeonghan snorts, walking toward the door. "Congrats on finally figuring it out. You cannot imagine the relief I felt seeing you crawl up here last night."

He turns and exits the room without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

For a moment, there's silence. You can feel Soonyoung's heart still racing, but his anger is immediately replaced with a sheepish laugh and him awkwardly scratching the back of his head, looking at you.

"Sorry," he laughs. "I've never done that before."

"It's okay," you tell him, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. "It was cute."

"Cute?" He scoffs. "I'm not cute. I'm tough. I have teeth."

"Uh huh." You lay back on the bed, looking up at him, grinning. "Use those big teeth on me then."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice dropping to something low and hungry. "You want me to?"

"Yes."

That's all the invitation he needs. He moves fast, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the mattress in one fluid motion. His hands find your wrists, pressing them gently but firmly into the pillows on either side of your head. His body settles over yours, his weight pressing you down into the bed, and you can feel him already hardening against your thigh.

His teeth find the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear, and he bites down gently, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that you feel it, hard enough that it sends a spike of heat straight through you. He works his way down your neck, marking you with his teeth, and every bite is followed by a soothing lick of his tongue.

"I'll show you teeth," he mutters, scraping them over the curve of your breast.

THE KITCHEN IS PAINTED IN SHADES OF BLUE AT 5:47 IN THE MORNING. As the only resident of said kitchen this early in the morning the past two weeks, you've learned that the pre-dawn light that spills through the wide windows above the sink turns everything soft and cool in the morning. The white subway tile back splash starts off a muted grey before the sun finally melts away the blue and turns it bright white each morning.

This morning, the honey-colored cabinets look muted, nearly colorless as the sun hides beyond the horizon. You take another bite of cereal, listening to the old house settle around you. The house has taken getting used to - not because it's ancient, but because it's old enough to feel lived in and have its own quirks of floorboards that squeak, doors that click shut because the hinges are a little loose, pipes that groan when one of the thirteen people upstairs showers late at night.

It's a big house. It has to be, to fit the pack of thirteen - fourteen now, including you. Six alphas, seven betas, and you. A single omega, new and a little out of your comfort zone as you try to figure the ins and outs of a pack who have been together so long, they don't even have to think about how to navigate one another. They just do, planets who have been in rotation of one another for so long that it's as easy as breathing.

Where they've had years together, you've only had two weeks. It still feels like you're learning an entire new language - not because any of them are difficult or unkind, but rather because there's a difference between being welcomed into a pack and belonging, and you're somewhere in the strange gap between the two.

Unfortunately, the omega part of your brain doesn't really understand the distinction between the two, even though you do. You get that it'll take time to integrate yourself fully and to fit in as intimately as the others do with one another, but your instincts don't have that nuance. All your omega knows is that you should be surrounded by a pack, that you should be scented and claimed and constantly near people who want you.

Instead, you're sitting by yourself in a kitchen that feels too big and your instincts are ramming against you to go knock on a door and ask for company. You can't, though. Not that they wouldn't let you in - they would. You know they would. But the small fraction of the what if keeps you rooted to your seat. What if they end up not liking you? What if this doesn't work out? What if they decide they don't need an omega after all?

You stare at the cereal in your bowl, now soggy. It's something honey-flavored and generic that you took out of the pack pantry without looking. Mingyu swore you could take anything out of the pantry and fridge - anything in the house. What’s theirs is yours until you start filling the house with your favorite things, but like the anxiety of asking one of them to spend time with you, you can't seem to figure out how to ask for cinnamon sugar cereal or sweet cream coffee creamer.

Another bite confirms your cereal is as soggy as it looks. You ignore it, watching the kitchen in the morning stillness. It still smells like cinnamon and brown sugar from something Mingyu baked yesterday. Dishes pile in the sink and you know Seungcheol is going to have a field day when he sees it, adamant about dishes being done each night.

Under the layers of the smell of the kitchen is them. You're still trying to pick out the strands of scents that belong to each member, but thirteen scents layered over the top of one another is dizzying and hard to get used to, each one blending into something that you recognize as almost pack. Pack but not.

There are a few you can pick out individually, at least. You know Seungcheol's cedar and smoke, the head alpha easier to scent than the others. Jeonghan's citrus and something that you can't put your finger on. Mingyu's clean laundry smell with a hint of something soft and woody. The others remain a bit of a mess, but you're determined to try, hoping that maybe untangling each scent will lead you to untangling them and finding a sense of belonging that you'd hoped to find here and that they said they'd wanted you to find.

You try not to think about what happens if you don't find a place here. Though it's actually entirely normal not to, you don't know if you could survive that kind of embarrassment. You had already been a bit wary of using omega placement services as it was, desperate to find a pack after years of living on your own and unwilling to go back to living with your all-beta family in your tiny town where nothing much ever happened.

Thirteen pack members is a lot after coming from something small, something lonely. You'd been thrilled at the idea, realizing that you'd never be alone again, that you'd always have someone to lean on. Now you're here, in a house full of thirteen people who are supposed to be your pack, and you're still eating breakfast alone. Still sitting on the outside of their easy familiarity. Still trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between being new and being home.

Creaking stairs catch your attention. You perk up, freezing as you listen to the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You smell the cedar and smoke before you see him, your brain getting a little foggy before Seungcheol ever steps into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He pulls up short when he sees you. He's surprised, and you realize he hadn't smelled you before he walked in, unused to having an omega or an outsider in his house. He looks devastating this morning in sweatpants slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that's tight enough to show off the width of him and strength in his chest. An alpha not only built strong mentally but physically, someone who feels and looks dependable, someone who looks entirely too soft and swollen and pretty in the dawn light.

He blinks at you. His eyes are dark and a little unfocused, still soft with sleep, but there's something sharp underneath. It makes you sit up straighter, you body thrumming as he flicks on the light. You squint, but when your eyes adjust, he's still looking at you with an expression he doesn't understand.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh." You lower your spoon to the bowl, hyperaware of him. "Sorry, I'm an early riser in new places. I can go if you need the kitchen, sorry-"

"No, stay."

It's not a command, but his voice is firm enough that you nod instantly, relaxing a little. He moves further into the room, carrying the heavy presence of a head alpha with him. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way he takes up space and the gravity around him that has nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with him.

You grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay composed as your omega instincts kick in. The last thing you want is for him to think you're awkward or needy. You don't want him to know how much you're struggling with this transition more than you should be. You're supposed to be settling in and comfortable by now, but you're not.

It scares you.

"Coffee?" he asks, already turning it on.

"No, I'm okay."

He hums, opening the cabinet next to the coffee maker. You watch him scan the mugs until he finds a specific one and selects it. You wonder if they have assigned mugs, if there's a hierarchy in the cabinet beyond your understanding like so many other things here.

Silence hangs between you as he makes his coffee, turning to lean backward against the counter with the mug tucked between his hands. His gaze drifts back to you and he gives you a soft smile that you tentatively return. The attention makes you feel exposed, like he's looking at you and sees right through the core of you despite only having been in the same room for a few minutes.

"Couldn't sleep?" You ask, desperately trying to fill the silence.

"Something like that." He gestures toward you. "What about you? Do you do this a lot? Waking up early and sitting alone in the dark, I mean."

"I guess, yeah. I have a hard time sleeping in new places and I don't like to just lay there."

"Mmm." There's a pause, and you can feel him still watching you. Still assessing. "You eat breakfast alone a lot too?"

You glance down at the bowl. "Sometimes, I guess? I'm usually up before anyone else."

"How long have you been up?"

"Maybe an hour?"

"And you've just been sitting here by yourself."

It's not quite a question, but it feels like one. You glance up at him, trying to figure out where this is going, but his expression is unreadable. His scent shifts and you realize what it is. Protectiveness. He doesn't like that you're sitting here by yourself, and the realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

"I don't mind," you murmur, looking down again to hide the sudden flush you feel.

He hums. "I'm hungry." You look up, confused at the statement. He points to your bowl. "What are you having?"

"Cereal. I think it's honey? I didn't want to wake anyone up by cooking."

"Cereal sounds good. Honey is Chan's. Good choice."

He moves with purpose then, crossing to the cabinets to pull down a bowl. Your eyes catch on the line of his shoulders and the way his muscles shift under the cotton tee, the way it rides up just slightly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge, revealing a tiny strip of skin at his lower back that makes your mouth go dry. You look away quickly, back down at your soggy cereal, and try to get your breathing under control.

You watch as he fixes himself a bowl of cereal and strides over to you, dragging a stool up next to you. You blink in surprise. You expected him to sit across from you, but instead he plops down next to you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and close enough that the cedar and smoke of him makes your eyes flutter. His knee brushes yours as he adjusts and you have to physically stop yourself from leaning into him, your nervous system lighting up at the proximity.

"So," he says, pulling you from the static of your thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."

You blink at him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He takes another bite of cereal like this is completely normal. Like he wakes up at five in the morning to eat with strangers all the time. "Where are you from again?"

"Small town." You stir your cereal. The milk swirls. "Really small. Everyone-knows-everyone small."

"And you left."

"For college. I came back for a few years after but it didn't feel like I fit in anymore so I moved to the city, got an apartment by myself. Thought I wanted independence and freedom to figure things out on my own terms." You take a bite of cereal just to have something to do with your hands. "Turns out being alone and being independent aren't the same thing. I was just lonely. Really lonely. Didn't even realize how bad it was until I started looking into pack placement programs and well… now I’m here trying it out, I guess."

Seungcheol goes quiet. When you glance over, his expression is soft. "How long were you alone?"

"Three years."

"That's a long time for anyone, not specifically an omega."

"Yeah." You swallow. "I didn't know what I was missing. I'm still trying to figure it out, I think and how I… fit in."

"You're doing fine," he says.

"I eat breakfast alone every morning."

"Not this morning, though."

The words are simple and direct. When you look up at him, he's watching you with something warm in his expression. Something that makes your chest tight.

"No," you say quietly. "Not this morning."

He gives you a small smile that transforms his face. Suddenly, he's not the intimidating pack alpha - he's soft and warm, more like a person than someone you have to impress or earn the trust of. You relax a little, stirring your milk aimlessly.

"What about you?" you ask. "What made you want to lead a pack this big?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Honestly? I didn't set out to. It just kind of happened. We all met in college, started spending time together, and it felt right. Natural. Then more people joined and suddenly I was the one everyone looked to when decisions needed to be made. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right. If I'm taking care of everyone the way I should be."

"I think you're doing a good job," you say. "Everyone seems happy. Settled."

He looks at you and gives you a look, one brow raised. "Everyone except you."

His words make you wince. Not because they're accusatory, but because you didn't think he noticed. You realize it's a bit of an insult for you to have doubted him - Seungcheol's entire role as the head alpha is to understand his pack, to balance the personalities, to lead. That includes you, despite not feeling like it, and you realize that he's taken notice and doesn't intend to let it go.

"We don't eat alone unless we want to in my pack," he says simply.

My pack. The possessiveness in those two words makes something flutter in your chest and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from grinning, to stop yourself from getting too hopeful.

"I didn't want to be a burden," you admit.

"You're not," he promises. "You're a part of our pack which means you're never a burden. We want you here. We wouldn't have gone through the trouble of the agency and placement if we didn't think there was something missing. You were missing and we're happy to gave you, even if it's a little awkward at first."

You can feel your heart beating too fast, the warmth of him making you dizzy. Seungcheol doesn't lean closer, but you feel him closer, the smell of him overwhelming and comforting. You realize he's doing it on purpose, pheromones comforting you like he should. You glance up and he has a knowing look on his face, a little smug and a little endeared and you find yourself smiling.

"Thank you," you manage. "For noticing."

"Always," he murmurs.

You finish your cereal together as the sky outside continues to lighten. For the first time since you moved into this house, you don't feel quite so alone.

-

It's Tuesday in the middle of the day when Seungcheol interrupts your next meal. You look up as he walks onto the back porch, the apple covered in peanut butter in your hand pausing as he sits down next to you at the table. He's got a full plate with him, rice, chicken and vegetables piled high as he sighs and settles in comfortably.

"Hey," he says casually, cracking open the can of soda he's brought along.

"Hi," you say slowly, eyeing him.

"I am starving. Wanted something sweet."

You look at his plate. Then back at him. Then back at the plate.

"Seungcheol, that is not sweet."

"What?"

"You said you wanted something sweet. That's chicken."

He blinks and looks down like he's just now noticing what's on it. You press your lips together as he scratches the side of his neck, nodding. "Right. I meant I wanted something sweet after this. You like ice cream?"

"I do."

"Great." He leans over, peering at your apple slices as his shoulders brush yours, sending a spark through you. "What are you having?"

"Apple and peanut butter."

"Hmmm. Classic." He starts cutting into his chicken as you watch him, eyes narrowed. "How's your day?"

You're still processing the fact that he claimed to be starving for something sweet while holding a savory meal, but you answer anyway, amused.

"Good. I've been reading."

"Yeah? What are you reading?"

Taking another bite of your apple, you tell him. Seungcheol is an engaged listener, nodding and asking follow up questions as he devours his plate. Somehow, time passes easily. Even after he's cleared his plate, he leans back into his chair, foot up on the seat as he tells you about one of his favorite books growing up, dimples appearing every time he smiles.

You love his dimples, watching them as he ducks his head and laughs, long hair falling in his eyes. You smile too, unable to help it around him. He's infectious like that, easily shifting the mood from something tense to warm or lonely to comfortable, like an alpha should.

Eventually, he sighs heavily, stretching. You try not to notice the way his shirt peels up, revealing the barest hint of soft stomach before he drops his arms back down and grins at you.

"I have to get back to work," he says. "But this was nice. We should do it again."

"That would be nice."

He smiles and gets up, clearing his plate and reaching to grab your empty one without much preamble. You watch him go inside, shaking your head when you realize that he never wanted something sweet in the first place.

-

You've been awake for three hours.

It's not insomnia, exactly. It's more like your brain won't shut off and you keep laying in bed replaying conversations, analyzing the way Seungcheol looked at you on Wednesday, wondering if you're reading too much into the fact that Mingyu sat close enough to scent you yesterday but didn't, if any of this means anything or if you're just desperate enough to convince yourself it does. As usual, your brain is doing laps, restless and unsettled, and the quiet of the house at midnight isn't helping. It's making you hyper-aware of how alone you are in your room, how easy it would be to just stay here without anyone noticing and how good you've gotten at it.

So you give up on sleep. Again.

The kitchen is dark when you pad downstairs in your pajamas, the hum of the refrigerator going as you open it up, squinting against the light. You don't bother to turn the overhead lights on, the moon filtering in through the big windows over the sink enough to get by. You steal the honey cereal - Chan's - again from the pantry, and fix a bowl before sitting at the counter, sighing as you take a bite.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, startling you. You flip it over, squinting in the dark as you frown when you read it.

SEUNGCHEOL [12:15 AM]: What are you doing?

Your stomach does something complicated.

YOU [12:15 AM]: Eating cereal… why?

SEUNGCHEOL [12:16 AM] Be right there

You set your phone down slowly, your heart doing something erratic in your chest. He heard you come downstairs. His room is above the kitchen - you know this now - and realize that he must have heard you snooping around down here like he did that first morning he found you eating in the kitchen at five in the morning.

A minute later, he appears in the kitchen doorway and your brain short circuits a little. He's in soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt that's clearly old and pulled tight across his chest. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he's rumpled and sleepy enough to tell you that he absolutely was asleep until he heard you.

"Hey," he croaks.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he lies.

"You didn't have to come down, Seungcheol."

"I did. And you can call me Cheol, you know. Seungcheol makes it sound like I'm in trouble."

He moves to the cabinet, and grabs a bowl, making himself a matching snack before he sits down close enough that his thigh brushes yours. You shiver and if he notices, he has the decency not to point it out.

"Maybe you are in trouble," you mutter, taking a bite.

"Yeah? What for?"

"Being a liar who lies. You heard me and came down."

He grins and takes a bite of cereal. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, ignoring your stare. "So what if I did? I wanted to join you, so I did. Anyway, trouble sleeping again?"

"Kind of." You push cereal around your bowl, not quite meeting his eyes. "My brain won't shut off."

"Yeah?" He shifts slightly, and you're hyperaware of every point where his body is close to yours. "What's it doing?"

"Thinking."

"Pack stuff?"

"Maybe." You finally look at him. His eyes are soft in the moonlight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

He doesn't ask what you mean. Doesn't pretend to be confused. Just smiles into his cereal, and the smile is so knowing that your face goes hot.

"Yep."

"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He sets his spoon down. Turns to face you fully, and there's something serious in his expression now, something that makes you sit up and pay attention to him.

"I told you already," he says softly. "We don't eat alone unless we want to. Do you want to?" You hesitate only a moment before shaking your head. "Exaclty. So until you feel confidence to ask someone - you can ask any of us, by the way - I'll make sure you're not eating alone."

It's something so simple and yet it devastates you to hear him say it. It isn't the words themselves exactly, but rather the way he says it, like it's a promise, like he's already decided that this doesn't require permission or gratitude or even for you to ask. It's just a fact that he's going to do this, no negotiation, no need to think about it.

You think about the last three years of your life of eating in your apartment along, of making meals for one, of not having to consider anyone else's schedule or preferences. Three years of being fine with it because fine was easier than admitting you were lonely. And now you have a pack you don't know what to do with, but this alpha - this head of a thirteen-person pack - is keen enough to pick up on what you need and come down to the kitchen at midnight to make sure you have what you need.

It's wonderful and terrifying all at once.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding.

You watch him in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. His hair is still a mess and his face is puffy with sleep, but he's soft. Warm. You notice a small scar on his collarbone you've never been close enough to notice before, and wonder where he got it from.

When he finishes his bowl of cereal, he looks at yours, raising his brows. "You finishing that?"

You shake your head and he grins, reaching over and brushing against you deliberately to steal your bowl. The contact is electric as his arm grazes your shoulder, his chest brushing your back for just a second, and your entire nervous system short-circuits. You nearly go catatonic at the contact, omega melting even when he pulls away, leaving you dizzy and touch starved and hungry for something not food. Your skin tingles where he touched you.

Seungcheol notices. This time, you see the way he grins, smug and content at your reaction. It hits you that he planned that, that he wanted you to feel it. The realization makes your chest tight in a way that's half panic, half something else entirely.

You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, your face, and it pisses you off - not at him, but at yourself for being so transparent, so easy to read. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning to him, temper flaring a little. You're not mad at all, but your omega instincts bristle in a way that feels playful and fun, something entirely unfamiliar to you. It's like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

"Well that's not fair," you huff. "You can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Brush up against me and use your… alpha ways."

He laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. "My alpha ways?"

"Yes!"

"That's how it works."

"Well!" You stomp your foot against the footrest on the stool. "I would like to file a complaint. Wait, who do I file a complaint with? You're head alpha."

Even as you say it, you know how ridiculous you sound. You're literally complaining to the person you're complaining about. It's absurd. But there's also a part of you that likes this game, this playful banter.

"You're cute when you panic."

The word lands like a punch. Cute. You're not cute. You're competent and sarcastic and you've survived three years alone in a city that didn't care about you. You're not cute. Except the way he says it makes you feel small in a way that isn't entirely bad. You like it, even.

"I'm not panicking," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.

"Sure."

"And for the record, I'm not cute. I am a very strong, very assertive omega." You stand up, trying to reclaim some dignity, trying to put distance between yourself and the way his presence makes your skin feel too tight. "I've even lived on my own. Very independent."

"Absolutely," he agrees, not sounding convinced at all.

Seungcheol stands with you and puts the bowls in the sink, leaving them unwashed for once. He grins at you and gestures to the door and you listen, because apparently you do that now. Your body just obeys him, no thought required, no decision made. You just move when he moves, follow when he leads. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. It feels familiar in a way you've been craving and you finally have it.

He follows you up the stairs and you're hyperaware of him behind you, footsteps quiet and measured. . You can feel the warmth of him in the space between your bodies, close enough that you could lean back and touch him. Your omega is purring at his proximity, at the simple fact of him being there, and you hate how easy it's becoming to just accept it. To want it.

The hallway is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window at the end, letting in enough light for you to walk to your room, third door to the left. When you reach it, you pause, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol. Do you just say goodnight? Do you invite him in? The uncertainty makes your stomach knot uncomfortably, panic spiking.

You turn to look at him and he's closer than you expected. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. He's still soft from sleep, and he's looking at you like he looks at the other members of his pack, warm and soft and so gentle that it makes your omega nearly scream.

Seungcheol grins and leans down, pressing a kiss briefly to your head, soft and warm and over before you even know it's happening. Your throat tightens immediately, thoughts turning to static as he takes a step back, winking at you.

"Sleep, he murmurs. "Wake me up when you want breakfast. I mean it."

He dismisses himself then and you watch him walk back down the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and you don't move until you hear his door close softly upstairs.

Only then do you slip into your room and lean against the door, your heart still racing, your forehead still burning with the ghost of his kiss. You touch your fingers to the spot where he kissed you, like you can hold onto it somehow.

Crawling into bed, you do exactly what Seungcheol has asked and you sleep.

-

The next morning when you wake up, you don’t have to wake Seungcheol. You hear the noise downstairs, confusion drawing you down the steps and into the kitchen where breakfast is being made in full. You stand in the doorway, confused as you watch Mingyu and Joshua argue at the stove, the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of bacon wafting toward you.

Seungkwan is at the coffee machine, staring lifelessly into the open air as his coffee brews while Chan stands on his tip toes to reach more coffee mugs out of the cabinet behind him. Seokmin is sitting on the counter swinging his legs, laughing animatedly at whatever Soonyoung and Jihoon are arguing about near the sink while Jeonghan lays across the counter, head in Seokmin’s lap as he dozes. 

Seungcheol walks in behind you, not missing at beat as he steers you by the waist toward the counter. Jeonghan peeks an eye open and grins, lifting himself from Seokmin’s lap to make room for you just as Seungcheol grip you by the waist and halls you up to sit on the counter next to Jeonghan, the citrus and jasmine smell of him placating your immediate irritation at being lifted. 

“Why is everyone in the kitchen?” You demand, turning to Jeonghan because Seungcheol is already leaving you and heading for the fridge. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Rule number one,” Jeonghan yawns, scooting closer so that he’s pressed up against you. You hesitate for only a second before you let yourself relax and tentatively lean toward him. “The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to.”

Seokmin peers around him. “Do you want to?”

His question hangs in the air among the noise and chaos of the kitchen, scents hitting you from every angle, the sound of Minghao complaining about burnt bacon and Mingyu hollering as oil pops and burns his wrist. 

You grin, ducking your head a little as Seungcheol catches your eyes from across the kitchen and winks. 

The streetlamp flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders, checking the time on your phone screen for the fifth time in two minutes.

9:14 PM.

A very old blue jeep is parked halfway down the block, engine off, exactly where the dropped pin had indicated. As you approach, the driver’s side door clicks open.

Vernon steps out, casually pulling back the hood of his dark sweatshirt. He looks even more handsome than in the picture he sent earlier, which only makes you more nervous. His relaxed, unbothered posture immediately contrasts with your stiff and coiled tension. He leans against the car door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you close the distance.

You stop a few feet away, practically vibrating with nerves. “Vernon?”

“Yeah.” His voice is low, carrying a slight rasp. He doesn’t move toward you, leaving a comfortable gap between to let you dictate the space. “You’re Chan’s friend.”

“Y/N,” you supply quickly, voice slightly breathless.

It was Chan who gave you his number after seeing you have an anxiety attack. He said Vernon was the seller with the best prices and the best products, that his stuff would definitely help you relax, and that he was a reliable guy.

Which is what brought here.

Vernon offers a small, crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He pause, his eyes scanning the empty street before settling back on you. “Chan said you’d be reaching out. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up after our texts earlier.”

“I... yeah.” You bite your lip hard, wrapping your arms around yourself against the night wind. “I’m sorry if the timing was weird, I just really needed to find a way to settle my head tonight.”

He nods slowly, his expression understanding. Vernon doesn’t treat your confession like a burden or a business pitch; he just listens. “No need to apologize. Chan’s a good guy. He wouldn’t have sent you my way if he didn’t think I could help you out.”

Vernon shifts his weight and reaches into his pocket. You instinctively flinch, taking a quick half-step back. The movement is entirely involuntary, a byproduct of the buzzing, suffocating anxiety that had driven you out here in the first place.

He freezes, slowly pulling his hand back out empty and resting it visibly on the roof of the car. His expression shifts, the casual politeness melting into something far more observant, and surprisingly gentle. He takes in the way your shoulders are practically up to your ears, the way your hands grip your phone and arms like a lifeline, and the wide, panicked look in your eyes.

“Hey,” Vernon says softly, dropping his voice a register. “Take a breath. You’re okay. I’m not here to make things harder for you.”

“I know, I just—” You swallow hard, embarrassed heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not really used to this. Meeting strangers in the dark. It’s… a lot.”

“I get it. But you don’t have to look at me like I’m about to bite. You’re making yourself self-conscious.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening even further. “I am?”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he scratches the back of his head. “Don’t be, though. It’s a compliment. Most people around here try too hard to look like they aren’t feeling anything.”

The tension in your chest doesn’t vanish, but the sheer directness of his gaze makes the frantic buzzing start to slow.

Vernon finally reaches into his pocket again, moving slowly and deliberately this time, and pulls out a small paper bag. He holds it out, stretching his arm far enough that you don’t have to step completely out of your comfort zone.

“Here. The mellow option, like you asked. Should help quiet things down.”

As you reach out to take it, your fingers briefly brush against his. His skin is warm against the chill of the night air.

“Thanks,” you murmur, finally feeling the tight band around your chest loosen.

“Don’t mention it.” He steps back and opens his car door, but pauses before sliding into the driver’s seat, looking over his shoulder one last time. “Get home safe. Let me know if you need anything else. And seriously, breathe. You’re doing fine.”

As his taillights fades down the empty street, you stand on the sidewalk and take your first full, deep breath of the entire day.

“Sorry for the odd hour,” you say for the thousandth time, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself. “I just… I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut up. It’s okay if you want to charge me a delivery fee or something for the trouble.”

You’d been buying from Vernon for about a month. Almost every Tuesday, you left him a message to drop your usual order. Today, however, was Thursday, and you had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours without managing to close your eyes for even a single second. So you figured, why not see if he was awake and willing to sell you something strong enough to finally put you down?

And after a month of buying from him, you had decided it was okay to let him come up to your building floor instead of making him meet you out on the street. He had proven himself to be surprisingly reliable—exactly like Chan had promised you—, after one day when you could barely get out of bed, and he’d offered to bring your order up himself.

Now he was standing in the hallway of your building, looking like he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than you had, yet somehow far more awake than anyone had the right to be at this hour. And the craziest thing of all? He looked incredibly handsome, while you are pretty sure you looked hungover despite not having consumed a single drop of alcohol.

Vernon lets out a low, easy breath, shaking his head. “You’re good. I don’t sleep much anyway, so you’re not exactly interrupting a deep slumber.” He reaches into his pocket, his movements slow, as if he’s in no hurry at all. “Tell you what, I’ll give you the loyal customer discount tonight, Bambi.”

You blink, the name catching you off guard. “Bambi?”

He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze softening as it fixes on yours.

“Yeah.” Vernon tilts his head, studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart skip. Then he points at his own eyes with his index finger. “It’s the eyes. Yours are big and curious… like you’re seeing the world for the first time.”

You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck, and you look down at your slippers, trying to deflect. Vernon does that quite often; making you blush so hard you never know where to hide your face, that is. You don’t even know if that’s his actual intention or if he’s just naturally nice.

“If that’s the case, then I must look like a really tired bambi. Bags under my eyes and everything.”

Vernon chuckles, the warm sound seeming to fill the empty hallway. “You still look cute, though.” He shrugs, far too casually for your liking. “Just… don’t go bolting into traffic or anything like that. I need my favorite customer in one piece.”

The blush deepens, spreading across your face until even your ears feel hot. You duck your head further, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

You wanted to know if he was genuinely flirting with you or if it was just something he said to all his clients. You were still confused about how you felt about those two possibilities, but the first was the only one that made your stomach do those strange, fluttery little flips.

“Oh, I’ve got a new indica blend coming in next week,” Vernon continues, his tone slipping back into his usual seller mode. “I’ll bring some by. It’ll help you sleep like a rock, I promise.”

You manage a small, shy smile, finally looking back up at him. “You’re like a specialized pharmacist at this point. Should I be tipping you extra, or will a thank-you card do it?”

A slight smile appears on Vernon’s face, and he straightens up and takes a step back, preparing to head toward the elevators, but he pauses to look you in the eye one last time, making sure the panic has truly subsided. The teasing light in his expression fades into something sincere and unexpectedly sweet.

“Neither,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “You being less anxious is enough for me. That’s the only tip I need, Bambi.”

He turns to leave, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder and leaving you leaning against your doorframe.

The phone screen goes dark, but the words “anything you want” seems to burn brightly behind your eyelids.

For the past twelve hours, you’d been pinned to the mattress since your alarm first went off in the morning. But those three words from Vernon acted like a sudden shot of adrenaline straight to your heart, breaking the paralysis and making you throw the heavy duvet off and practically scramble out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with an urgent slap.

Your apartment was the physical manifestation of a terrible mental health week. Half-empty water bottles clustered on the nightstand, clothes draped over every available surface like exhausted ghosts, and a tragic pile of unopened mail sat on the kitchen counter.

“Oh God,” you mutter, grabbing a laundry hamper and sprinting through the living room.

Sweatshirts, socks, and a pair of jeans are aggressively lobbed into the laundry basket. Books that had been discarded on the floor are shoved haphazardly onto shelves. A collection of coffee mugs is swept into the sink and buried unceremoniously beneath a layer of dish soap bubbles just to hide the evidence.

You move at a dizzying speed, pausing only to catch your breath and aggressively fluff the flattened sofa cushions.

Despite the sheer panic of the impromptu cleaning spree, there’s an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest. You’re nervous, yes—your hands shake slightly as you kick a stray pair of sneakers into the hall closet—but beneath the nerves, you’re overwhelmingly happy.

Vernon is coming over. Not just to drop off your usual or make a quick exchange in the doorway, but just… coming over. To keep you company.

It hits you right then, standing in the middle of the slightly less disastrous living room, just how drastically things have shifted between you two. Somewhere along the line, the boundaries had blurred, melted, and completely re-formed into something entirely different.

Lately, he hasn’t just been your plug—he’s been your friend too. And you’ve been texting. A lot.

It had started innocently a few weeks ago, after he dropped off a new indica strain at your doorstep, one that worked a little too well on you. Pleasantly immobilized and entirely trapped in your own head, you had spent twenty minutes staring at your palms before deciding they actually looked like clouds, and texted him to give feedback.

Most people in his line of work would have ignored it, or maybe replied with a laughing emoji. But Vernon had replied three minutes later, and after a single text, a floodgate opened. The sheer relief of not being mocked, of having someone lean into the absurdity of the moment, made you feel unexpectedly safe with him.

The texts didn’t stop the next morning, when you sent a mortified apology and he replied with a picture of a fluffy cloud. From there, it became a daily routine with good mornings, random memes, complaints about the weather, late-night philosophical tangents, and very, very high debates. Vernon had slowly woven himself into the absolute fabric of your day-to-day life.

But today was Tuesday, and normally, by 2:00 PM on a Tuesday, you would’ve texted him for the usual. Except today, you didn’t. And when you didn’t, he texted you first to check how you were doing.

The conversation didn’t take long before Vernon calmed you down in his usual quiet, steady way, and then, casually as always, he offered to come over. And you accepted immediately—even if it was just for him to sit with you and keep you company—which had led you to this moment, where you’re trying to shove dust under the living room rug.

A firm knock at the door pulls you violently out of your thoughts.

Smoothing down your oversized sweater and taking one last, desperate look at the living room to ensure no rogue laundry was visible, you walk to the door and pull it open.

Vernon stands in the hallway wearing a faded gray hoodie with the strings pulled unevenly and a pair of jeans. But it isn’t his clothes that catch your attention; it’s his hands. He isn’t holding a small bag or his phone. He’s holding two massive, grease-stained brown paper bags from the twenty-four-hour diner down the street, along with a cardboard drink carrier balancing two milkshakes.

“Hey, Bambi,” he greets you, his voice carrying that familiar low rasp. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a soft, unmistakable heart-shaped smile. “Hope you like fries, because I bought, like, an insane amount of them.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” you breathe out, the last residual knot of anxiety in your chest instantly dissolving at the sight of him. You can’t believe how absolutely gorgeous he looks standing there in your doorway, looking like he just rolled out of bed, dressed in the most casual clothes imaginable.

“I know.” He shrugs, stepping past the threshold as you step aside to let him in. Vernon kicks his shoes off by the door with an easy familiarity that makes your heart flutter. “But you said you couldn’t get out of bed today. Which means you definitely didn’t cook. And I couldn’t have you passing out on me. I need someone to help me eat all of this.”

He carries the food into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table. The smell of hot, salty fries, grilled burgers, and heavy diner food fills the apartment, instantly making it feel infinitely cozier, and your stomach lets out an angry, shameless growl.

You hover awkwardly by the armchair. “I... I really meant it, you know. I don’t have any cash on me. I feel awful making you drive all the way out here.”

Vernon stops unpacking the bags and stands up straight, turning to face you. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, his expression softening completely. He reaches out, his warm fingers lightly catching your shoulder, just enough to straighten you and make you look at him.

“I am not here for your money, Bambi.” The sincerity in his voice and eyes pines you to the spot. He has amazing eyes. “Nor am I here to be your delivery guy. I’m here because it’s Tuesday, you were having a bad day, and I wanted to see you. Do you understand?”

You bite your lip to suppress a smile, the warmth of his fingers sending a rush of electricity straight down your spine. “Yeah. I understand.”

He smiles softly. “Good,” he says, letting his hand drop, though his eyes linger for a second longer on your face before he turns back to the food. “Now, grab some napkins, Bambi. We’ve got a situation here with these milkshakes.”

You settle onto the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table. The food is incredible and exactly the kind of heavy, comforting, terrible-for-you meal that bypasses anxiety almost entirely and goes straight to the soul.

“Alright,” Vernon says around a mouthful of fries, leaning back against the base of the sofa. “We need a movie. Something that requires zero brain power but also something we can yell at.”

“Yell at?” you ask, dipping a fry into your milkshake. Vernon watches the fry-in-milkshake maneuver with mild disgust but don’t comment.

“Yeah. A classic. Something where the characters make terrible decisions and we get to judge them from our moral high ground on the floor.”

You scroll through a streaming service for ten minutes before finally settling on Scream.

“It’s the perfect choice,” Vernon argues as the eerie opening music swells through the television speakers. “The ultimate movie about teenagers who think they know all the rules of surviving getting absolutely humbled by another pair of teenagers in a cheap Halloween mask.”

“Sidney is actually smart, though,” you counter, pulling your knees to your chest. “She managed to not get killed in seven out of seven films.”

Vernon scoffs, pausing halfway through a bite of his burger. “Thanks to the power of being the protagonist, of course.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Well, I stand by my opinion.”

He chews slowly, nodding as he points at you with his index finger. “A woman who stands her ground. I respect that.” You let out a small giggle, and Vernon swallows before continuing. “But she ran up the stairs instead of out the front door, Bambi. She literally locked the deadbolt and then trapped herself on the second floor when she had a clear shot to the yard.”

“It’s a classic trope!” you defend your point, laughing as Vernon rolls his eyes. You feel so at peace in his presence that you no longer remember a single thing that affected you in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s a death wish! That was the entire problem!”

You eat and argue nonstop, the tension of the day bleeding out of you with every passing minute you spend in his presence. You debate the rules of surviving a slasher, whether you would actually make it out alive in Woodsboro, and roast the characters’ survival instincts.

“I know I would probably die,” you state with conviction, biting the end of the straw, “but it would never be because I went to investigate some strange, suspicious noise. Especially not if I were alone.”

Vernon chuckles, nodding along. “Ditto!”

You grab another fry, pointing it at the screen as Billy Loomis leans through Sidney’s bedroom window.

“Okay, but you have to admit, Billy and Stu are objectively very attractive. The whole ’90s grunge, floppy hair thing? It works.”

He pauses mid-chew. Slowly, his eyes slide from the TV to you, his expression flattening into an unimpressed, deadpan stare. “They look like they haven’t showered in a month.”

“Yeah, but look at the cheekbones,” you insist, another teasing smile breaking through the heavy exhaustion. “It’s attractive.”

“If the attractive is homicidal bedhead, sure.” Vernon scoffs, pointedly taking a long, exaggerated sip of his milkshake. “Good to know your bar is literally on the floor, Bambi.”

He shifts slightly, stretching his long legs out and casually crossing his arms, his tone perfectly nonchalant but carrying a subtle defensive edge.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous of fictional ’90s teenagers,” you laugh between words, the sound bright and entirely devoid of anxiety. It would be completely ridiculous if he were, considering he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a ’90s movie himself.

“I’m deeply concerned for your survival instincts,” he corrects smoothly, not missing a beat, though he aggressively dunked a fry into his ketchup. “Remind me to never let you go to a Halloween party alone.”

As the movie shifts from eerie suspense to full-blown terror, the food begins to take its toll. The frantic, anxious energy that has kept you awake for the last twenty-four hours is suddenly entirely depleted. The apartment is warm, the couch against your back is soft, and the low, steady sound of Vernon’s voice beside you is the most effective sedative you’ve ever experienced.

Without realizing it, you begin to slide sideways. The debate over whether throwing a landline phone at the killer was actually an effective evasion tactic fades into background noise. The edges of your vision blur, the flashing light from the television softening into indistinct, hazy color. With a soft sigh, your head tips over, landing gently against the solid, warm curve of Vernon’s shoulder.

On the screen, Tatum screams. In the living room, Vernon stiffens completely. He had been mid-sentence, ready to deliver a scathing critique of Dewey’s police work, when he feels the sudden weight against his arm. He stops talking immediately, his jaw snapping shut. Slowly, carefully, he turns his head just a fraction to look down.

Your eyes are completely closed, your breathing already deepening into the slow cadence of genuine sleep. Your face, which had been tight with worry and exhaustion when he first walked in the door, is now entirely smooth. The dark circles under your eyes remain, but the tension in your body is gone. You look very peaceful.

Vernon feels a strange, tight pull right in the center of his chest. He glances at the empty takeout bags, the half-finished milkshakes, and you currently using him as a pillow, realizing he’s never been happier to lose a Tuesday night’s worth of business.

He doesn’t dare reach for the remote to turn the volume down, afraid that even the slightest shift in his muscles will wake you. He doesn’t reach for his phone either, which is buzzing in his pocket with texts of customers he no longer cares about.

Instead, Vernon adjusts his posture by a millimeter, shifting his weight just enough to give your head a better angle against his shoulder. He carefully leans his own head back against the sofa cushions, letting out a long and silent exhale.

On the screen, the survivors run for their lives. In the quiet of the apartment, Vernon sits perfectly still, entirely content to stay trapped in this exact position for as long as you need to sleep.

The next day, when you wake up tucked comfortably into your bed, everything is organized, clean, and back in its proper place. And unless you somehow did all of this in your sleep, there’s only one person who could have done it, even if he’s nowhere to be found in the morning.

Vernon drives with an relaxed posture, one hand resting lightly on the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He doesn’t press for conversation, letting the low volume of the radio fill the space between you. Every so often, you catch him stealing a quick glance in your direction, his eyes checking to make sure you’re still breathing easily.

About an hour ago, you’d texted him about how awful your day had been, and within minutes he was at your door, ready to take you for a drive to clear your mind.

After a couple of minutes of driving, the dense architecture of the city gives way to the open stretches of the coastal highway. The streetlights grow sparse, replaced by the vast, ink-black expanse of the sky. The air rushing through the slightly cracked windows shifts from the smell of concrete to the sharp and cold scent of ocean mist and salt.

Vernon finally slows the car, the tires crunching against gravel as he pulls into a deserted overlook. The headlights sweep across a wooden barricade before he kills the engine, plunging them into darkness. Out the windshield, the ocean stretches endlessly, moonlight catching the white crests of the churning waves below.

“I didn’t know you liked the beach,” you whisper, pulling your jacket tighter around your frame. The cold seeps through the glass, but the car’s heater still blows warm air at your feet, creating a perfectly cozy contrast.

“I don’t usually,” he shrugs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts his weight, turning slightly in his seat so he can look at you. “During the day, it’s a nightmare. Too crowded, too loud. But at night… it’s different.”

You nod slowly, looking out at the horizon. “It makes everything else feel really small. The ocean, I mean.” You tilt your head slightly, stealing a quick glance at him before continuing. “You look out there and realize how massive it all is, and suddenly worrying about emails or… or literally anything else just feels completely irrelevant.”

“Exactly,” Vernon agrees, leaning his head back against the headrest. He watches the water for a long moment, his profile sharp against the dim light filtering in from the moon. “We construct this entire, agonizing reality inside our heads.”

He pauses, a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes looking thoughtful.

“You ever think we’re just brains in jars imagining stuff?”

You blink, caught entirely off guard by the sudden existential pivot. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, breaking the solemn quiet of the car. “Brains in jars? Really? That’s where we’re going at three in the morning?”

“I’m serious,” he defends himself, though the corner of his mouth is ticking upward. “Think about it. How do you know any of this is real? Your brain is just locked in pitch-black darkness inside your skull, hallucinating a reality based on electrical signals. For all we know, we’re just sitting on a shelf in some laboratory, running a simulation.”

“Well, if this is a simulation,” you counter, turning to face him completely and pulling your knees up onto the seat, “then the developers seriously need to patch my software. The anxiety settings are dialed way too high, and the executive dysfunction glitch is making the gameplay terrible.”

Vernon laughs properly then, the sound that echoing in the small space of the Jeep cabin, his gums on full display. “I’ll submit a bug report for you. Tell the admins to turn down the overthinking slider and boost the serotonin drops.”

You want to tell him that this happens every time you’re in his presence, but you aren’t sure if it’s acceptable to flirt with your plug. It’s been two months since you met, and you’re still amazed by how being with him shuts down your nervous system and makes you forget everything. Even if it’s just a phone call, hearing Vernon’s voice calms you like no weed or medicine ever could.

“Please do,” you smile back, resting your cheek against your knees. “But honestly… even if we are just brains in jars, I think I’m okay with whatever hallucination this is right now. It’s the quietest my head has been in days.”

The teasing amusement in Vernon’s eyes softens, melting into something more tender. He reaches across the center console, his fingertips lightly brushing your arm before settling on the edge of your sleeve. It’s a grounding touch, anchoring you to the present moment.

It’s strange how entirely safe you feel sitting in a dark car on a deserted cliffside with a guy who, on paper, you barely know. But looking at him now—the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the attentive way he listens to every word you say, the quiet intelligence in his eyes—you realize he isn’t just a guy or your plug anymore. He’s becoming someone indispensable.

“I really appreciate this,” you whisper softly. You look down at his hand, which is still resting near yours on the console. “You didn’t have to stay with me today, and you definitely didn’t have to drive me out here. So… thank you, Vernon.”

The name hangs in the air for a second. Vernon doesn’t flinch, but a subtle shift ripples through his posture. He’s quiet for a long beat, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle against the fabric of your sleeve.

“Hansol,” he corrects quietly, his voice dropping into a register so low it’s almost a whisper.

You frown, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He lifts his gaze, his eyes locking onto yours, a small smile on his lips. There’s a vulnerability there he usually keeps buried under layers of nonchalance and cool detachment. “My name… it’s Hansol.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, a rush of embarrassment suddenly heating your cheeks. You pull your hands back slightly, feeling suddenly stupid. “Sorry, I thought everyone just called you Vernon.”

The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. Could Vernon be his moniker? A professional handle used to keep a safe distance between the guys selling drugs and the people buying them? That wouldn’t be unusual in his line of work.

But Hansol doesn’t let you retreat. He shifts his hand, catching your fingers gently before you can pull away completely. His skin is warm, his grip steady and reassuring.

“Some do. It’s my middle name,” he explains, his gaze unwavering. “But people close to me call me Hansol.”

He pauses, letting the weight of that categorization settle between you. He’s drawing a line in the sand, officially pulling you across the boundary from client to someone close to him. You bite your lip to suppress a smile that wants so badly to form on your lips as the thought settles, the bucket of ice water from seconds ago already beginning to warm.

“You don’t have to,” he adds, an uncharacteristic hint of shyness briefly flickering across his features. “I just don’t mind it from you.”

Your heart does a violent stutter against your ribs. The sheer intimacy of the admission is overwhelming. You look at his hand holding yours, then back up at his face. He is waiting, giving you the space to decide what to do with the information.

“So you’re saying I’m close to you?”

Hansol doesn’t hesitate, leaning in just slightly, his thumb continuing the slow circle over your knuckles. “You text me at 1 a.m. and I show up every time. You slept on my shoulder the other night. We’ve talked about everything and anything at this point. I’d say we’re close, Bambi.”

You feel the air leave your lungs. It isn’t just the words; it’s the matter-of-fact way he says them, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. He’s acknowledging the bond you’ve built in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, admitting that you’re more than just his client, while you try to ignore the butterflies battering against the walls of your stomach, desperate to escape their cage.

“Hansol,” you test his name out loud. It feels foreign on your tongue, yet somehow incredibly right.

A small, devastatingly heart-shaped smile breaks across his face at the sound of his name in your voice. “Yeah. That’s it.”

You stayed at the overlook for another hour, the atmosphere in the car fundamentally changed. By the time his Jeep rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the sky had begun to bruise with the first deep purples and blues of early dawn.

“I guess this is my stop,” you observe hesitantly, not wanting to get out of his car and put an end to the moment.

“Looks like it,” Hansol says. “You gonna be okay today?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think I am. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime, Bambi.”

You push the door open, stepping out into the crisp morning air, and turn back to look at him through the open door. “Drive safe, Hansol.”

“Always,” he replies, a smile lingering on his face at the sound of you saying his name. Then he leans across the passenger seat, catching the door frame to stop it from closing completely. Hansol tilts his head, eyes lazily tracking over your messy hair and the oversized sweatshirt you’re still wearing. “You looked extra Bambi today.”

The blush is instantaneous. It surges up your neck and floods your cheeks with a furious heat. Your jaw drops slightly, a flustered, embarrassed laugh escaping you as you struggle to find a comeback.

“Shut up!” you finally manage to stammer out, ducking your head to hide your flaming face.

Hansol lets out a low, victorious laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He pulls his hand back, letting you close the door, and you watch his taillights disappear into the morning light, your heart still racing.

Hansol doesn’t have much time tonight. His phone is already vibrating in his pocket with three other drop-offs pinned on his map, but when he reaches your door, his pace slows into effortless strides. He reaches out and gives the wood a lazy but firm knock.

When the door opens, the warm chamomile scent of your apartment spills out into the sterile hallway. You look tired as always but your eyes brightened the second they landed on him, dressed in his usual uniform of neutral colors, a hoodie pulled up just enough to frame his features, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“Right on time,” you greet him, a smile spreading across your face as you lean against the doorframe where he usually stands.

He doesn’t say much at first, just offers a small, knowing tilt of his head as he hands over the plain brown bag. His fingers brush yours briefly during the exchange, a spark of heat that lingers longer than the transaction warrants.

You take the bag, your brow furrowing as you feel the weight and the shape of the contents inside. You peer in, eyes widening slightly. “Did you mean to put two in the bag?” you ask, looking back up at him.

“Yep,” he answers simply, his voice low and gravelly in the quiet corridor.

“But I only paid for one.”

“I know. The other one is on me.”

You hesitate, confused, chewing on your lower lip. “Is this like a promo, or are you high right now?”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, that effortless charm radiating off him even in the dull atmosphere of the hallway. “Neither. You’ve had a rough week. Figured Bambi needed a little extra today.”

“That’s really sweet. But you don’t have to do that.”

He shifts his weight, closing the distance between you by just enough to make the air feel different. You hold your breath, acutely aware of how little space remains. Just a few inches more and your lips would touch.

“I want to.” Hansol’s voice is firm. “You’re not just a client. You know that, right?”

You look down at the bag, then back at him, your heart sinking into a slow, heavy thud. “Yeah. I think I knew that. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“Well, now you can assume a little,” he says, his gaze not wavering. “Also, tell me how that one hits. I picked it thinking of you, Bambi.”

You breath hitches. “You picked a strain thinking of me?”

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, one shoulder rising in a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just quietly flipped your entire world upside down. “Chill, warm, kinda sweet. Like you. Don’t overthink it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning your head against the wood of the door. “Too late. I’m absolutely overthinking it.”

Hansol checks his phone screen, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his features. “I gotta go. Others are waiting,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your lips for the briefest moment before pulling back up to meet yours. “I wish I could stay longer.”

“Me too,” you admit without hesitating, looking up at him through your lashes. You don’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from, but it’s there, and it makes Hansol smile beautifully.

A genuine, incredibly warm smile breaks across his face at your words, not his usual confident smirk, but something entirely soft and real, gums showing and the heart shape of his lips coming back. He begins to back away toward the elevator, his eyes never leaving yours until he finally has to turn around.

He reaches the elevator and presses the button. Just as the bell chimes and the doors begin to groan open, you step out into the hallway, your voice echoing off the walls.

“Hansol!”

He pauses, one foot already inside the elevator. He turns his head, a playful, expectant look on his face. “What’s up, Bambi?”

“Nothing big,” you begin, hands gripping the doorframe behind you. “Just... wanted to know if you ever think about me when we’re not together or texting.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, the metal doors framing him like a portrait. “I think about you pretty much all the time.” he claims. “Even when we are texting.”

The honesty of it makes your stomach flip, the padlock that holds the butterflies in your stomach slowly loosening. “Good,” you manage softly.

“You’re flirting with your plug right now, Bambi,” he points out, his voice dropping an octave, teasing yet dangerously sincere.

“Maybe,” you counter, shrugging as a bit of courage grows. “Is that illegal?”

“Mm, no, not really. Especially if I flirt back.”

“And would you?”

The elevator starts to beep, a warning that the doors were going to close. He steps fully into the car, leaning his shoulder against the back wall, looking at you with a heat in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

“Have been for the past three months,” Hansol confesses, his smirk widening as the doors begin to slide shut. “Just hiding behind a lot of self-control.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your face flushing a deep crimson. “Hm. Self-control’s kinda hot.”

“So is the girl in her doorway,” he shoots back.

The doors click shut, severing the connection and leaving you standing in the hallway with a racing heart and a bag held tight to your chest. Behind those closed metal doors, Hansol is already checking his map for the next stop, but his mind is still back at that doorway.

When Hansol shows up at your apartment a few weeks later, you’re so nervous about the night’s activities that you almost forget how to open the door.

He’s wearing a simple gray shirt and black sweatpants, a baseball cap with the brim facing backward. He smells like soap, faint weed smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. He leans against your doorframe the same way he’s been doing it for months now, and you are instantly, completely doomed.

Earlier this same day, you’d asked Hansol if he knew how to shotgun after the two of you saw it in a movie two nights before. Gently—and flirtatiously—he explained that it wasn’t that difficult, asking if you wanted to try it next time since it would involve the two of you getting closer than you ever had before.

Hansol always made you feel safe, and you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you, so you saw no reason not to try, even if there was still a chance you’d chicken out.

“You nervous?” he asks after you make room for him to come in. He slips off his shoes and tosses his keys onto the coffee table.

“A little,” you admit, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

His mouth curves lazily, his eyes crinkling just a fraction at the corners. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes, quickly looking away. You have to. Because if you don’t, Hansol will see exactly how hard that single word hits, and then you’ll never recover.

You guide him toward the balcony where you usually light one up. There’s only one beach chair out there, something you bought at a thrift store right after moving in and renewed yourself. The balcony is so small that the chair is practically wedged between the railing and a tiny patio table, alongside a forgotten fern surviving purely on its own willpower.

After a brief, pointless argument about it, you let Hansol keep the chair while you lean against the railing with your back to the city. Your knees bump together with every small, abrupt movement any way, the balcony too cramped for there to be any real distance between you.

Hansol sets the tin on the tiny table and flips it open. You lean in slightly to get a better look at the contents.

“This isn’t your usual stuff,” he says by way of introduction. He’s not looking at you yet, just at the tin as he pulls out the papers, setting everything in order with that unhurried precision of his. “Just so you know.”

You look at it, then at him. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” Hansol says it simply. “I wouldn’t bring something that’d mess you up, Bambi. You just…” He meets your eyes for a second to reassure you even though he already knows you trust him blindly. “Your usual is too mellow for this. You’d just fall asleep on me.”

“I don’t fall asleep that easily.”

He gives you a look so unimpressed it makes you laugh. “You fell asleep the last time.”

You would argue it wasn’t really the weed; it was Hansol. With him, you felt safe enough to fall asleep whenever and wherever, to finally shut out everything that usually kept you awake.

After a couple weeks, it had become a routine: he’d make his deliveries, then stay a while to keep you company until you drifted off. Eventually, you started smoking together, and usually he’d just share whatever you normally rolled for yourself, never seeming too concerned about how hard it hit, just worried that you’d sleep soundly.

Something about the way he speaks, though—matter-of-factly, like he knows you too well by now—makes your chest feel like it’s leaping out of place before crashing back down where it belongs.

“That was different,” you finally say, resting your elbows against the railing behind you.

“You were out in twenty minutes, Bambi.”

“Well, I was tired.”

“You were cooked,” he counters, no judgment in his tone, just a fact. Because—shockingly—he knows your tolerance as well. Of course he does. “This is something in between. Hybrid. It’ll relax you, but it’ll keep you here. You’ll actually feel it without it running you over.”

You look at the bag again. “Where’s it from?”

“Same guy. Different batch.” Hansol picks it up again, turns it once in his fingers with the easy confidence of someone who can read these things on sight. “It’s good. Not complicated. You’ll like it.”

You believe him. That’s the thing about Hansol knowing exactly what you smoke—about him knowing you. He’s never steered you wrong. He remembers what worked, what didn’t, what made you text him at midnight saying never again. He filed it all away somewhere without making it a thing, and now he just knows.

“Okay,” you say, your teeth catching your lower lip.

Hansol smiles, and then he tears the paper with a casual precision that shouldn’t be interesting to observe. It is. You try not to examine that too closely as he spreads everything even, long fingers working slow and deliberate, and there’s something almost meditative about the way he does it, no wasted movement or fumbling. Just ease.

He rolls it between his palms, smoothing it down. Then he raises it to his mouth, the lick slow as he seals the edge, and runs his thumb along it afterward, pressing it closed with the kind of focus that makes you look up at the sky for a second because you have absolutely no business staring at his mouth or tongue.

A few seconds later, he holds it up once, looking quietly satisfied with his work. Then he flicks the lighter, the flame catching small and warm in the dim space of the balcony. He brings it to the tip, cupping his hand around it out of habit even though there’s barely any wind, and draws in slowly, the paper crackling faintly as the cherry burns bright orange and the scent of marijuana slowly surrounds you both.

He holds it in for a moment, then lets it out slowly through his nose, unhurried. A thin ribbon of smoke drifts upward toward the sky before disappearing completely. He takes another drag, longer this time, and leans back into the chair, his head tipping slightly against the wall behind him, eyes closing for just a second like he’s savoring it.

There’s no explaining the reactions moving through your body just from watching him in action. The aching tension low in your stomach, the way your thighs press together instinctively, the strange heat that blooms every time his mouth closes around the joint.

Almost as if he’s reading your thoughts, Hansol looks at you and holds it out. Not pushy or expectant, just offering you, his elbow resting on his knee and the smoke curling up lazily between his fingers. He watches you with that expression you still haven’t figured out how to read, somewhere between patient and quietly amused.

You take it from him and bring it to your lips without overthinking it, one elbow still resting against the concrete behind you, the light breeze pushing your hair back from your face. You wrap your lips around the joint and draw the smoke slowly into your lungs, letting it settle there for a moment and holding it for a beat. The warmth spreads through your chest in a slow unfurl that reaches all the way to your fingertips.

When you exhale, the smoke slips from your mouth in a thin stream, immediately snatched away by the night breeze. Hansol’s eyes follow it for half a second before they drift back to your face.

“There you go,” he says, voice low and approving enough to make heat crawl right back up your neck.

You take one more hit, feeling the night softening slightly, the city sounds below drifting to a different register, the small balcony going quieter around you. Then you throw your head back to exhale the smoke, watching it disappear into the dark sky above you.

When you lower your gaze again, you catch the way Hansol’s eyes have drifted down the line of your throat to your collarbone, lingering there for just a second too long. The look sends another rush of heat through you, and he notices you noticing. His gaze flicks back up immediately, but not before the corner of his mouth curves faintly, subtle and almost guilty, like he got caught staring but doesn’t regret it nearly enough.

You pass the joint back to him, and he takes it from you, fingers brushing against yours in the exchange without either of you commenting on it. Hansol holds it loosely between his fingers and watches you for a moment with that same unreadable patience.

“Feeling it?”

“A little.” You shrug lightly, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the weed. “Give it a minute.”

Another crooked smile tugs at his mouth as he nods. Hansol brings the joint to his lips, dragging in slowly before blowing another lazy cloud of smoke into the night air. “Good,” he whispers, smoke still curling lazily from between his lips.

You can’t explain why the sight feels so unfairly appealing, heat now unfurling lower in your body at something so simple. It’s not like you’ve never seen him do this before, because you did. Except tonight, everything about Hansol feels amplified somehow; his hands, his mouth, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Even the way he looks at you feels… different, settling somewhere beneath your skin and and camping there.

Hansol takes another hit, the cherry burning bright for a moment before he pulls the joint away. He holds it there, and you watch his throat move slightly as he swallows the smoke. His eyes are half-closed, fixed somewhere out toward the city. He looks completely unbothered in a way that makes you feel the exact opposite.

Then he looks at you as he exhales one more time, his eyes searching yours through the haze. His brows arch slightly, and his voice comes out lower, roughened by the smoke he was holding in. “Ready?”

A wave of shivers travels across your skin like it has nowhere else to go. The butterflies in your stomach aren’t just fluttering anymore, they’re frantic, crashing wildly against your ribs every time your eyes meet his beautiful, inviting brown ones.

You’ve been thinking about this moment in various versions ever since you sent that text this morning. You’ve been thinking about it in the abstract, in the safe, theoretical space of it’s just a thing people do, it doesn’t mean anything, plenty of people do this without making it weird. You’ve spent hours constructing a very reasonable internal argument about proximity and exhaled smoke and the entirely non-romantic history of the practice.

All of that argument completely falls apart the moment Hansol says the word.

You just nod, pressing your lower lip between your teeth again before whispering, “Yeah.”

He explains how everything will work, walking you through each step, and even pulls his phone out of his pocket to show you a TikTok video in case it’s easier to learn visually. And maybe it’s ridiculous, but you love the effort he puts into making sure you feel comfortable, safe, completely at ease with him.

Hansol then sets the joint down on the edge of the glass ashtray. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he shifts in your thrift-store beach chair, making space for you between his knees. Then he taps his thigh twice.

“C’mere, Bambi.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

The balcony is already tiny, but the space between the chair and the railing suddenly feels like a tightrope. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, not sure if you heard right, your heart doing a wild, erratic dance in your chest. Once again, Hansol doesn’t pressure you; he just waits, his hand resting casually on his knee, his brown eyes going completely dark and focused entirely on you.

Stepping forward, you slowly let go of your grip on the railing. Before your nerves can make you chicken out, you step into his space and sit down across his lap.

The shift in perspective is dizzying. Suddenly, you’re completely enveloped in his presence, somehow even more than before. The fabric of his shirt is thin enough that you can feel the solid heat of his chest underneath it. His hands move instinctively, settling firmly around your waist to steady you on his lap. His grip is grounding, holding you securely against him.

Looking down at Hansol, you realize just how close your faces are, the kind of close he mentioned earlier. With the brim of his baseball cap turned backward, there’s nothing shading his eyes. You can see every tiny detail of Hansol: the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the heart-shaped curve of his mouth, the tiny freckles scattered across his nose, the intensity in his gaze as he looks up at you.

“Still nervous?” His voice drops so low and raspy it sends another wave of shivers straight down your spine, and you can barely hide the way your body reacts to it.

Your hands slowly find a home against his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “A little more now,” you admit honestly, not finding any reason to lie or hide it.

“Don’t be.” Hansol lets out a breathless laugh that brushes against your lips, the vibration hitting your chest. “I’ve got you, Bambi.”

And you believe him.

Without ceremony, Hansol picks up the joint from the table and takes a long drag before turning fully toward you. When he leans in, it’s slow and unhurried, making you understand immediately that he’s giving you time to adjust, or back out, if you want to. Mostly, because he’s Hansol, and well… he does everything at his own pace while respecting yours just as carefully. Rushing doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.

You lean in too, not much, just enough to show him that everything’s okay, that you are okay with this, that he can proceed however he wants. And you can see the exact moment his expression shifts with understanding, settling in his eyes like he expected nothing less.

Hansol parts his lips and exhales smoothly. The smoke comes out slow, and you inhale it in through your lips exactly the way he taught you to, barely touching him, but close enough that the warmth of his breath folds into yours.

Your eyes close immediately, and you hold it in for a beat, then another, the whole world narrowing down to the inch of space between your mouths, the solid heat of his hands at your waist, and the distant sound of the city existing somewhere far below, fading into something completely irrelevant.

You let it out and open your eyes to find that Hansol still hasn’t moved back. He’s watching you attentively from beneath his lashes, and there’s nothing patient or unreadable about his expression anymore.

Perhaps the marijuana is clouding your better judgment, but the look in his eyes feels different now, focused in a way that makes your stomach do a double twist. He looks like someone who has already made up his mind and is simply waiting for the exact right moment to act on it, maybe searching for the perfect opening before finally giving in to what he’s been holding back.

You suspect it’s the same for him as it is for you.

When his gaze drops to your mouth, you’re convinced this new hybrid he bought is playing tricks on your mind, especially when his eyes linger there long enough to make your breathing go shallow before finally lifting back to yours again.

“Again.” Hansol’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s definitely not a question.

You don’t trust your voice right now, so you just nod.

He picks up the joint again and takes another slow drag, the cherry burning warm between your bodies. You watch his throat move as he holds the smoke in, and it absolutely shouldn’t make you all hot and bothered but it does. His hands still haven’t left your waist, one thumb tracing a small arc just above your hip—probably unconscious, probably not even something he realizes he’s doing—and somehow the touch burns straight through the thin fabric of your shirt

Hansol turns back to you even closer this time. Or maybe you’re the one who moved in closer. Truthfully, you stopped keeping track of who’s been closing the distance first somewhere minutes ago, if the distance between you even really exists anymore.

He exhales, and you inhale him in again, and this time, when it’s over, neither of you pulls away. You stay in the half inch that remains, sharing the same air, and letting the moment stretch itself, his eyes fixed on yours.

There had been a few moments during this strange new friendship with your plug when you’d caught yourself wanting him to kiss you, or wishing you had enough courage to kiss him first. But this was different. Now the desire felt overwhelming, practically screaming inside your head as you stared at his mouth from impossibly close range, silently hoping he could somehow read your thoughts and finally close the tiny distance still separating you.

“Hansol…” His name leaves your lips like a shaky plea. Maybe just to say something, maybe just to fill the space before it you swallows you whole.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back. His pupils are enormous, and just by looking at them, you think he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “What do you want, Bambi?”

Your fingers tighten slightly against his shoulders, your pulse so loud you’re convinced he can feel it where your bodie1s are pressed together. “I—” The word catches in your throat before it can fully form.

For a second, all you can do is look at him, at the way his eyes keep flicking down to your mouth, at the patience still somehow woven through the tension sitting heavy between you. And then Hansol’s thumb drags slowly against your waist again, grounding and dangerous all at once, and your breath stutters.

His hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth, and for one dizzy second you’re sure he’s finally going to kiss you. But instead, he keeps you there, close enough to feel his breath against your lips as his eyes lock onto yours.

“Tell me what you want, Bambi,” he breathes, voice rough and impossibly steady at the same time. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

The words come out almost breathless, but the effect they have on Hansol is immediate. His eyes darken even more, and everything you can’t read in his expression is in his pupils, which dilate even further, if that’s even possible. His thumb brushes once across your jaw, and for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s letting himself fully believe you mean it.

Then his mouth curves faintly at the corner, a flicker of almost disbelieving amusement in his gaze. “Yeah?” he murmurs again, his voice low enough to melt straight through you.

You nod before he’s even finished speaking, and that’s all it takes for Hansol to stop hesitating. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over blindly, pressing the glowing cherry of the joint into the glass ashtray until it goes out completely. The second his hand is free again, it returns to your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you that final, infinite inch closer.

When his lips meet yours, the sheer relief of it makes you exhale a soft sigh right into his mouth. It’s everything you’ve been agonizing over for the past three months, amplified by a thousand.

It starts slow, exploratory and incredibly filled with the same patient precision he applies to everything else. Your hands slide up from his shoulders to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, right beneath the edge of his backwards cap, and Hansol lets out the quietest grunt against your lips like he’s been wanting this just as badly as you have.

His hands at your waist tighten, pulling you flush against his chest until there’s nothing left between you. He adjusts you slightly so you’re seated more securely against him, surrounded by the solid warmth of his body, a jolt of electricity traveling straight down to your toes at the feeling of him pressed against you.

Tilting his head, Hansol parts your lips with his own, the kiss deepening into something that makes your head spin faster than any pot ever could. He tastes exactly like you imagined: sweet and earthy, like the lingering haze in the air around you, mixed with something unmistakably, comfortingly him.

The feeling of being held so securely, combined with the gentle, creeping warmth of the hybrid strain, makes everything around you fade. The apartment, the city sounds below, the cold night breeze, the small balcony; it all completely disappears. There is only the solid weight of Hansol beneath you, the steady, grounding grip of his hands on you, and the rhythm of his mouth moving deliciously against yours.

The butterflies in your stomach have ignited into a heavy heat that pools low in your belly as his tongue sweeps against your lower lip, coaxing you to open up more to him. You follow his lead blindly, completely lost in the sensation of his hands mapping the curve of your spine and his mouth devouring your every breath.

When you finally, breathlessly, pull back just enough to draw air into your burning lungs, you don’t go far. You rest your forehead against the brim of his cap, eyes closed, chest heaving. You can hear Hansol breathing just as heavily, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin along your jawline.

“You okay, Bambi?” he asks into the tiny space between your lips, a lazy, satisfied smile evident in the rough timbre of his voice.

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you with an expression so soft, so completely stripped of that unreadable patience, that it makes your heart ache in the absolute best way possible.

You nod, biting your lip to keep yourself from kissing him breathless again. “Better than okay,” you answer, nodding frantically, your hands sliding down to frame his face as you lean in briefly.

His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering along your jawline. Hansol’s voice is soft when he speaks, a faintly amused crease forming between his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“I’m great,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. You can’t help but let out a shaky laugh, still in disbelief at what just happened. You just kissed. No, you just kissed Hansol. “Didn’t expect tonight to go like that.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Me neither. Not complaining though.”

Another flustered laugh escapes you, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder for a second to hide your face. “Just so you know... I literally asked you to come over to teach me how to shotgun. Not make out with me on my balcony.”

He hitches you a little higher on his lap. “Okay but... you didn’t exactly stop me.”

“I didn’t want to stop you,” you admit softly, looking back up at him, the honesty leaving you feeling completely vulnerable in his arms.

His gaze drifts down to your lips again, the air crackling with a heat that has nothing to do with the weed. “I want to kiss you again,” he confesses, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “Is that okay?”

You nod, too caught up in the intensity of his stare to manage words. Hansol leans forward, his hand cupping your jaw as he closes the distance between you again. He kisses you slowly once more, as though savoring every second. One hand slides from your jaw into your hair, while the other keeps you firmly anchored against him—not that you plan to go anywhere while he keeps kissing you like that.

You melt into his embrace, losing yourself in the taste of him further. You feel him grin against your mouth, his hands slipping under the back of your shirt to find the bare skin of your back. His palms are warm, and the slow drag of them up your spine makes you shiver. You feel the heat of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it’s not enough. You want to feel his skin beneath your fingers.

When he pulls back this time, it’s only far enough to start peppering your jaw with kisses. Your breath hitches as his lips move lower, skimming down the column of your throat until you can feel the heat of his mouth even through your shirt.

“Hansol,” you gasp against the crown of his head, hands reaching up to push his cap down and thread your fingers into his hair. “The balcony isn’t very private.”

He hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t stop the delicious maddening, drugging kisses he’s placing along your collarbone. “Your neighbors can see?”

A moan escapes your lips when he bites your most sensitive spot. You shake your head, trying to force words out. “Just the people below.”

He pulls back to look at you with a crooked smile. Hansol rests his forehead against yours, hand still cupping your face. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admits, not a hint of shyness on his face.

“You have?” you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

“Of course I have.” Hansol chuckles, like it’s almost absurd to think otherwise, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “From the moment our eyes met.” He pauses briefly, then adds, “You’re impossible not to want, Bambi.”

Your breath hitches at his words, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want you too,” you whisper, suddenly feeling more bold. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you under that shady streetlight.”

His grip on your waist tightens, his lips hovering just over yours. “Is that so?”

“It is.” You nod, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

With a single movement, Hansol stands up with you still in his arms, making you let out a small squeal as you wrap your legs around his waist to steady yourself, your arms linking around his neck, and face burying in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.

He moves with an easy strength that makes your head spin, carrying you as if you weight nothing at all. The world tilts on its axis, the view of your tiny balcony shifting into a dizzying blur of city lights and dark sky. This side of him is almost enough to give you whiplash, but you can’t help but loving it.

As he moves, you inhale deeply, and the scent of him is a heady, overwhelming cocktail: the clean soap from his shower, the earthy tang of the weed clinging to his shirt, and something underneath it all that is just purely, intoxicatingly Hansol, something you’re still trying to figure out.

You feel him shift his grip, one hand supporting your thighs as he navigates the threshold of the sliding glass door. There’s a moment of slight awkwardness as he sidesteps into the living room, the cool night air replaced by the still, warm atmosphere of your apartment. But he doesn’t put you down. Instead, he kicks the door shut with the back of his heel, the soft thud echoing in the sudden silence.

The only light comes from the faint glow of the city filtering through the windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. It paints his features in soft grays and deep blacks, highlighting the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. In the dim light, he looks less like your friendly neighborhood plug and more like a fantasy brought to life.

The effects of the weed hums pleasantly in your veins, a syrupy sensation that makes everything feel slow-motion and dreamlike. Every nerve ending in your body is awake and singing, amplifying the feeling of his body against yours, the texture of his shirt under your cheek, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

Hansol crosses the small living room in three long strides and gently lays you down on the cushions of your couch. He doesn’t move away, though. He follows you down, one knee on the cushions between your legs, his hands bracketing your head as he leans over you. His body cages you in a welcome weight that makes you feel incredibly safe.

“You’re suddenly quiet,” he observes, his voice still a low, gravelly whisper.

His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, the simple touch sending a cascade of sparks across your skin. The hybrid strain he brought is doing exactly what he promised: you’re relaxed, your limbs heavy and pliant, but your mind is sharp, hyper-focused on him. Every tiny detail is magnified—the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the sheer heat radiating from his body.

“Just… processing,” you manage to breathe out.

A slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips. “Processing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the space between you. “Us. And the fact that you just carried me out of my own balcony like I was a sack of potatoes.”

Hansol lets out a low chuckle. “A very cute sack of potatoes.” He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch. “I can process with you, if you want.”

You don’t need to answer. You just slide your hands from his shoulders up into his hair, your fingers sinking into the soft, thick strands. You pull his head down, and this time the kiss isn’t slow or exploratory. It’s hungry, desperate, a release of all the tension that has been building between you for months.

His mouth meets yours with equal force, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours in a slick, heated dance. It’s messy and perfect and everything you’ve been craving. His hands leave the couch, one sliding down your side to rest possessively on your hip, the other threading into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he angles the kiss deeper.

A soft moan escapes your throat, and you feel him smile against your mouth. The sensation of his tongue in your mouth is an almost psychedelic experience. You can feel every texture, taste every note of him, the world narrowing down to the single, explosive point of contact between you, and it feels incredible.

His kisses trail from your mouth, hot and open mouthed, down the sensitive line of your jaw, to the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. You arch your back, granting him better access, your head tipping back against the cushions. His lips find the soft spot just above your collarbone, the same one he bit on the balcony, and he sucks gently, creating a pleasant pressure that sends a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.

“Hansol,” you whine, your hips instinctively bucking up against him. The friction of his sweatpants against the thin fabric of your shorts is maddening.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and damp. He doesn’t stop his assault, his mouth moving lower, pressing kisses against the thin cotton of your shirt, right over your heart. You can feel the damp heat of his mouth through the fabric, while his tongue circles your nipple.

“I need…” You trail off at the feeling, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing you need more.

He seems to understand perfectly, pushing himself up slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze is dark and intense, his pupils blown wide. Add in the messy hair and swollen lips, and it’s the most insane, delightful sight you’ve ever seen in your life.

“I know what you need, Bambi.”

Without another word, he moves down your body. His hands find the waistband of your shorts, his fingers hooking into the elastic. He pauses for a beat, his eyes asking a silent question. You give a single, shaky nod, and that’s all he needs. Your shorts and underwear are gone in one smooth, efficient motion, tossed onto the floor beside the couch.

The cool air of the room hits your bare skin, and you shiver, a mixture of cold and raw, unadulterated anticipation. He stays there for a moment, kneeling between your legs, his gaze slowly, reverently, taking in the sight of you. The look in his eyes isn’t lecherous; it’s one of pure, unadulterated appreciation, and it makes a fresh wave of heat pool low in your belly.

You like to think getting high has stripped away your usual inhibitions, leaving you feeling bold and open beneath his stare. You part your legs for him, exposing your folds entirely, a silent, shameless invitation. His answering smile is devastating. He leans forward, his hands coming to rest on your inner thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there in slow, hypnotic circles.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, and you can just make out the slow smile forming on his lips. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

Hansol lowers his head, and his hot breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, making you gasp and buck against his hands. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the top of your mound before his tongue finally sweeps down.

The first touch is electric. It’s a broad, wet slide from bottom to top that makes your entire body jerk. A strangled cry escapes your lips, and your hands fly up, fisting in the fabric of the couch cushions beside your head. He chuckles against you, before he settles in, and you realize with a jolt that his earlier patience and precision have returned, now focused entirely on your pleasure.

If he wasn’t your plug, you’d swear Hansol was a cartographer, mapping every fold and crevice with his mouth. His tongue is relentless, sometimes teasing with light, feathery licks around the edges, other times pressing down with a firm, insistent pressure that makes you see stars and the world dissolves into pure sensations.

You can feel the rough texture of his faint stubble against your inner thighs, the slick heat of his mouth, the gentle pull of his suction. Your hands leave the cushions, searching blindly for purchase. They find his head, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You grip him tight, your body starting to writhe as he finds your clit and circles it slowly, deliberately, driving you mad.

“Hansol,” you moan, tugging gently on the hair your fingers are tangled in. He pauses, his mouth still pressed against you, and look up, eyes wide with a mixture of lust and confusion. “Want your hand, too.”

If there’s one thing the night has left you with, it’s the thought of his hands, especially the way it looked while he rolled the joint.

He chuckles, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your thigh. He pushes himself up, moving from between your legs to hover over you on the couch. The sudden loss of his mouth makes you let out a small, complaining whimper.

“My hand?” he asks, voice not even trying to hide the amusement. He held up his right hand, palm open, presenting it to you like a sacred offering.

And you take it, your own hands trembling slightly as you hold his. You bring it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm before turning it over and kissing each of his long fingers one by one. You study his long deft fingers with a devotee’s focus, your gaze tracing the road map of pretty blue veins beneath his pale skin.

Every detail of it turns you on enough so you take the pad of his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it gently, your eyes fluttering shut as your hips rolled up against his thigh in a slow, needy grind. The solid muscle against your bare pussy pulls an even needier moan from your throat.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest, pupils going wider. He leans over you, free hand bracing on the couch cushion beside your head.

“Jesus, Bambi,” he gasp, lips now brushing against the skin of your stomach, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. “Then let me fuck you with it.”

You release his thumb with a wet pop and let his hand go. He reclaims it, eyes burning into yours, before he moves back between your legs. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning down, his mouth finding your folds again, his tongue lapping at your pussy with a renewed vigor that makes you cry out. At the same time, he slips one of his long fingers inside you.

The sudden fullness combined with the merciless work of his mouth is too much. Your senses overload, a wave of pleasure building higher and higher until you’re certain you’re going to shatter. You writhe against the couch, back arching, hips lifting off the cushions to meet the pressure of his mouth and hand.

“Please.” The word tears itself from your throat before you can think. “Hansol, please.”

He hums in response, adding a second finger and giving a harsh suck to your clit. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot deep within that sent a lightning bolt of pure ecstasy tearing straight through your body, while his tongue works faster and harder against your clit.

You grip his hair like an anchor against the raging sea of pleasure he’s created, pulling him closer, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp as the wave crests. “Oh, god, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He seems to take that as a challenge, tongue flicking even faster, fingers curling inside you with precision until they find the spot that undoes everything. The wave doesn’t crest so much as collapse, and then you break completely.

Your orgasm crashes over you, a blinding, white-hot supernova of pleasure that rips a scream from your lungs, no room for thinking of anything as trivial as your neighbors. Your body convulses, your inner muscles clenching tightly around his head. You grip his hair tighter, hips bucking wildly as the waves of pleasure roll through you, one after another, leaving you utterly breathless and spent.

Hansol doesn’t stop, though, continuing to lick and soothe you through the aftershocks until your trembling subsides and you melt into the couch, a boneless, quivering mess.

He finally pulls away, and you let out a weak whimper at the loss of contact. He moves up your body, his face slick, lips swollen. He looks impossibly pleased with himself, a satisfied smirk playing on his mouth. He leans down and captures your lips in a wet kiss, and you can taste yourself on him, the flavor musky and sweet and incredibly erotic.

When he pulls back, you’re panting, your mind a blissful, hazy fog. “Wow,” is all you can manage to say.

He giggles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re very welcome, Bambi.”

You lie there for a moment, letting the last delicious tremors of your orgasm fade, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. The need to reciprocate, to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he just gave you, is practically a primal urge. You reach out, your hand landing on the front of his sweatpants. You can feel the thick, hard length of him through the soft fabric, and a fresh wave of desire cuts through your post-orgasmic haze.

“My turn,” you whisper, your voice husky.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, then swing your legs over the side of the couch. You sit up and look at him, at the hunger in his eyes. Without a word, you slide off the couch and onto your knees on the rug in front of him. Hansol’s breath hitches audibly while you reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants, fingers fumbling slightly.

He covers your hands with his. “You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

You just look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze, and give a slow nod. He removes his hands and leans back against the couch, giving you complete control. You pull the string, loosening the waistband, and then slowly peel the gray fabric down his hips, revealing the taut line of his stomach and the trail of thin hair that disappears below. You push the sweatpants down past his knees, along with his black boxer briefs, freeing him.

He is beautiful. Long, thick, and perfectly straight. A single, clear bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and your mouth waters. You reach out a tentative hand, fingers wrapping around his velvety length. Hansol groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the floor, his hips twitching involuntarily.

You lean forward, your hair falling around your face like a curtain, and take him into your mouth. You start slowly, your tongue tracing the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock, following it all the way to the head. He tastes like an incredible mix of salt and musk, and you take him deeper, lips creating a wet, tight seal around him.

Hansol hisses through his teeth, hands coming up to fist in your hair, but his grip is gentle, reverent, nothing like the desperate way you clung to him moments ago.

“Shit, that’s it,” he breathes, the words barely holding together when you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper.

You soon find a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, one hand stroking the base of his cock in time with the movements of your mouth. You love the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way he pulses and hardens even further against your tongue. You love even more the sounds he makes, the low, broken groans and sharp intakes of breath that tell you exactly how good you’re making him feel.

He starts to move his hips, a slow, rocking motion that pushes him deeper into your throat with each thrust. You gag slightly, but it’s a good feeling, a feeling of being completely taken, completely used for his pleasure. You take him as deep as you can, your throat muscles contracting around him.

“Fuck, Bambi,” he grits out, his head thrown back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. And you take a moment to appreciate this stunning view of Hansol. “You’re so good at this.”

His praise sends a thrill through you. You pick up the pace, your hand and mouth working faster, more desperately. You can feel the tension building in him, the way his whole body has gone rigid, his hips bucking more insistently against your mouth. You can feel the tell-tale pulse at the base of his cock that signals he’s close.

Just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back, his hands gripping your shoulders. “Wait, Bambi,” he gasps, his chest heaving. “Stop. I wanna be inside you.”

Hansol pulls you up from the floor, his movements urgent. You’re on your feet, swaying slightly, his hands firm on your hips. He doesn’t let you go. Instead, he hooks his thumbs into the hem of his own shirt and rips it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the floor.

Before you can fully process the view of his bare chest, his hands are at the hem of your shirt. His fingers are scorching hot against the skin of your stomach as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, eyes never leaving yours as he lets your shirt fall to the floor beside his.

The air is cool on your bare skin, but his gaze is molten hot. It drops from your eyes to your chest, and his breath hitches. His pupils dilate, swallowing the brown of his irises until they’re almost black. He looks at you with a kind of raw reverence that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a prayer. “Bambi, you’re… incredible.”

He closes the small distance between you, and his hands, those beautiful hands you were just worshipping, come up to cup your breasts. The feeling of his palms against your skin makes you gasp. He holds you with a surprising gentleness, his thumbs stroking over your nipples, coaxing them into tight, aching points. You moan, your head falling back as you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.

That sound seems to break whatever restraint he had left. He pushes you back gently, your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and you tumble backward onto the cushions. He follows you down immediately, settling between your parted thighs, his bare chest pressing against yours.

“You’re still so wet for me,” he growls against your lips, his hand sliding down between your legs to confirm his words. Your slickness coats his fingers instantly, and he circles your clit with his thumb, making you whimper.

“Please, Hansol,” you beg, your nails digging into his broad back. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing you. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a possessive glint. “Look at me, Bambi.”

You obey, your eyes locking with his. The connection is intense, electric.

And then Hansol pushes forward.

The feeling of him entering you is breathtaking. He moves slowly, stretching you, filling you inch by glorious inch. It’s a perfect, snug fit, a feeling of completion. You let out a long, shuddering sigh as Hansol sinks into you all the way to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, letting you adjust to the size of him. He rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You feel… perfect.”

The sensation of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the incredible heat of him deep inside you. It’s as if your bodies were made for this.

He kisses the tip of your nose before saying, “So polite.”

He begins to move, in a rhythm that has your head spinning. He pulls back almost all the way, the sensation of his withdrawal a sweet torture, before thrusting back in, burying himself deep inside you again. Each thrust is a wave of pleasure, building on the last. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, watching your face as he fucks you.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Your moans mix with his grunts, creating a pornographic symphony in your living room. The pace quickens, his slow thrusts turning faster, harder, more frantic. He’s no longer the patient, gentle Hansol you know; he’s a man driven by pure need, and you meet his energy with your own, arching your hips to meet his every powerful thrust.

The friction is building, the pleasure coiling tight and hot in your lower belly. The couch creaks in protest beneath you, the only sound apart from your panting breaths and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking a new bruise into your skin as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

“You’re so tight,” he groans into your ear, his voice strained. “So fucking good, Bambi.”

You’re close again, so close. The world is nothing but a blur of sensations: the feeling of him filling you, the heat of his skin, the scent of his sweat, the sound of his voice calling your name.

“Hansol, I’m—I’m close!” you cry out, your voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he pants, his thrusts becoming deeper, even more frantic, slamming into you with a desperate intensity. “Come for me. Let me feel you come apart around me.”

That’s all it takes. His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his cock deep inside you, push you over the edge. Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, even more intense than the first. Your vision whites out, a scream tears from your throat, and your inner muscles clench around him in a powerful, milking release.

You can feel that your climax triggers his, but instead of driving deeper, he rips himself out of you with a wet, slick sound that echoes in the quiet room. The sudden feeling of emptiness makes you gasp. In a single, fluid motion, he positions himself over you, his hips hovering above your stomach.His eyes are squeezed shut, face a mask of pure pleasure as his body goes rigid. You watch, mesmerized, as thick, hot ropes of his cum splash across your belly.

Hansol collapses beside you on the couch, his chest heaving as he shudders through the last aftershocks of his own release. He pulls you into his side, one arm wrapping securely around you. You both lie there for a moment, catching your breath, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

You look down at the pearly mess cooling on your stomach. Slowly, you lift a hand and dip your index finger into the thickest part of it. The texture is sticky and still warm. You lift your finger, your eyes finding his in the dim light, only to discover Hansol already watching you, his own gaze heavy-lidded and curious. You hold his gaze as you slowly bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the tip clean.

A groan escapes his throat, a sound of pure, astonished pleasure. His arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies are flush against each other. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bambi,” he rasps, his voice with a mixture of exhaustion and renewed desire.

He buries his face in your hair, and you melt into him, tangled together in a heap of sweaty limbs. The hazy, blissful fog of the weed settles over you like a warm blanket, cocooning you in the aftermath of pure, unadulterated bliss. His body is heavy and grounding next to yours, and you’ve never felt more safe, more sated, in your entire life.

The night was nothing like you expected, and everything you never knew you wanted.

But just then, an afterthought—one that doesn’t belong in this moment at all—surfaces and slips out before you can stop it. “Was that just because we were high?”

The light in Hansol’s eyes instantly softens, replaced by a profound, heavy sincerity that pins you to the spot. He reaches up, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch incredibly gentle.

“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice steady and absolute. “At least not for me. I wanted you the first time I saw you. I just didn’t wanna mess up what we had, but being around you is kinda messing me up anyway. In a good way.”

Your heart skips a beat, a massive wave of warmth blooming in your chest. The butterflies have completely escaped their cage by now, flying far, far away.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly. “You like me?”

“A lot more than I could describe probably.” Hansol nods, his brown eyes shining. “But yeah, I do like you. You’re stuck in my head all the time, Bambi.”

You look at him, a wide smile breaking across your face, completely erasing any residual trace of executive dysfunction or anxiety. “What if I like you back?” you tease, tilting your head and resting your chin on his chest.

Hansol’s smile turns incredibly bright, a boyish expression of pure relief taking over his features as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you closer.

“Then I’m the luckiest plug in this city.”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST

If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!! 💗

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @bmo-bri @chromequette @codeinebelle @paradiseoflosers @tinyelfperson @dcrlingyou @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @haaruki @bath1lda @hoshstruck @wubbz05 @jihoonsbbygirl @smiileflower @tastyluvr @gyuguys @nerdycheol @christinewithluv @jesauiin @ughokmyg @raggedypansexual @caratcak3 @ateez-atiny380 @meowchella @jeonsfries @whoisbaek15 @damnedangel98 @sumzysworld @theidontknowmehn @mingyuuulover @andreethier @sarabencze @weepingsweep @minhui896 @blaycke @miyx-amour @pl4netx1a @ohwowzersthatscool @ahuiahoe @bee-the-loser @im-gemmy @ssamarzi @my-neurodivergent-world @wonsrat @starmy-143 @wonu13 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @nonuverse @gyuhao365 @healingmv @coupsarchive

Seungcheol is forty-seven minutes deep into this video call and he has absorbed precisely none of it. His manager's voice comes through the headset like a monotone hum. He can swear this woman's voice is designed to sandpaper the edges of his sanity. On screen, a grid of eight faces, all feigning attention, and his own small rectangle in the corner shows a man who hasn't blinked in thirty seconds because he's too busy tracking a silhouette moving past the doorway.

That's you. Just a flicker of movement—bare legs, the hem of an oversized t-shirt he knows is his, the soft grey one you stole three months ago and never gave back—and his concentration detonates. His cock twitches against his thigh, a slow, traitorous swell that has nothing to do with whatever the hell his manager is droning on about.

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, the springs groaning under his weight, and tilts his head just enough to catch a sliver of the kitchen through the gap in the doorframe. You're at the counter now, back to him, reaching to open the microwave. The t-shirt stretches, outlining the curve of your butt. Suddenly, the fabric rides up as you tiptoe to grab something from the cupboard above and the very bottom of your ass peeks out, bare and soft-looking, and he has to swallow a sound that would get him fired.

"—and moving forward, I think we need to restructure our code reviews which are taking two days on average," his manager drones, and Seungcheol wants to scream. Fuck them code reviews. He's going to lose his mind. He's going to combust in this ergonomic chair and they'll find him as nothing but a pile of ash and a half-hard dick.

His fingers drum against the armrest. He risks another glance. You're bent over now, rummaging in the fridge, and the t-shirt has ridden up so high he can see the crease where your thigh meets your ass. Seungcheol knows exactly how that crease tastes. He knows the sound you make when he presses his tongue flat against it and drags upward. He knows the way you shudder, the way your hand fists in his hair, the way you always whisper his name in a mix of a curse and a prayer.

Fuck. His cock is fully hard now, a rigid line trapped in his sweatpants and boxer briefs in a way that's becoming painful. He shifts in his seat, trying to find relief, and accidentally knocks his knee against the underside of his desk with a dull thud that makes his microphone—that he forgot to mute—spike.

"You okay there, Seungcheol?" His manager's voice cuts through, and for one horrifying second his heart stops. But he quickly realises that it's just the noise that drew her attention. Just the thud.

"Yeah, fine," he says, and his voice comes out strained, a little too tight. "Just—hit my knee on the table."

He mutes himself. Lets out a breath that shakes. Rubs his palm over his face and tries to think about spreadsheets. Deadlines. Anything except you currently being in the kitchen or the way you looked this morning when you rolled out of bed, hair a disaster, his t-shirt swallowing you, and kissed him on the forehead before padding to the bathroom. Domestic shit. Soft, sweet, married-couple shit that still makes his chest ache even now, months in, even after everything.

It's worse now. That's the thing. He thought it would level out—the insatiable, clawing need that's been devouring him since that first drunk night on the couch. He thought once the novelty wore off, once you'd had each other in every conceivable position on every conceivable surface, the fever would break and you'd settle into something manageable. Normal.

It didn't.

It got so much worse.

Last Friday, for instance. You both worked from home. By his generous estimate, you managed three hours of actual productivity between you. The rest of the day dissolved into a blur of skin and sweat and the obscene, wet sound of his cock sliding into you over and over. He bent you over your desk during what was supposed to be a fifteen-minute coffee break and didn't pull out for forty-five. You sucked him off under his desk during a monthly team call on Google Meet, his teeth sinking into his fist and leaving marks just to keep from moaning into an unmuted mic, his eyes watering with restraint of not rolling back into his skull. Seungcheol fucked you against the hallway wall on the way to the bathroom, one hand clamped over your mouth, your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails carving trenches into his shoulders through his shirt. By the end of the day you couldn't walk straight. Neither could he. You ordered pizza and ate it cross-legged on the floor of your living room, half-naked, feeding each other slices and communicating with humms and grunts because forming full thoughts and voicing them felt like mission impossible. And then he got hard again just from watching you lick grease off your thumb, and you let him lay you back on the soft carpet and fill you up again, until you were both too wrecked to move.

So yeah. It didn't level out. It metastasised.

And now it's Tuesday, and he's been on this call for almost an hour, and you are a room away, in the kitchen, heating up leftovers, and his entire body is humming with want. He can smell you from here. He swears he can—that faint, familiar scent of your body wash and underneath it, the warm scent of your skin that makes his mouth water and his brain go syrupy and stupid.

"—so if everyone could have their reports in by Thursday," his manager is saying, finally, mercifully, "that would be great. Any questions? No? Great. Thanks, everyone."

The call ends. Seungcheol doesn't even say goodbye. He yanks the headset off, tosses it onto his desk, and is out of the bedroom before his chair stops spinning.

You hear him coming. He's not particularly secretive about his arrival—the heavy, purposeful tread of a man who spends too much time at the gym and hasn't learned to move quietly in a shared apartment. But you don't turn around. You're standing at the counter, reaching for the microwave handle, when his arms wrap around you from behind and his body folds over yours like a collapsing star.

He's so big. That's the first thing you register, the same thing you register every time—the sheer, enveloping mass of him. His chest presses against your back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of your—his—t-shirt. His arms circle your waist, thick and possessive, and his face buries into the crook of your neck with a sound that can only be described as a whimper.

"You're done?" you ask, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice.

"Finally," he mumbles against your skin. His lips move as he speaks, brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you have to suppress a shiver. "Thought she was never going to shut up. I was losing my mind."

"Yeah, I could hear her from here. That voice is something else. Like a sadistic lullaby."

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, his breath warm and damp against your throat. "It's not funny. I was suffering."

"Poor baby." You tilt your head, giving him more access without thinking, your body responding to his proximity the way it always does—on instinct, on autopilot, like your nerve endings have been rewired to recognise him as a primary need. Purely Pavlovian response. "My heart bleeds for you and your very important corporate meeting."

"Don't be mean." He pouts. You can't see his face but you know he's pouting—you can hear it in the way his voice goes soft and petulant, the way his lower lip juts out. "I missed you."

"I was literally a wall away."

"That's a wall too far."

The microwave beeps. You reach for it again, but Seungcheol's hand catches yours first. His fingers slide between yours, locking them together, and he pulls your hand back down, pressing it flat against the counter top. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt and settles on your lower belly, palm warm and broad and possessive.

"Food can wait," he murmurs.

You open your mouth to argue, to tease him about being a needy, insufferable menace, but then his palm presses down. Just a little. Just enough to apply pressure, to make you aware of the heat pooling low in your abdomen, of the way your body responds to him on a level that has nothing to do with conscious thought. An involuntary sound escapes your throat—small, breathy, embarrassing—and you feel your pussy clench around nothing.

"That's what I thought," he says, and there's a smile in his voice now, satisfied and soft and infuriating.

His lips find the junction of your neck and shoulder. He kisses you there, slow and open-mouthed, and then his teeth graze your skin and you stop breathing for a second.

"Cheol."

"Mm?"

"You're doing that thing."

"What thing?" He does it again—a gentle scrape of teeth, followed by the wet, soothing press of his tongue—and your knees go weak.

"That thing where you—where you turn me into—" You can't finish the sentence. His lips have found a new spot, just above your collarbone, and he's sucking a bruise into existence with the kind of focused intensity he usually reserves for boss fights in Elden Ring. Your brain fills with static. Your hands grip the edge of the counter. "—into a—fuck."

"Into a what?" He pulls back just long enough to speak, his voice low and rough and dripping with false innocence. "Use your words, baby."

"I hate you."

"No you don't." Kiss. Bite. Suck. "You love it. You love when I make you all dumb and shaky. When I take my time and turn you into a little mess before I've even touched you properly." Another kiss, this one pressed to the shell of your ear. "I know you're clenching even without touching you, baby. You think I'm not aware? Oh, I am. I know your body better than I know my own at this point."

You think of saying something sharp, to cut through the haze and reassert some semblance of control. But Seungcheol is right. He does know your body. He's spent months mapping every inch of it with his hands and his mouth and his cock, learning every spot that makes you gasp, every rhythm that makes you fall apart. And right now, with his palm still pressing on your lower belly and his lips trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, the only thing your brain can produce is a stream of increasingly pathetic sounds.

You think, distantly, about the irony of it. Months ago you called him a loser to your friend. You rolled your eyes at his compression shirts and his anime figures and his inability to talk to women. And now here you are, melting into a puddle of need because he's kissing your neck and breathing on you. Your friends have noticed, of course. Because you can't exactly hide it. You walk into every brunch, every cafe meetup, wearing the unmistakable glow of a woman who's getting thoroughly, regularly, devastatingly fucked. Loud and proud as they say.

Seungcheol's fingers have trailed lower while you were lost in thought. They're resting on the waistband of your underwear now, tracing the elastic edge with a maddening lightness that makes your hips twitch.

"Mmm, bet you're so wet already," he murmurs, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the smug, reverent delight. "I haven't even done anything and you're soaking through your panties, aren't you? What am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know," you manage, your voice coming out embarrassingly breathy. "Maybe actually fuck me instead of just talking about it?"

"Impatient." He nips at your earlobe. "I like it."

His fingers dip lower, pressing against you through the damp cotton of your underwear and finding his theory to be true. The pressure is light, teasing, nowhere near enough, and you can feel your pussy clenching and throbbing again, desperate for more, desperate for anything. Behind you, pressed against the curve of your ass, his cock is a hard, insistent weight. He's been half-hard since the call started—you could guess from the way he was squirming in his chair, the way his eyes kept cutting toward the kitchen—but now he's fully erect, thick and hot even through the layers of his sweatpants and your t-shirt that barely covers your ass anymore. He rocks against you, a slow, deliberate grind, and the friction makes you both groan.

"Thought about this the whole call," he says, his voice dropping into that lower register that makes your stomach flip. "Thought about bending you over this counter. Thought about pulling these little panties to the side and sliding into you while you're still trying to heat up your stupid breakfast leftovers. Thought about filling you up so full you'd be leaking me all afternoon while you sit in your meetings pretending to be a professional."

"That's—" You swallow, hard. "That's what you were thinking about? During a work call?"

"Every second." Seungcheol grinds against you again, and this time you can feel the full length of him, the girth that still makes your mouth water even after all these months. "Couldn't focus. Couldn't think about anything except your tight little cunt and how bad I need to be inside it. How bad I need to use it."

He says that and lets out a shameful pathetic mewl.

The word "use" and the desperate sound that escapes him land in your chest and detonate. You know what he's doing—he's working you up, talking filth the way he knows you like, the way that makes you weak and pliant and ready to let him do anything. And normally you would let him. Normally you would let him spin you around, bend you over, and fuck you stupid right here against the kitchen counter, and you would come apart on his cock and thank him for it afterwards.

But thanks to his little pathetic display you're feeling something else. Something sharper. Seungcheol spent an hour squirming in his chair thinking about using you? Fine. But you spent that same hour catching glimpses of him in his stupid soft flannel shirt, his hair messy, his brows furrowed, his plush lips wrapped around his water bottle, and you've been simmering with your own kind of want. And maybe it's the oncoming ovulation hormones, or maybe it's the way he whimpered when he first wrapped his arms around you and mewled just now, but something in you decides that today, you're not going to be the one who gets reduced to a mindless, begging mess.

Today, that's going to be him.

His fingers have slipped under the waistband of your panties now, tracing through your slick folds with a slow, exploratory pressure that makes your breath hitch. He's about to push inside—you can feel the tension in his wrist, the way his breathing has gone ragged against your neck—when you reach around with your free hand and squeeze his cock through his sweatpants.

Hard.

Seungcheol makes a sound you've never heard before. A choked, strangled yelp that's half surprise and half something else entirely. His whole body jerks against you, his hips bucking into your grip, and his fingers freeze where they are.

"What—" he starts, but you squeeze again, and the word dissolves into a whimper.

"Here's what's going to happen, baby," you say, and your voice comes out breathless but somewhat steady. "You're going to take your hand out of my panties. You're going to get on your knees. And you're going to do exactly what I tell you. Got it, hmm?"

Seungcheol doesn't answer immediately. His chest is heaving against your back, his cock throbbing in your grip, and you can feel the war happening inside him—the instinct to take over, to reclaim control, wrestling with the part of him that loves this, the part that goes soft and eager and desperate when you turn the tables.

"Got it?" you repeat, and you twist your wrist just enough to make him gasp.

"Yeah," he breathes, voice going a little higher than usual. "Yeah, okay. Got it."

"Good boy."

The words hit him like a physical blow. You feel the full-body shudder that runs through him, the way his cock kicks against your palm, the way his breathing goes even more ragged and uneven. He pulls his hand out of your panties slowly, reluctantly, and you release your grip on him just long enough for him to step back.

"Strip," you say as soon as you turn around to see him.

He does. He pulls his t-shirt over his head first, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the thick shoulders and defined pecs, the trail of dark hair that runs down his stomach and disappears into the waistband of his sweats. Then his pants go, pushed down over his hips, and his boxers with them, until he's standing naked in the middle of the kitchen with his cock jutting up toward his belly, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.

You take a moment to look at Seungcheol. It never gets old—the sheer size of him, the thickness, the way his cock curves just slightly, so pretty. The way it twitches under your gaze like it's begging for attention—and you bet it is. The way his balls hang heavy and full, a reminder that he hasn't come since yesterday morning, which in his case means he's already backed up and desperate and so, so easy to break.

"You're so pretty," you murmur, and you mean it. "Look at you. Standing there dripping for me. Such a desperate pathetic mess already and I haven't even touched you."

His cock gives you an eager reaction, twitching and bobbing up and down at your words, and you smile at how it throbs, almost like it's whining and jumping for you to touch it. Seungcheol's ears go red. That very deep, mortified flush that you've been watching since the very first night, except now it makes your chest ache with something tender and possessive instead of irritated. "Baby—"

"On your knees," you order softly, lips stretched in the sweetest of smiles.

He drops so fast you hear his knees hit the tile. You wince, breaking character just for a moment, worried, but Seungcheol doesn't seem to care at all, he is looking up at you with those big brown eyes, pupils blown wide, lips parted, and he is so fucking wreckable in this very moment that it makes your pussy clench and you don't even notice as you slip back into the little play the two of you are orchestrating.

"Please," he whispers, and he doesn't even know what he's asking for. He just knows he needs something, anything, as long as it is from you.

"Please what?" you hum, watching his eyes turn even shinier than before. He's so pretty like this it is unfair. Not for the first time he's giving you aggression urges.

"Please let me taste you. Need to put my mouth on you. I've been thinking about it all morning—thinking about how you taste, how soft and warm you feel on my tongue—please, baby? I need it—"

"Shh." You step forward, close enough that he can smell you again—his nostrils visibly flare when he silently inhales you—and you can feel his exhale ghost against your thighs. "I know. I know you've been a desperate little puppy all morning, couldn't even pay attention to your stupid meeting because you were too busy thinking about my pussy. Isn't that right?"

He nods, frantic, his hands twitching at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from grabbing you. You wouldn't mind if he did, to be fair. "Yes. Yes, that's right. Couldn't—couldn't think about anything else. Just you. Just your sweet pussy. Just how bad I wanted to be inside it." He whimpers and squirms on his knees, and his cock twitches again at the image growing vivid in his head.

"And instead you're on your knees." You reach down, thread your fingers through his hair, and tug—not hard enough to hurt, only to tilt his head back and make him look at you. "Because you're not in charge right now. I am. And I decide when you get to touch me. I decide when you get to cum. Understood?"

"Understood." His voice is wrecked already, and you haven't even started.

"Good." You release his hair and hop up onto the edge of the counter, spreading your legs. "Now be a good boy and get to work."

You pat your thigh and Seungcheol doesn't need to be told twice. His hands find your thighs, tugging your underwear off with urgent impatience before spreading you wider to make room, and then his mouth is on you and the world dissolves into sensation for both of you.

Seungcheol eats pussy like he's been starving for years and you're the first meal he's been served. His tongue is broad and wet and relentless, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit with a pressure that makes your hips immediately buck against his face. He genuinely moans when he tastes you, like the flavour of your arousal is the best thing he's ever experienced—and the vibration against your clit sends a shockwave up your spine, makes your soles tingle and toes curl.

"Fuck," you breathe, one hand bracing against the counter, the other fisting in his hair. "That's it. That's—right there—"

He stays there. His tongue circles your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, and then his lips close around it and he sucks, and your vision whites out for a second, an involuntary squeal leaving your mouth.

"Oh my god—" you pant, voice getting strained and high-pitched with pleasure.

He hums against you, pleased, and the vibration makes you jolt again. His hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks, holding you open for him, and his tongue keeps working you in a rhythm that's devastatingly precise. He knows exactly what you like. Of course he does. He's spent months learning your body like a language, and now he's fluent.

But you're not going to let him make you come just yet. You tug on his hair, pulling him back, and he looks up at you with his face slick and shining, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes hazy and half-lidded with want.

"Why'd you stop me?" he whines. "I wasn't done. You taste so good, baby, please let me finish—"

"Because I want to sit on your face."

His eyes go wide. Then darken. His cock, which has been bobbing neglected against his stomach, twitches and throbs visibly, a fresh bead of precum welling at the tip.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I want that. Please."

"Get on the floor then."

He lies down on the kitchen tiles without a shred of dignity, his cock standing up like a flagpole, his chest heaving. You slide off the counter and stand over him for a moment, looking down at the picture he makes—this big, muscular man, sprawled on the cold floor, looking up at you like you're the sun and the moon and every star in the sky, his cock leaking all over his own stomach.

"You're so pathetic," you tell him, and you mean it as the highest compliment.

"I know," he breathes. "I'm your pathetic little puppy. Now please—please sit on my face. I need your cunt on my tongue. Need you to smother me with your sweet pussy, baby."

Gosh, you both are so fucking nasty for each other, you chuckle and lower yourself down, kneeling carefully over his head. The first contact of his tongue against your pussy makes you both groan—him from the taste, you from the sensation of his mouth working you open while you settle your full weight onto him. Your thighs bracket his head, and his hands come up to grip your ass, guiding you, pulling you down harder, to sit your entire weight on him.

You let Seungcheol work for a while. Let his tongue fuck into you, let his lips close around your clit, let him moan and whimper against your flesh while you rock your hips in slow, lazy circles. But you have other plans for him, so you twist just enough to reach back, your hand finding his cock where it's standing rigid and neglected.

The sound he makes when you wrap your fingers around him is muffled by your pussy, and you feel the desperate, broken groan that vibrates through your entire body. You stroke him slowly, from base to tip, your thumb swiping over the slick, swollen head to collect the precum that's been pooling there just to massage his frenulum and make the man twitch and jerk his hips uncontrollably, losing all pace of his oral ministrations.

"Look at you," you murmur, looking down at him. "So hard for me. So wet. You're dripping all over yourself. Such a pretty mess, hmm."

He can't answer. His mouth is full of your cunt, his tongue buried inside you, and all he can do is whine and buck his hips into your grip, either encouraging or just sensitive.

"Is this what you wanted? When you were sitting in your meeting with your cock all hard and aching? You wanted to be on your back on the kitchen floor, being used like a toy?"

Seungcheol nods frantically, his nose bumping against your clit, and the sensation makes you gasp.

"That's what I thought. You're nothing but a dumb mutt when I get my hands on you. What a sight, huh? A big, strong man reduced to a whimpering mess on the floor. Your friends have no idea, do they? Do they think you're this alpha male now? That you're the cool guy of the group after you bagged me, hmm?” You apply more weight onto his face and Seungcheol groans against you, soft tongue licking deeper into your heat, coaxing a moan out of you. "Should we let them know that you actually love getting on your knees for me? Love being a good puppy for me?"

You twist your wrist on the upstroke, and his hips stutter, his cock pulsing in your grip. He's close. You can feel it in the way his thighs are tensing, the way his breathing has gone ragged and uneven, and the way his tongue has lost its rhythm against your pussy because he can't concentrate on anything except the pleasure you're wringing out of him.

"Are you going to come?" You ask sweetly. "Are you going to spill all over yourself and make a mess like a good little slut?"

He tries to nod again, but you're already pulling your hand away.

"Too bad," you say, and his desperate, wounded keen is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. "You don't get to cum until I say so. And I haven't said so."

"Please," he gasps, his mouth finally free of your pussy because you've lifted your hips just enough to look down at him. His face is a mess—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, chin slick with your arousal. "Please, baby, I need to cum. I've been thinking about it all day. I can't—"

"Oh, but you can." You climb off him, and he whines at the loss of contact, his hands reaching for you instinctively. "Get up. Bend me over the counter."

Seungcheol scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips and you snicker, telling him to be careful. His cock is an angry red, throbbing visibly, a steady stream of precum dripping from the tip on every twitch. He looks ruined already, and you haven't even let him inside you yet.

You turn around and brace yourself against the counter, arching your back, presenting yourself to him. You're soaked—your thighs are glistening, your pussy is swollen and dripping with a mix of your juices and his spit, and you know exactly what he's seeing right now.

"Now you can fuck me," you tell him. "Slow. Exactly the way I want it. And you're not going to come. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he breathes, steps closer behind you. "Yes, I understand. I'll be good. I'll be so good for you."

He lines himself up. You feel the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and even though you're wet and open and ready, the stretch is still overwhelming. Seungcheol pushes in slowly, inch by inch, spreading your walls, filing the empty space that begged to be filled, and you both groan in unison as he fills you.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck, baby, you're so tight. You're always so tight. How are you still so tight?"

"Shut up and move."

He pulls out almost all the way, making you feel the way his veined shaft drags against your sensitive walls, and then pushes back in. Seungcheol fucks you exactly the way you told him to—slow, deep, each thrust deliberate and measured. His hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and you can hear the effort it's taking him to hold back, the way his breathing is coming in ragged gasps, the way he's trembling against you.

"You feel so good," he babbles again. "You feel so fucking good, baby, I can't—I don't know how much longer I can—"

"You can last as long as I tell you to last." But your voice is shaking now too. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every slow, grinding thrust, and you're getting close yourself. "Don't you dare cum without permission. Don't you fucking dare."

"I won't. I won't, I promise, just—please, can I go faster? Please?"

"No. Keep it slow. I want to feel every inch of you."

He whimpers, but he does what he's told. His thrusts stay slow and deep, his cock dragging against your walls, and you can feel the orgasm building in your core, coiling tighter and tighter—

Your phone rings.

Your intuition immediately screams at you that it must be someone from work.

"Fuck," you hiss in half frustration, half panic. "Fuck, Cheol, stop, I have—have to take this—"

You try to pull away, but his grip on your hips tightens. "No," he whines. "No, baby, please, I'm so close, don't stop me—"

Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel bad for the man, he sounds so ruined.

"I'm not asking." You pull yourself off his cock with a wet, obscene sound, and Seungcheol makes a noise like you've stabbed him. His cock bobs in the air, angry and neglected, throbbing and jumping with denied orgasm. A thick strand of your combined fluids connects him to your pussy for a brief moment before it snaps. He whines out a sob.

"You ruined it," Seungcheol breathes, and he sounds genuinely devastated. "You ruined my orgasm. Baby, why? I was right there—"

"Stay here," you order, already grabbing your phone from the kitchen table where it was resting forgotten all this time. "Don't move."

You answer the call as you walk toward your room, your voice switching to a semblance of something professional and pleasant even though your thighs are still wet and your pussy is still aching and empty. "Hey, yeah, sorry, just give me one second—"

You don't get your one second. Because Seungcheol, your sweet, pathetic, desperate boyfriend, has followed you despite what you told him to do.

You feel him before you see him—his body pressing up behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his cock sliding between your thighs, still slick with your arousal. You're standing in front of your desk, phone pressed to your ear, and he's already bending you forward, already lining himself up.

"No," you mouth silently, turning your head to glare at him. "Don't you dare."

Seungcheol meets your eyes. His are dark and wild and desperate, and there's something almost feral in his expression. He doesn't stop. He pushes inside you in one smooth, harsh thrust that jolts your entire body, and the sensation of intrusion is so sudden and overwhelming that you have to bite down on your own hand to keep from crying out. This leaves you with no support, which means you pretty much topple over, suddenly pressed into your desk with Seungcheol's hand that was applying pressure between your shoulder blades. 

"—and so I was wondering if you could take a look at this document before the meeting this afternoon," your team lead is saying in your ear, her voice cheerful and oblivious. "I know it's last minute, but I think there might be an error on page five."

"Of course," you manage, and your voice comes out surprisingly steady considering the fact that your boyfriend is currently buried balls-deep inside you, his hips already starting to move. "I can—I can do that. No problem."

Seungcheol fucks into you with slow, deliberate strokes, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel how close he still is from before, how desperate. One of his hands slides up and down your back, pressing you down onto the desk before you can even think of lifting your upper body into an upright position, and the other grips your hip hard enough to anchor you in place.

"Great, thanks," your team lead says. "Also, I wanted to ask about the client presentation next week. Have you had a chance to—"

He chooses that moment to thrust particularly deep, his cock hitting your cervix, and a tiny, strangled sound escapes your throat before you can stop it.

"You okay?" your team lead asks.

"Yes," you say, and your voice is definitely too high. "Yes, sorry, I just—stubbed my toe. On the desk. It's fine."

Seungcheol leans down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your free ear. "Little liar," he whispers, so quiet only you can hear. "What will your boss do if she finds out you're getting fucked during your working hours?” He can't help a chuckle that escapes him when he comes up with his next question. "Hmm, does it make you a slut for fucking me and getting paid while doing so? Technically…" he trails off and your pussy clenches traitorously as soon as your brain registers what he just said.

You want to kill him. You want to kill him and then marry him and then kill him again.

"—and if you could send me the updated slides by end of day, that would be perfect," your team lead is saying.

"End of day," you repeat, barely processing the words. Seungcheol has picked up his pace, just slightly, and the sound of his cock sliding into your wet, messy pussy is so loud in the quiet room that you're sure your team lead can hear it if the line stays silent for a moment too long. "Yes. Slides. I'll—I'll send them."

"Are you sure you're okay? You sound a little off."

"I'm fine. I'm great. Just—writing it down."

Seungcheol muffles a laugh against your shoulder. His hand leaves your hip and snakes around to your front, finding your clit with devastating accuracy. Your whole body jolts.

"That's the spot, isn't it?" he breathes in your ear. "That's the spot that makes you stupid. You're going to come on my cock while you're on the phone, aren't you? You're going to soak me and she's going to hear it."

You shake your head frantically, but you can't speak. Your team lead is still talking, something about deadlines and team meetings, and you're nodding along and making vague sounds of agreement while your boyfriend rubs circles on your clit and fucks into you with deep, punishing strokes. You're trying so hard not to start panting or moaning, and your brainpower continues to slip from your grasp.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispers. "I'm going to pump you so full of cum it'll be dripping out of you for the rest of the day. And you're going to sit in your meetings and feel it leaking into your panties, and you're going to think about me. About this. About how I ruined you while you were trying to be professional."

"Okay," you say into the phone, and you have no idea what you're agreeing to. "Okay, sounds good. I have to—I have to go now, I'll send those slides."

"No rush," your team lead says. "Talk later!"

You hang up with confused fingers, missing the red button on the screen a couple of taps before you finally manage to end the call. The phone clatters onto the desk.

And then you let yourself fall apart.

"Cheol—" It comes out as a loud sob, half fury and half desperate, overwhelming need. "You—you fucking—I can't believe you—"

"You loved it." He's not even trying to hide the smugness in his voice, but it's undercut by the way his hips are stuttering, the way his rhythm is falling apart. "You loved every second of it. I could feel you getting wetter and clenching around me when she asked if you were okay."

"I'm going to kill you—after—after I come—"

"Yeah?" He presses harder on your clit, circles it with the perfect pressure that he knows you enjoy, and the orgasm that's been building since the kitchen finally, finally explodes. "Then come for me. Now, baby. Let me feel it."

You shatter with a mewl. It rips through you like a thunderclap, your whole body seizing up, your pussy clamping down on his cock in rhythmic, pulsing waves. You scream—you can't help it, the sound tears out of you raw and unguarded after long minutes of trying to suppress it all—and Seungcheol groans and buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside you in hot, copious pulses.

He keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum deeper into you, and you can feel it flooding you, filling you, leaking out around his cock in a white obscene ring and dripping down your thighs. He doesn't stop until he's completely spent, and then he collapses over you, his weight pressing you into the desk, his breath hot and ragged against the back of your neck.

For a long moment the room is silent. The only sounds are your mingled breathing and the faint, distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

Then: "You're a menace," you whisper, swallowing thickly and heaving a sigh.

He laughs, breathless and giddy and a little bit wrecked. "Yeah. But you're the same. And you love me."

You don't argue. You can't. Not when his cock is still inside you, still half-hard, still plugging you full of his cum. Not when you can already feel it starting to drip out despite his best efforts. Not when your legs are shaking so badly you're not sure you can stand if you try.

"Next time," you manage, "I'm locking you to a piece of furniture before I take a work call."

"Hmm, I think next time," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade, "you'll let me do it again. Because you're just as depraved as I am."

You hate that he's right. You hate it even more that you don't hate it at all.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

You’re almost asleep when your phone alarm goes off. Confused and groggy, you grope around on the mattress, finally pulling your phone up to your face.

Seungcheollie’s birthday!!

It’s 11:50 p.m. on August 7th. Ten minutes before his actual birthday, because your boyfriend–no, ex-boyfriend–likes to be wished a happy birthday right at midnight. It makes him feel loved and special. And you still have an alarm set for it.

Groaning, you toss your phone back onto the bed. That’s not what you needed to see right now. You’ve already been thinking about him more than you should lately, partially because you’re lonely, and partially because…well. It’s Seungcheol.

Minghao mentioned him the other day in passing, just a slip of the tongue over lunch. He’s normally not absentminded and hearing Seungcheol’s name caught you both off guard. Minghao apologized, but Seungcheol has been stuck in your mind like a splinter ever since.

And now it’s his birthday. 

You don’t know what to do about that. Even before you dated, you always wished him a happy birthday at midnight, or close to. Now that you’re…nothing, not even friends really, you don’t know how to handle it.

And it’s not that you can’t be friends, it’s just that you wiped everything about him out of your life because it made you sad to think about him. Everything except this fucking reminder alarm.

He would wish you a happy birthday. If you don’t, if you ignore him, you’re the asshole. You don’t want to be the petulant one. 

You also don’t want to seem too eager.

Buuuut, you also want to win.

Five minutes until midnight. You pull up a new thread and start typing. Hey! Happy Birthday!

No. Too energetic.

Hey, happy birthday. Have a good day.

Too prescriptive. Too cold. Also, you’re running out of time.

At midnight precisely, you send: Happy birthday! I hope whatever you’re doing that it’s a good day.

Good. It’s fine. The right balance of enthusiasm and distance. Only one exclamation point. Weird grammar, but whatever.

It’s only now that you’ve sent it that you realize sending him a midnight text after not speaking to him for months looks insane. You could have just sent one in the morning like a normal human being. Like everyone else.

Also, fuck, he’s read it. Seconds later, your phone starts ringing in your hands. Groaning, you fight the urge to hide it under your pillow. He knows you’re here. It’s not like you can just get out of it now.

“That’s all I get?”

His low, sulky voice echoes out of the speaker. Immediately, you roll your eyes.

“What do you want? We’re not together. I acknowledged it at least. I could have just ignored it.”

You couldn’t have. You’re not that type of person and he knows it.

“All right, all right. Thank you for the birthday text.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence. Prickly, uncomfortable.

“So…” you start, just as he says, “So, how’ve you been?”

You both pause. Sighing, you say, “Seungcheol, we don’t have to do this.”

“No, but you sent me a birthday text at midnight. That’s something.”

“It’s ‘I forgot to remove my reminder alarm and I felt like I should say something.’ That’s all. I regret it.”

“You don’t.”

“I kind of do.”

“But only kind of,” he challenges.

Flopping back against the pillows, you stare at your phone. At the silly photo of him that’s still his icon. You remember when you took it: he was tipsy and cute and happy and making the babiest of faces and you snapped a great shot and immortalized it as his icon, much to his annoyance. It still makes you smile, even now.

“Don’t read too much into it,” you warn him. “Anyway, I was trying to go to bed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound very sorry. He also doesn’t hang up. 

After a moment he adds, “You could come over.”

“Absolutely not,” you say firmly. 

Seungcheol’s voice is rushed. “Not for sex! I didn’t mean it like that if that’s what you were thinking. I just meant to talk. Catch up.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Enjoy your birthday.”

“Wait! Wait, okay. I overstepped. Just…can we talk a little more?”

He sounds so desperate, so sad, that it makes you linger, even though you know you shouldn’t. What you should do is hang up, block him, never wish him a happy birthday again. Let it go. Let him go.

Instead, you wait.

“I…was really hoping you’d be the one to do it. To wish me happy birthday at midnight.”

“Did I win?” you ask, unable to stop yourself.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Jeonghan beat you again.”

Like always. “Bastard.”

“But you came second.”

That sounds about right. In your relationship you were always second place: to his friends, to his job, to everything. He’d tell you he was on his way and show up an hour later. When you both had a rare day off that overlapped, he’d spend half of it sleeping in or playing computer games with Wonwoo and Mingyu.

And you never threw a fit. You never begged for him. You just filled your life with friends and activities to get revenge on him and it worked so well that towards the end you felt like breaking up was easy. He didn’t need you in his life the way you wanted him to. So then what was the point?

Except…the more you think about it, the more you realize there were little signs. He’d show up late but he’d show up with flowers. He’d disappear to play games with the guys but he’d save his evenings for you. And he’d always try to make it up to you with gifts. And while you didn’t want flowers or gifts, you only wanted his attention, you recognize now that it was his way of apologizing. Of attempting to do better. And you never really gave him that chance.

Maybe neither of you had enough time to adjust from single life into the kind of relationship either of you wanted or expected. Which means that’s not just Seungcheol’s fault then.

“I know I didn’t do a very good job,” he says gently. “But it wasn’t from a lack of wanting to.”

“I don’t think either of us gave it a fair chance,” you admit.

“I felt like you didn’t really want me.”

You close your eyes for a second. Inhale. “I wanted you. Too much to admit it.” I still want you. You’re grateful you have enough self-control to keep the second part to yourself.

“I think about you all the time. All the time. I’ve wanted to text you so many times and I just lose the courage.”

“Why? Am I that scary?”

“I feel like I only have one more shot and I don’t want to mess it up. Not this time.”

He sounds like a crazy person. He sounds like standing outside your window with a speaker kind of crazy and you’re not sure how you went from texting him happy birthday to this.

“Seungcheol, what exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying let’s try again,” he says earnestly. “I’m saying let’s be all in this time. I can do so much better, I promise. I can be the man you really deserve.”

“You’re insane. Truly.”

“I’m saying I’m willing to try.”

“You’re saying crazy things.”

But still, he presses. “I’m saying…it’s my birthday and I want to see you. Can I come over?”

He’s taking real advantage of this whole birthday thing and you want to tell him that. You want to tell him to shove it and leave you alone. But you also want to let him. 

You’ve known from the moment you picked up the damn phone and heard his voice that you were going to break. Because that’s what he does to you, even now. Especially now.

“Yes.”

Seungcheol hums his approval; you can picture his smile, the deep dimple in his cheek. He’s irresistible to you. God, everyone is going to be insufferable if you date him again. Not after you made such a fuss.

But you’ve missed being held and no one holds you like him. You’ve missed being kissed, and no one does that right, either. Just him. Just Seungcheol. 

“But give me ten minutes,” you rush to say, realizing you’re in your “skipped laundry day” pajama set. You don’t know what you’ll find in ten minutes, but there has to be something better than this.

“Too late,” he says fondly. “I’m already outside your door. Let me in?”

You hear it now, the barest of knocks. Each one makes your heart jump.

“Seungcheol…”

“Please?”

Swallowing, you head over to your door and peer through the peephole. Sure enough, Seungcheol is standing on your step, dressed in an oversized black hoodie. His full cheeks and pouty lips are still visible under the hood; if you let him in you’re definitely going to kiss him.

He’s still holding his phone. You watch him say your name, softly, sweetly, into the receiver. It echoes back to you inside your apartment.

[ONE]

Filtered sunlight beaming through the treetops hits your eyes as you step out into the quad, making you squint in the sudden brightness that starkly contrasts the dim interior of the Literature Hall you were just in. The air is crisp — not yet chilly, but fresh and invigorating, a tell-tale sign of fall being right around the corner. The quad is buzzing with life, students chattering as they stroll to class, bikes zipping past you on the sidewalk, every bench and shaded spot under a tree occupied with people laughing, reading, relaxing. You leisurely make your way over to your usual spot, but as you approach the small oak near the Communications Building you see two girls you don't recognize sitting in the grass beneath its low branches. Puzzled, you look around, but then you spot a familiar lanky figure standing outside the Comms building. His back is turned to you, so all you can see is the mess of long dark hair upon his head, but the baggy flannel shirt and the black backpack adorned with various pins and patches slung over one shoulder are a dead giveaway. As you head in his direction, you see he appears to be staring straight ahead at a lamppost.

"Hey dork, I was looking for you," you call out playfully as you walk toward him, but he doesn't seem to hear you. Getting closer, you spot the pair of headphones on his head, the wire plugged into the portable CD player in his hand — the loud, raucous sounds of Linkin Park blaring in his ears tinnily resonating through the air from halfway across the sidewalk. When you get within arm's reach you tug on the handle of his backpack. He nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around and yanking the headphones off his head with a startled expression on his face. When he sees it's you, he relaxes, but not without majorly rolling his eyes.

"Jesus, you fucking scared me," he sighs. He lifts the CD player in his hand and pauses the song, the banging melody ringing through the foam-covered headphones ceasing.

"Sorry," you apologize, but a wide grin spreads on your face. "I didn't think you'd react that much. What are you doing, anyway?" you ask, looking over to the lamppost.

"Nothing," he says quickly, but a flier with bold text catches your eye.

Do you like punk music? Do you like radio? WFVC 90.5 is HIRING for a DJ position! No experience necessary, Communications majors preferred. APPLY NOW at the station (Comms Building 2nd Floor)

"Oh my god, Jeonghan this is perfect!" you exclaim, but your friend shakes his head.

"I was just looking."

"Dude, you HAVE to apply. This is literally your dream job!"

Jeonghan frowns. "I doubt they would hire me."

"What the hell are you talking about? You're exactly the person they're looking for," you tell him. And it's true — Foxville College's singular radio station may be a local joint, but it's famous across all of Wisconsin for being the station for underground grunge, punk, and alternative rock. You've been listening to it since you were a kid, and its where your love of the genres originated. Jeonghan happens to share the exact same music taste — it's how you became friends in the first place back in Freshman year.

"Hey!" Jeonghan calls after you as you both exit the same building. You had just came from the same class, Intro to Poetry, but it's the very first day of school, so he doesn't know your name. But he saw your notebook fall out of your half-open backpack, and you didn't notice it.

He picks up the small, black leather notebook and quickly zips after you. "Excuse me," he tries again, but you're wearing headphones. Your music is loud, and familiar. He taps on your shoulder, startling you slightly.

"Hi, sorry," Jeonghan tells you as you turn to face him, shifting the headphones off one ear so you can hear. "You dropped this." You look at his hands as he extends the notebook to you.

"Oh! That is mine," you remark, taking your headphones off fully now and pausing your music.

"Yeah, your backpack was open."

You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, the bag is half-unzipped.

"Whoops," you tell him with a lighthearted laugh, taking the notebook and putting it back in the bag, making sure to close it all the way this time. "Well, thank you, I appreciate it," you say with a friendly smile. You go to put your headphones back on and walk away, but before you can do so he points at your portable CD player.

"Are you listening to Green Day?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah! I am!" you reply excitedly. "It's the Dookie album, one of my faves."

"That album is so good," he agrees with a smile. "I don't mean this in a rude way or anything," he says shyly. "But you I wouldn't have guessed you'd be into punk music."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," you say with a laugh. "I don't particularly dress very edgy or anything. Maybe I should start dressing the part."

"Wear whatever you want," he responds with a shrug. "The most punk rock thing you can do is be yourself."

"That's very true," you grin back at him. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"I'm Jeonghan," he replies with a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you."

And so you and Jeonghan quickly became friends. He's a pretty quiet guy, very much the opposite of your bubbly, sociable self; but despite your differences you get along well. He's also pretty much the only person you know who likes the same type of music as you, so you definitely share a close bond over that.

"Besides," you say to Jeonghan. "You really should get a job anyway."

"Hey!" he pouts. "Are you calling me broke?"

"Yes. Because you are."

The left corner of his mouth lifts slightly, giving you a half-grin. "So are you, moron."

You playfully give him a light punch in the arm. "Takes one to know one."

"I'll think about it," he concedes.

"You better. If not then I'll submit the application for you."

"Pretty sure that's not allowed," he replies, raising a brow at you.

"Like that's gonna stop me," you inform him.

"Unfortunately, I believe that," he chuckles, rolling his eyes again. "Anyway, c'mon," he says to as he starts walking off. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oh god, what have you done now?" you pretend to complain as you follow after him.

"No no, you're gonna like this one," he grins. "I promise."

"Okay, well now I know where we're going," you say as Jeonghan turns onto Harton Street. The street boasts a Dead End sign, and it's path is winding. You can't see much past the trees, but you know there is only one reason to come down this way.

"I was here over the weekend," you inform him. "I don't need to buy anything else."

"Oh please, like you'd pass up the opportunity to get some new vinyl," he grins.

"Dude, I'm already living off ramen."

"Just trust me."

"Okaaay," you reply, feigning skepticism. "If you say so."

The tires of Jeonghan's 1991 Mercury Tracer crunch as he turns off the main road onto a white gravel drive. A humble building comes into view, its exterior painted pastel yellow with a giant sign reading TURNPIKE RECORDS in a large, swirling font that looks straight out of the 1970s. A neon sign resides in the window, flickering slightly but advertising that the shop is open. There's only one other car in the small lot: a pristine, hot red Chevy Camaro also straight out of the 70s, belonging to the shop's owner.

Jeonghan parks the car and the two of you head into the store. The front door squeaks as you open it, an assortment of small bronze bells hanging above the door ringing out to announce your entry. The familiar, slightly-musty scent of the used record store fills your nose as you walk down the three steps taking you to the shop floor. Aside from the natural light from the window, the place is pretty dim, lit mainly by a couple of bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and a variety of glowing lava lamps of all shapes, sizes, and colors placed throughout the room. Nearly every inch of wall is covered in a hodge-podge of framed posters and photographs, giving the whole place a chaotic but vibrant feel. Without a doubt, this is your favorite spot in town.

"I wonder if they have the new Muse album yet," you comment, meandering through the empty shop over to the Rock section.

"Not yet," Jeonghan replies as he starts flipping through a nearby discount bin. "I checked already."

You hear a faint swoosh come from behind you. You turn around to see a tall, heavily-tattooed man carrying a large box emerging from the thick velvet curtain that leads to the back of the store — none other than the shop's owner, Tripp. He's in his mid-40s, bald except for a long goatee on his chin, and he has more earrings than you can even count.

"Hey hey, I thought I heard my favorite customers out here!" Tripp says cheerfully when he sees you and Jeonghan. He sets the box on top of the counter, brushing his hands off and coming out to greet you on the floor.

"Oh please, you say that to everyone," you grin at the man.

"Definitely not," he shakes his head. "Besides, between the both of you you guys are keeping me in business. Speaking of," he says as he suddenly snaps and points at you. "I got something for ya."

He quickly returns to the counter and retrieves something from the shelves beneath the register. He walks back to you and hands you an album, light gray in color. You flip it over, and your jaw drops. It's a Japanese edition of Led Zeppelin IV — your favorite album of all time.

"Your friend told me you've been looking for this one," he tells you, nodding his head in Jeonghan's direction. "He convinced me to set it aside for you."

"Wow, that's so nice thank you!!" you tell Tripp excitedly. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it. It's already paid for."

"What?!"

You look over at Jeonghan, but he just smiles back at you sheepishly.

"What the hell, thank you," you grin at him. "You did not have to do that though."

"Actually, I did," Jeonghan admits. "Tripp made me."

Tripp lets out a hearty laugh. "Well regardless, I'm glad it's in the hands of someone I know will really appreciate it."

"Let me pay you back," you say to Jeonghan as Tripp returns to restocking, but he just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it, really," he tells you warmly.

"Okay, fine. But you're gonna come over and listen to this with me," you insist, poking him in the chest. "We can smoke and I'll order pizza."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Sounds like a deal to me," he grins.

brrrrrrr

brrrrrrr

The dull trill of the phone rings in your ear as you wait for the call to connect. You've only hit the bong once, but your head already feels like you're floating in the clouds. You mindlessly twirl the cord around your index finger, and you're halfway zoned out by the time the other line picks up.

"Arthur's Pizzeria," a cheerful voice suddenly speaks into your ear. "How can I help you?"

"Yeah hi!" you blurt out in your mildly startled state. "Can I order one large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese for delivery?"

"You got it! What's the address?"

"22 Elmwood Street, Unit 201."

"Great! It'll be about 20 minutes."

With a click you set the handset back onto the hook, returning to the living room. Your roommate won't be back until later, so you two have the place to yourselves — perfect for getting high and lazing around without judgment. Jeonghan sits on the couch, sinking into the cushions already and staring off into space. It takes him a moment to register that you're back; when he notices you, he tries to sit up, but the effort required for it currently seems monumental.

"Pizza ordered?" he asks, peering at you through lazy eyelids.

"Yup," you reply as you plop onto the other end of the couch. "Be here in 20."

"Sweet," he grins. You reach for the bong, grabbing the lighter next to it and lighting a bit more of the bowl. After a decently fat rip and a few solid coughs, you extend it out to Jeonghan.

"Man, I'm so high already," he groans, but he takes the colorful swirled glass from your hand anyway. "Where'd you get this grass?"

"Got it from Joshua," you reply, lifting your feet up onto the couch and tucking them beside you.

"Oh," Jeonghan replies, giving you a look as he exhales a cloud of smoke and hands the bong back over.

"What's your deal with Joshua?" you question, raising your brow at him.

"What? Nothing," he says quickly. "We should open a window."

He gets to his feet and walks across the room, lifting the nearest window up as far as it will go. It's a nice evening — the crisp air from earlier has gotten cooler, but it feels delightful as it begins to drift into the apartment in the light breeze.

"I know you don't like him," you continue, not letting Jeonghan ignore your question. "But I've never known why."

"I never said I didn't like him," he denies, flopping back onto the couch.

"You didn't have to," you point out. "Your face says it all."

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. "Curse my expressive nature. Anyway, I dunno, he just always seems like he's trying to make a move on you."

"Oh, he's like that with everyone," you reply matter-of-factly.

"Right."

"He is," you affirm. "And besides, so what if he was?"

"Huh?" Jeonghan pipes up, seemingly surprised by your question. "Oh, I just mean… I just don't trust guys who are always talking to girls that. Seems sleazy."

"No, really," you reiterate. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay," he concedes skeptically. "If you say so."

"Should we play some Zeppelin?" you ask, getting up to go grab the record. Jeonghan's face lights up.

"Fuck yeah," he grins.

You put the album on, the signature bold, heavy sounds of the band greeting your ears as you crank up the volume. As you sit there listening, you finish off the bowl with Jeonghan, the air of your apartment now completely overtaken by smoke despite the open window.

"When's that damn pizza gonna get here?" he mumbles, but before you can even respond you hear a knock coming from the front door.

"Whoa, you summoned it," you giggle, rising to your feet a bit too quickly and stumbling slightly on your way over to the door. You answer, having a quick conversation with the usual delivery boy before paying and scurrying back over to the couch, the heavenly smell of hot, greasy pepperoni pizza joining the weed aroma in the room. You don't even bother with plates, instead simply picking up the slices and shoveling them directly into your hungry mouths. The conversation remains paused for a few minutes; you zone out, letting yourself get lost in the music, but eventually your conversation with Jeonghan earlier pops back into your head.

"You really should apply to that DJ job," you say, turning to him, but he just shrugs.

"Eh, I don't think I'd get it."

"Not with that attitude you won't."

"You always say that," he rolls his eyes.

"It's true!" you insist. "Jeonghan, come on. This is basically your dream job, and you're literally the perfect guy for it. Just apply and see what happens!"

"Maybe, I dunno."

"Besides," you add. "You need the money to fund your poor spending habits."

"Hey!" he balks. "I do not have poor spending habits."

You pick up the vinyl sleeve, tapping the little yellow sticker on the cover with a messy $40 scribbled on it in black ink.

"Yeah, you do."

He groans, letting his head fall back into the couch. "You're so annoying," he says to you with a grin.

"Takes one to know one," you tease back. He grabs the nearest throw pillow, lobbing it at you and hitting you in the arm.

"Okay, I probably earned that," you admit with a laugh.

The current song ends, the gentle guitar strums of "Stairway to Heaven" filling your ears as the iconic song begins.

"Oh shit, shut up," you tell Jeonghan, launching the pillow right back at him. He jumps slightly as the unexpected pillow hits him in the chest with a soft thump. "I fucking love this song."

He is about to tell you that duh, everybody with a brain loves this song — but your eyes are closed already, bobbing your head slightly to the beat, clearly already lost in it; so he just shakes his head, chuckling silently to himself.

The both of you feel like you're drifting to a higher plane as the song progresses, fully immersed in the grand crescendo you've both heard so many times yet have never tired of. When it ends, your eyes flutter open again, finding Jeonghan fully sunk into the other end of the couch. You start to wonder if he actually fell asleep, but then he lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at you.

"You know how some people say a hot dog is a sandwich?" he asks. You stare at him for a moment, trying to comprehend in your inebriated state what it was he just said.

"Who the fuck says that?" you inquire once you finally process his question.

"I dunno. People."

"Stupid people, maybe."

"I mean, yeah," he agrees. "But like… do you think pizza is a sandwich?"

You stare at him for a moment. "What?"

"I don't know, it's got bread and cheese and meat and tomatoes, right? Those things go on sandwiches."

"You're high as shit, dumbass," you tell him.

"Okay, well watch this!" He reaches over to the pizza box and picks up a new slice. Turning to show it to you, he slowly folds it in half. "See? That's a sandwich!"

"Oh shut the fuck up," you reply, but you can't help but laugh.

Jeonghan munches on his pizza-sandwich while you reach for your stash, refilling the bowl and lighting up again. When he finishes, you hand the bong over.

"Not like either of us needs it, but whatever man," you say with a pleased grin.

With heavy, banging drum beats, the last song on the album begins to play. This one has always been Jeonghan's favorite, you recall despite being astronomically faded. You glance over at him, finding him staring out the open window into the now-dark night. Certainly not out of the ordinary, but something about him in this moment seems… sad, almost. He notices you watching him, but he seems to have become self-conscious, averting your gaze.

"What's on your mind?"

Jeonghan continues staring out the window, but he lets out a small sigh.

"Do you ever think about how big the universe is?" he asks. "And then it makes you realize how small and meaningless we really are?"

You pause for a minute, considering the gravity of his question.

"No, not really," you finally answer gently. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers instinctively; but after thinking about it for a moment, he adds: "But sometimes I wonder if I'm not."

"In what way?"

"Just… the whole entire world feels impossibly huge, yet Earth is just a tiny pale blue dot compared to the whole galaxy. In the grand scheme of things, we're nothing. Nothing we do matters."

"I don't think that's true at all."

Jeonghan finally looks over to you, staring at you curiously.

"But how? How can anything have any meaning if we are so tiny?"

"I think that makes everything all that much more meaningful," you reply. "Like… the universe is so huge and vast and yet here we are, chillin' together, existing at just the right time to eat pizza and listen to Zepp. I just think that's a really nice thought."

"Hmm," he mumbles, opening his mouth to say something else — but his words never come. At this point he is so physically relaxed that he seems fused to the couch.

"You're fuckin' blasted, dude," you giggle, reaching over and shaking him playfully.

"Am nottttt," he pouts, but moments later he starts giggling too. "Okay, fine, I am. But, I guess I've just never thought of it that way before."

The album ends, the room falling silent. You get up, casually shuffling over to your ever-growing collection of records that is now taking up the entire corner of the small living room.

"What next?" you ask Jeonghan over your shoulder.

"Surprise me."

You peruse through your titles, not sure exactly what you're looking for; but then one catches your eye.

"Ooh, got it," you say with a grin. You replace the vinyl on the turntable and set the needle in position, the sounds of Dookie by Green Day playing aloud in the room, making Jeonghan smile too.

[TWO]

You stroll through the library, exiting the stacks to make your way to your next class. On your way out, you're surprised to spot Jeonghan, sitting alone at one of the tables. Unexpected — as he usually spends most of his free time out in the quad or in the Comms Building's study space; if he's in the library, it's usually just to take a nap. He has a book on the desk beside him, but it's closed, and he instead seems to be intensely focused on a piece of paper, brow furrowed and deep in thought. You walk over to him, but he doesn't notice you approaching. As you near the desk you can see the word APPLICATION in bold font at the top of the paper.

"Yay, you're doing it!!" you say to him as you appear beside him, shaking him by the shoulder excitedly and making him nearly fly out of his seat.

"Jesus Christ you have got to stop sneaking up on me!" he yelps quietly, but it still earns him a glare from a nearby librarian. She raises her finger to her lips, shushing the two of you before going back to re-shelving books. You sit down in the chair next to him, scooting in close enough so you can whisper.

"This is so exciting!" you tell him in a hushed voice, but he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm not even sure if I'm gonna turn it in," he admits.

"What? Dude, you're halfway there, just finish and go turn it in!"

"I don't know," he frowns. "They're probably just gonna laugh at me."

You raise your brow at him. "Why on earth would you think they'd do that?"

"Most people do," he shrugs.

"Well, even if they do — which they won't — who cares?" you question. "Just follow your dreams, don't let other people get in the way."

The librarian turns around again, her displeased glare telling you you're still being too loud for her liking.

"C'mon," you say to Jeonghan. "Finish up your application and let's get out of here."

He quickly fills out the rest of the form and you ditch the library together. Jeonghan is done with classes for the day, but he accompanies you across the quad to your next class.

"What are you up to tonight?" he asks. He kicks a pebble along the sidewalk as he walks; you watch his dingy old converse scuff against the ground as he does, noticing the small hole forming in the toe of his right shoe.

"I'm getting dinner with Mark," you reply casually. You see his face drop slightly out of the corner of your eye.

"Basketball team Mark?"

"Yep! We have History of Feminist Literature together, though he's a Economics major so he's just taking it for an elective."

"Hm," Jeonghan says out loud without meaning to.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just hardly ever go on dates, that's all."

"Oh, it's not a date," you say plainly, but you see him roll his eyes. "It's not!!" you insist. "We're just friends."

"I doubt he sees it that way."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because dudes only think with their dicks."

"Are you speaking from experience?" you inquire teasingly.

"This is not about me," he mutters, looking mildly embarrassed as he avoids eye contact. Luckily for him, you've arrived at the Literature Hall, giving him an excuse to change the subject.

"Hope you have a good class," he tells you warmly.

"Thanks," you reply with a smile. "Now you go turn in that job application or I'm going to kick your ass."

"I will," he laughs.

"Pinky promise?" you ask, extending your hand. He chuckles, but he connects pinkies with you.

"I promise."

"Good!" you tell him with a grin. "See ya later!"

"See ya," he smiles back.

You unlock your front door quietly, trying not to make noise and wake up your roommate considering how late it is by now. But as you enter the apartment you see her sitting at the computer, back turned to you as she is absorbed in whatever is on the screen.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd still be up," you say as you shut the door and kick your shoes off.

"Oh hey," Mina replies as she turns around to greet you. She lifts her wrist to peer at her watch. "Damn, I didn't realize how late it was."

"What are you doing on the computer?" you inquire, walking over to the desk out of curiosity.

"It's this new MySpace website Irene told me about," she replies, turning back around and double-clicking on something. "It's so sick, I've been here all night making my profile."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of that," you tell her as you watch her scroll through her profile. "Seems pretty cool."

"You should make one!" she tells you. "I can add you to my Top 8 friends."

"Oh, maybe. I'm still getting used to this whole Internet thing, honestly," you laugh.

"Soooo," Mina starts, shutting down the computer and heading into the kitchen. "How was your date with Mark?"

"It wasn't a date," you tell her. "I don't know why everyone keeps saying that."

"Okay, whatever," she responds, browsing through the snack cabinet for a minute before deciding on the bag of Cheeto Puffs. "How was your not-date?"

"It was… good."

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"No, it was!" you assure her. "It's just that… I don't know, he kinda just talked about basketball the whole time."

"Ugh. Typical guy shit," Mina rolls her eyes.

"He's really nice, though…" you say, though you're not sure if you're trying to convince her or yourself more.

"Nice enough to go on a second date — sorry, not-date with?" she raises her brow at you.

"Well, I don't know about that…"

You sigh, feeling a bit dejected suddenly. It's not like you're trying to date or anything, but you can't deny that it would be kinda nice to have at least a little bit more success.

"Maybe I should just give up on dating," you grimace.

Mina pops another Cheeto in her mouth. "I mean, I don't know why you bother. You basically already have a BF."

"What?" you ask, puzzled. "No I don't?"

"C'mon, you're literally hanging out with what's-his-name all the time. The metalhead."

"Jeonghan?? He's not into metal."

"Okay, whatever noise it is you guys listen to."

"It's called punk, and it's cool."

"Riiight."

"Anyway, he's just my friend," you tell her. Her lips curve into a slight grin, and she gives you a look.

"Sure he is."

"I can be friends with dudes!"

"Dudes only think with their dicks," she retorts, echoing Jeonghan's exact words from earlier.

"He's not like that," you assure her.

"Well that's rare, if true. Maybe you should date him."

You roll your eyes, but you're tired. Mina means well, but you don't really feel like having this conversation right now. Luckily, she's already putting her snack away, and then heads off to her room.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight!"

You too head off to bed, but as you brush your teeth you start to think about what Mina said. What if Jeonghan does see me as more than a friend? you wonder to yourself. After all, he did say the exact same thing earlier, too. You don't think he meant it in that way, but now you're beginning to second-guess your intuition…

You go straight to bed, deciding not to think about it anymore tonight.

[THREE]

You have some time between classes, so you take up residence in your usual spot in the quad, sitting on the ground reclined against your usual tree. Fall is officially here now, and it's a bit cold out, but you're perfectly comfortable in your thick sweater and windbreaker. Out of the corner of your eye, you suddenly see something in the distance charging directly at you. Looking up from your book, you see Jeonghan, forgoing the sidewalks and sprinting across the grass straight toward you, waving and flailing his arms like a maniac.

"You look like a psychopath," you call to him as he approaches.

"I got it!!!"

"Got wha— wait, the DJ job?!" you perk up excitedly.

"YES!!"

He plops down on the ground next to you, out of breath from running, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Holy shit, congrats!!" you tell him enthusiastically. "See, I told you you'd get it!"

"I can't believe I almost ripped up the application and threw it in the trash."

"Jeonghan!" you blurt out, hitting him playfully in the arm, but he just shakes his head and laughs.

"I didn't though! You made me pinky promise."

"This is amazing! When do you start?"

"Tonight, actually," he answers. "Unfortunately, I'm stuck on the late night shift since I'm a newbie — 10pm–4am."

"Oh, yikes," you reply concernedly, but he shrugs it off.

"It's fine," he smiles. "I don't sleep anyway."

"Damn, I guess I'm never gonna see you again," you say jokingly, but an unexpected wave of sadness washes over you as your own words sink in.

"No way," he shakes his head resolutely. "We're still gonna hang out. I'll find a way to make it happen."

A fluttering sensation hits your stomach. You hang out with Jeonghan all the time, so you're not sure why you'd have this reaction. But something about the way he said it — "I'll find a way"— feels… different. But, regardless, you're just glad you're still going to be able to see your friend.

"What are you doing until then?" you inquire.

"I was just gonna go grab a bite at the dining hall and then go nap in the library."

"Wanna go to Jacq's instead?" you ask. "My treat."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Hell yeah," he grins. "That sounds like a way better idea."

The low hum of neon lights buzzes gently through the tune of the usual rotation of 1960s hits as you and Jeonghan sit in the corner booth, chatting and giggling over your meal. Jacqueline's Diner is an old-fashioned joint, and the majority of its clientele is over the age of 60 — but the food is cheap, greasy, and delicious, so the two of you are practically regulars. Jeonghan ordered his usual, chicken tenders and a Cherry Coke float; you opted for a grilled cheese and chocolate milkshake, and you ordered a basket of fries to share.

"You heard about this MySpace?" Jeonghan asks, dipping three large, salty fries in ketchup and shoving them all into his mouth at once.

"Oh yeah," you say, picking the maraschino cherry off the top of the whipped cream and eating it one bite. "Mina's on there, she told me about it. Seems pretty cool."

"I think it sounds lame," he shrugs indifferently.

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, the whole Top 8 friends is kinda weird. Just sounds like one big popularity contest if you ask me."

"Yeah, I guess so," you agree.

"Besides, I don't even have eight friends."

"Oh shut up," you retort. "That's not true!"

"It's okay," Jeonghan chuckles. "I'm just not the kind of guy who has a lot of friends."

"We'll I'd put you in my Top 8," you tell him, but he rolls his eyes. "It's true, I would!"

"C'mon, y/n," he laughs. "You have so many friends."

"Mmm, not really," you reply. "Not ones I hang out with on the regular, anyway. It's mostly you and Mina these days."

"Well, thanks for hanging out with me," he says sheepishly.

"You say that like it's a charity case," you tease him. "I hang out with you because I like you, moron."

Jeonghan says nothing, sipping on his float instead, but the big grin creeping across his face is undeniable.

"So," you ask after a bite of grilled cheese. "Are you excited?"

"For the job?"

"No, for Christmas," you reply jokingly. "Yes, the job!!"

"I guess so," he shrugs. "Mostly I'm just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because what if I'm bad at it and they fire me?"

"Jeonghan, that is not going to happen."

"But I don't know what I'm doing!" he frowns.

"Dude, nobody knows what they're doing when they start a new job," you remind him. "Besides, they're going to train you! You'll learn the ropes in no time."

"What if I don't?"

"I find that hard to believe. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Hannie. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"Easier said than done," he replies lightheartedly, but his lack of confidence still shows.

"Why is that?" you inquire.

He thinks for a moment. "I don't know," he eventually answers. "Sometimes it just feels like there's a little voice in my head telling me I suck at everything and that I should just give up."

"I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm okay, I promise," he smiles softly at you. "Sorry for being sad so much."

"You don't have to apologize for that," you tell him firmly. "You're my friend and I'm here for you no matter what."

A couple remaining fries sit at the bottom of the basket, calling to you from the red-and-white checkered paper lining. You reach for them, but Jeonghan does too, your hands colliding over the table.

"Ope, sorry," he says timidly, retracting his hand. "You can have it."

"No, you take it," you insist, sliding the basket toward him. "You've got a long night ahead of you, you need the fuel. Speaking of, want another float?"

"No, it's oka—"

But you're already signaling to the waitress across the restaurant, pointing to Jeonghan's empty glass.

"I don't know why I asked," you tell him. "I already knew the answer."

The waitress quickly brings him a refill in a fresh glass, complete with his usual order of an extra cherry on top.

"Thanks, y/n," he smiles. "You're the best."

After you finish your meal and pay, Jeonghan drives you home. He pulls up next to the curb outside your apartment, putting the car into park and turning to face you.

"Thanks again for dinner," he smiles.

"Of course," you smile back. "I got ya. And I'll make sure to tune into WFVC tonight!"

Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm going to be on the air just yet. I think I gotta be less of a noob first."

"Well, I'll be thinking of you anyway," you tell him with a nod. He drops his head slightly, trying to hide his face behind his long hair.

"Besides, I wanna support the station — and maybe I'll find some new bands I like." You playfully give him a punch him in the arm. "Jut remember to relax, you're gonna crush it."

"I'll do my best," he promises.

"Good!" you nod, opening the passenger door and hopping out of the car. "Later skater," you smile at him, giving him a wave before shutting the door. He waves back, watching you walk toward your building, waiting until you've made it safely inside before shifting the car into gear and driving off.

[FOUR]

Jeonghan stands in the hallway, staring at the windowless, red door in front of him. He pulls a crumpled sticky note out of his jacket pocket, flattening it to reveal C-302 written in smudged pen. Looking up, he triple-checks the room number on the small metal plaque next to the door, but just as the first two times, it still reads C-302. The dozens of band stickers all over the door, some that look like they have been there for decades, are also a dead giveaway — this is it: the campus radio station. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then reaches for the door handle.

As the door swings open, a small, hectic room comes into view. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every bit of wall, overflowing with endless stacks of CD cases; the rest of the room is crammed full of all sorts of audio and mixing equipment — some he recognizes, some he doesn't — and it seems that every bit of exposed surface is covered in show posters and even more band stickers. A too-small desk pushed against the far wall houses two computers, and at one of them sits a tough-looking man with a ponytail, seemingly older than himself, but not by much — perhaps a graduate student. The man peers up as Jeonghan enters the room.

"Hi, I'm Jeonghan," he says timidly. "I'm the new student employee, I was told to meet here at 9:45—"

"Yes, hello!" the man says cheerfully, hopping out of his seat and strutting across the room to give Jeonghan a very firm handshake. "I'm A.J., I'm the one running this joint for the most part — aside from Professor Sampson, of course. You're in undergrad, yeah?"

"Yes," Jeonghan replies politely, relieved that the man doesn't have the tough-guy demeanor he initially expected. "I'm a Junior."

"Awesome, well welcome to the team bro! Johnny's almost wrapped in the booth, and then you're on," he says, pointing his thumb back at the small window in the far wall; Jeonghan tries to peer through it, but all he can see is the top of the current DJ's head, clad with chunky headphones. "But don't worry — tonight I'll be showing you the ropes, so you just have to follow my lead. Cool?"

"Yeah, cool," Jeonghan nods in agreement.

"Excellent! Well, for starters, obviously we want to keep the volume to a minimum so there's no background noises when we're on air, but the soundproofing in the booth is good enough that you can talk at a regular volume out here and nobody's gonna hear ya. Just no screaming or anything crazy. As you can see over here," he says, pointing to the packed shelves. "We have quite a number of CDs on file. Now, I assume you're familiar with the station's catalogue?" Jeonghan nods, and A.J. continues. "Good. So you know we don't play anything that's even remotely popular — and if it's ever been on the radio, forget it. Most of our inventory is underground artists, garage bands, et cetera; the purpose of this station is to put a spotlight on new or small groups, show them some love and appreciation. So unless you're big into the local scene, you probably won't have heard of most of these bands."

Jeonghan skims over the nearest shelf, sure enough finding nothing familiar. Instead he finds jewel cases boasting all sorts of unheard-of band names — plunk!, Blister, Pisswizard, The Underwater Grandmas, and Groob, to name a few.

"Anyway, few ground rules. First, if the ON AIR sign is lit, you are live. Don't go saying anything you don't want hundreds of strangers to hear. Second, keep up with the queue, but also clean up after yourself. Don't leave loose CDs laying around, and make sure they go back into their actual cases — makes everyone's jobs easier."

Jeonghan nods attentively, trying not to seem nervous, but he feels like he's not doing a very good job. A.J. seems to notice too, but he claps Jeonghan on the shoulder and gives him a grin.

"Third, and this one's the most important if you ask me: just have fun. As long as you're doing a good job, just be yourself. Nothin' to stress over, I promise."

Jeonghan hears the booth door swing open; peering over A.J.'s shoulder, he sees a tall, dark-haired student stepping out into the main room.

"Ope, looks like we're on," A.J. says to him. "Johnny, this is Jeonghan, our new night shift guy."

Johnny walks over, shaking Jeonghan's hand enthusiastically. "Welcome! Nice to meet you, bro!"

"Thanks," Jeonghan replies, slightly intimidated by how friendly everyone is being, but he smiles politely at his new coworkers.

"Catch you guys 'round!" Johnny says as he takes off, giving the other two men a cheerful salute.

"Alright, the queue will be running for another 10 minutes or so," A.J. says as he enters the booth, pointing at the unlit ON AIR sign. "So in the meantime I can show you the basics…"

As promised, A.J. gives him the rundown, going over the master audio mixer controls, how to queue up songs, how to check the logs to see what's already been played, and a few different generic scripts for radio announcements.

"Like I said, you won't be talking on air just yet. But it's good for practice — and the more you practice the more natural it'll feel," he assures him. "Alright, we're coming up on the end of the queue. Grab some discs from that stack over there — doesn't matter which ones, really — and get them ready, I'll make the announcement." He places the bulky headphones on, pulling the mic in front of him and waiting for the song's outro begin to fade. He signals to Jeonghan as he goes live, the ON AIR sign lighting up bright red above their heads.

"That was 'Bitchcraft' by the Lipstick Dollz, and you're listening to WFVC 90.5 — the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll," A.J. speaks effortlessly into the mic. "Coming up next for you this hour, we've got some more Doomcock, a few from Spaceshuttle, and The Mary Jane Planes with their newest track, "Reefer Renegade" — only here on WFVC 90.5. Don't you dare touch that fuckin' tuner!"

The ON AIR sign shuts off, its red glow disappearing as the next song begins to play.

"See? Pretty easy," A.J. grins.

"Damn, that sounds so cool when you do it," Jeonghan tells him shyly.

"Don't sweat it, man. You'll get the hang of it in no time!"

Jeonghan isn't so sure, but he tries not to let the negative thoughts win. A.J. has him running the broadcast mixer, learning how to fade in and out and how to balance everything just right. He picks up on it faster than he expected, and the rest of the late-night shift seems to fly by. The job isn't the most exciting thing, but it's fun and interesting — and Jeonghan finds he enjoys even the monotony of mindlessly shelving CDs back into their places. But it seems that as soon as there's a lull in the job, you pop into his mind. By the time it's the middle of the night, he's certain you must have gone to bed by now — but he wonders if you were actually listening earlier. Did she like the music? he muses. Did she think of me at all?

He doesn't know the answer, but he really hopes you did.

The next day, Jeonghan doesn't show up to class.

You don't actually have any classes with him this semester, but after your Advanced Creative Writing class you always meet him in the quad underneath the usual tree. He's usually there first, so you waited for him for about 10 minutes — but he never showed.

Fortunately, his apartment is within walking distance from campus, so you make your way there. You knock on his door, but no response. You try again, a bit louder; after a few moments you hear footsteps from within the unit, shuffling their way toward the front door. The door swings open, revealing a messy-haired Jeonghan wearing pajamas, looking very much like you just woke him up.

"Have you been sleeping all day??" you ask with a grin.

"I guess so," he answers, placing his hand over his mouth as he yawns. "What time even is it?"

"3:23pm," you read from your wristwatch.

"Holy shit," he grumbles. "I slept through everything."

"You must've been exhausted," you point out. "Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to make sure you were alive."

"No, no — don't apologize," he shakes his head. "Here, come on in," he says as he swings the door open, traipsing back into the apartment. "I'll make us some coffee."

You follow your sleepy friend into his kitchen, where he locates a bag of coffee grounds and starts to brew a fresh pot.

"Soooo," you say eagerly, sitting down at the kitchen table. It's stacked with books, CDs, piles of mail, and one very ripe-looking banana sitting atop a toppled box of Lucky Charms — but you're able to clear off enough space for two coffee mugs. "How was it? Tell me everything!"

"It was actually really good!" he responds enthusiastically, leaning against the counter. The warm aroma of hot coffee drifts across the room as the dark liquid begins to drip into the carafe. "Nothing particularly exciting, since I was just training. But it's all super cool, I think I'm really going to like it."

You haven't seen Jeonghan this excited about something since he scored tickets to the blink-182 concert last summer. He's become one of your closest friends, so you know that he's generally a bit of a melancholy guy — but seeing him so passionate about something really warms your heart. Happiness is a good look on him, you think to yourself.

"What's that look for?" he inquires, raising his brow at you.

"Nothing! I'm just really excited for you," you smile at him. "I was listening last night, you know."

His face lights up. "You were?" he asks eagerly The pot begins to sputter as the coffee finishes brewing; he grabs two mugs, filling them with the beverage: one cup black, for himself, and one with a tablespoon of sugar, for you.

"Of course! I said I was going to, didn't I?"

"You did," he smiles, bringing the mugs to the table and setting yours in front of you. You take a sip — it's piping hot, but it's delicious. "Didja hear any new songs you liked?"

"Yeah, I really liked all of it! There was one band called something weird that I enjoyed, I think it was 'Beenis'?"

Jeonghan laughs. "Yeah, I recall seeing a Beenis in the mix. Hey, speaking of new bands…"

He gets up, fetching his backpack and pulling a slightly-bent bright yellow piece of paper from it. He hands it to you, and you see that it's a flier for a show down at Dizzy's Tavern, a local dive bar known for it's cheap beer and loud, live rock music. The two bands listed are Fuckwagon and The Flagstaff Arizonas — names you've certainly never heard of before, but then again you're not too acquainted with the local music scene.

"My boss told me about this show tonight, apparently Fuckwagon are a pretty well-known name around the station. Said they're always bringing in new demos and singles for us to play," he explains. "I don't work tonight, and I don't know what you're up to, but I thought maybe we could go check it out."

"I'm down! I have nothing else going on today, and that sounds fun!"

"Sweet," Jeonghan replies casually, trying to contain his excitement, but his face is positively beaming. "I'll pick you up at 7:45, then?"

"Sounds like a plan," you grin back at him.

[FIVE]

Dizzy's Tavern is, for lack of better words, a shithole. As you step through the front door you are immediately hit with a wall of cigarette smoke that is somehow both stale and fresh. It's dark inside, the only source of lighting being the red lights above the bar and neon signs of various beer brands hanging around the walls; despite the dim environment, the dinginess of the establishment is still glaringly obvious. The place is a decent size, but it's packed — there are people of all ages, most of whom seem to be clad in leather jackets, and many with hair dyed unnatural colors or a multitude of piercings. The vibe of the place certainly screams punk.

"Holy shit, it's crowded," you remark to Jeonghan as you both shuffle into the crowded bar area.

"We don't have to stay if it's too much—" he quickly offers.

"No, it's okay!" you assure him. "I just think this will be more fun once I have a drink or two in me," you say lightheartedly.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks, grabbing onto your arm gently as you meander through the throng of bodies as not to get separated.

"Jack and Coke," you answer. He raises a brow at you.

"Oh so we're drinking drinking tonight," he smirks.

"Hey, you get whatever you want," you tell him, poking him in the chest. "You don't have to drink just because of me."

"Maybe I want to."

"Okay, just be careful though. I know how much of a lightweight you are."

"Hey!" he protests.

"Well, you are! Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right," he concedes with a smile. "As usual."

He finally gets the bartender's attention, ordering a Jack and Coke for the both of you. You sip it as you make your way through the crowd, holding onto Jeonghan as you head toward the small stage at the back of the bar. The band isn't on yet; according to the flier they should be on any minute now, but you have a feeling that being precisely punctual perhaps isn't very punk rock.

"Let's hang out here," you say, spotting a tiny, unoccupied high-top table off to the side. It's less crowded over here, and not too close to the stage. "I'm sure we will be able to hear just fine."

You're in the middle of a very non-serious debate about Halloween costumes when you spot a familiar face emerging from the nearby hall that leads to the bathrooms. It's Joshua, your weed dealer, and you unintentionally make eye contact with him. His face lights up with recognition, and he waves at you, heading in your direction. Jeonghan looks over his shoulder, doing a poor job of hiding his grimace when he realizes who it is.

"Hey hey!" Joshua says cheerfully as he approaches your table. "What's up you guys?"

"Hi Joshua!" you tell him cheerfully. "We're here to see the show," you explain, nudging your head toward the still-empty stage. You want to ask him what exactly he's doing here, considering that this doesn't seem to be his scene in the slightest, but you figure that might be a bit rude.

"Oh, cool!" he nods eagerly. "Hey, by the way," he says, leaning in to the both of you. "I got some new school supplies coming my way soon, if you catch my drift." He winks at Jeonghan, nudging him playfully with his elbow. "I'll make sure to save the good stuff for you."

Jeonghan stands there frozen with awkwardness at Joshua's directness. "Um," he finally manages to reply. "Yeah, uh, that sounds cool. Thanks."

"Awesome!" Joshua smiles at him sweetly. Turning back to you, he gives you a casual salute.

"Well, I gotta bounce," he excuses himself. "Catch you guys on the flip side."

Once he's out of earshot, you turn to Jeonghan, giving him a knowing look.

"Told you," you tease. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay, okay, fine," he huffs, raising his hands defeatedly, but a smile spreads across his face. "I believe you now."

Several minutes later, the band finally comes out on stage, eliciting drunken cheering and whooping from the crowd of bar-goers.

"What the fuck is up!!!" the lead singer screams into the microphone. "We're Fuckwagon, and here's some fucking music!"

A screeching guitar riff begins, joined momentarily by crashing drums and a bassline that somehow already seems out of sync with the song. The lead singer appears to be playing the shrill guitar, and the bass player also has a mic; they start singing in tandem — sort of. You're not sure if the sounds coming from either of them can even be considered singing, but they proceed regardless, wailing into the mics as the drummer is already flailing crazily at the drum set. You nod your head to the beat as best you can; turning to Jeonghan, you see he also wears a stunned expression, staring blankly at the raucous scene on the stage.

"Is this the same song or a new one?" you ask him a few minutes later, leaning in to speak into his ear.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugs. He tosses back the rest of his drink, picking up your empty glass as well. "Want another one?"

"Yeah, definitely."

He returns a few minutes later with two fresh Jack and Cokes in hand. The lead singer has somehow already taken his shirt off, revealing a plethora of tattoos that you personally would consider hideous. You and Jeonghan down the drinks fast — unintentionally, but anything to make the music more tolerable. There seems to be no distinction from one song to the next, the night going by in a non-stop cacophony of hard, grungy rock sounds. You don't pay too much attention to the music though, instead talking and laughing with Jeonghan the whole time.

"That's not even the weirdest part," Jeonghan continues his story, resting his elbow on your shoulder as he leans in close to your face. "The next week, I get home and the apartment is filled with boxes of potatoes. Turns out, Jun had built a potato cannon, and he thought he had placed an order for a hundred potatoes — but he had accidentally ordered a hundred ten-pound bags."

"Oh my god," you laugh in disbelief. "How did he not notice, wasn't it expensive??"

"I have genuinely no idea," Jeonghan shakes his head, also laughing. "He just does things like that sometimes."

"I think he has to be the strangest guy I've ever met," you respond. "I can't believe you live with him."

"Hey, he's a great roommate. He's clean, quiet, and half the time he's not even there — off doing god knows what."

"And that was our last song!!!" the lead singer screams into the mic over the drummer continuing his solo despite the song having ended. "Goodnight motherfuckaaaas!!!"

The band exits the stage, the next band already setting up their instruments.

"Thank god," you say to Jeonghan, who is all but fully leaning on you at this point. You pick his drink up off the table, finishing it off before he can drink any more; he doesn't seem to notice.

"You think the next band will be any better?" he asks you, his face mere inches from yours, heavy eyelids blinking slowly in his drunken state.

"There's no way they can possibly be worse than that."

You were wrong. Despite it being harsh and grating, the first band at least had upbeat rock music; the new band consists of six people, one of whom plays the trumpet, and all of whom barely fit on the stage — and their music is dull, drawn-out, and extremely repetitive. You're not sure if lead singer is drunk or if he just sounds like he is, but either way, it's borderline insufferable.

You turn to Jeonghan, about to suggest you call it a night, but he clearly has the exact same thought.

"Should we… leave?"

"Yeeaaaah," you nod eagerly in agreement. "We should leave."

It's even colder now as you step out of the bar, but despite the chilly autumn wind the fresh, smoke-free air feels delightful.

"So," Jeonghan asks as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He drove you to the bar, but neither one of you seem to recall that detail — but you're both too drunk to drive, anyway. "What did you think of… that?"

"I think it sucked shit," you reply honestly. Jeonghan bursts out laughing, making you start giggling too.

"Yeah, that was pretty terrible," he agrees. "Sorry I dragged you to this."

"Don't be!" you insist. "I still had a good time."

"Good," Jeonghan replies, a smile lighting up his face. "I did too."

Though your apartment is further than his, he walks you home first. The alcohol in your system has kept you warm all night, but the cold nighttime breeze is starting to get to you. You shiver, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands and tucking them into you as you cross your arms to try and stay warm.

"Here," Jeonghan tells you as soon as he notices, immediately taking his jacket off.

"No, I'll be fine—" you start, but he's already wrapping it around your shoulders. The jacket is warm, both from its thick leather and Jeonghan's body heat. You accept it graciously, slipping your arms into the baggy sleeves and zipping it all the way up.

"Thanks," you tell him sincerely. "You're the best."

In the dim orange-y glow of the incandescent streetlamps it's hard to tell, but Jeonghan blushes, his face turning even pinker than the alcohol made him.

You arrive outside your apartment a few minutes later.

"Well, goodnight," Jeonghan smiles at you. To his surprise, you suddenly throw your arms around him, leaning your head against his shoulder as you hug him. He tenses up slightly as his inebriated brain tries to process what's happening, but slowly he wraps his arms around you too, sinking into your embrace. It only lasts a few seconds, but the moment simultaneously feels hours long and also over way too fast.

"Goodnight," you reply as you let go, waving as you turn toward the sidewalk to head home. "Get home safe, okay?"

"I will," he nods softly. He watches until you've made it inside, then turns to head back to his own apartment, wondering if you knew that you just completely flipped his world upside down.

[SIX]

You wake up the next day uncomfortably hot.

Prying your eyes open, you see that you're in your living room. Apparently, you were too tired to make it all the way to your bedroom, so you just crashed on the couch, still wearing your shoes and Jeonghan's jacket. Your arm feels like lead as you try to lift it, peering at your watch: 12:16pm.

"Holy shit," you grumble as you hoist yourself up into a sitting position, your head pounding with a killer hangover. A few seconds later, Mina walks into the room.

"Jesus Christ, you're a mess," she tells you bluntly. "What the hell did you do last night?"

"Um, went to a shitty bar and saw a shitty band," you answer, rubbing your aching eyes. "Scratch that — two shitty bands."

"With your boyfriend, I assume?" she asks, glancing at the oversized leather jacket with its many pins and buttons.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mumble through a yawn, shimmying out of the jacket and neatly placing on the armrest next to you.

"Well, you knew who I was talking about without me even saying his name, soooo…"

"Shut uppp," you groan, flopping your tired head onto the back of the couch. With a pleased grin, she heads into the kitchen. You close your eyes, nodding off again, but soon you start to smell fresh coffee, and hear the sound of a sizzling skillet. A few minutes later, Mina returns, carrying a large mug of steaming coffee and a plate of fried eggs and pancakes.

"Here, eat," she says firmly, setting the plate and mug in front of you on the coffee table.

"Thanks, Mina," you smile at her.

After devouring your breakfast, you hop in the shower, standing there under the hot stream of water for far too long — but, you feel a million times better afterward. You toss on some sweats and decide to work on some homework from your bed. After a surprisingly productive afternoon, make your way back to the kitchen to find some dinner. On your way there, you pass by the couch, spotting Jeonghan's jacket still laying there. You feel bad that you didn't remember to give it back last night — after all, this is quite literally his only jacket. You're figure you should just take it over to him after you eat dinner. But, you're pretty sure he mentioned that he was working tonight; and since it's getting late and campus is a closer walk for you anyway, you figure you'll just try and drop it off at the station.

Your walk to campus is eerily empty. You've never seen this few people around, but it is Saturday night, after all. Most people are probably either at home or partying off-campus by this point. You approach the Comms building, suddenly worried that the door might be locked at this hour; but its swings right open when you pull it, and you let yourself inside. You've only had a couple classes in this building before, so you're not familiar with its layout, and you realize you have no idea where the radio station is actually located. You're about to start wandering down the halls in a random direction when you spot a directory by the staircase. The station appears to be on the top floor, so you head up the stairs.

There's no signage for the station, but you figure the bright red door with all the stickers all over it is probably the one you need. You knock at the door quietly, just now realizing that maybe this was a bad idea and that you shouldn't be here. You consider turning around and leaving before you can bother anybody, but then the door swings open. A tough-looking man with long hair and a beard pokes his head out.

"Hi, so sorry to bother you," you tell him apologetically. "But I was wondering if Jeonghan was working tonight? I just wanted to drop off his jacket."

"Oh!" the man replies with a smile, looking suddenly much less intimidating. "Yeah, he's here, come on in!"

You're not sure what exactly you thought a college radio station that plays punk music would look like, but this place seems to fit the bill. You don't see Jeonghan, but then the man points his thumb back to the small window in the far wall.

"He's in the booth right now, but I'll go grab him once we cut to commercial," he tells you. "I'm A.J., by the way," he adds, extending his hand to you.

"Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Oh, so you're y/n!" A.J. responds amicably. "I've heard all about you.""

"Oh," you reply, feeling your face turn hot suddenly. "Really?"

"Yeah, Jeonghan talks about you all the time. All good things, though, I promise," he smiles. "Hey, I gotta go fax something real quick — just hang out in here for a sec, I'll be right back."

He exits the room, and you walk over to the window, peering into the booth. There's a lot of equipment in the way, but you spot the back of Jeonghan's head, clad with headphones and bobbing his head to whatever must be playing on the radio right now. You can't see his face, but you get the sense that he really is enjoying the job.

A.J. returns in a couple minutes. He waits outside the booth door, glancing at the lit-up ON AIR sign overhead.

"I'll go grab him as soon we're not on air," he tells you. Sure enough, it shuts off a few seconds later, and he slips into the booth. Watching through the window, you see Jeonghan turn around to greet his boss; A.J. points to you through the window, and Jeonghan turns, his face lighting up when he sees it's you.

"Hey!" he says cheerfully as he comes out to greet you. "What are you doing here?"

"Just returning your jacket I accidentally stole from you," you say, extending the garment to him.

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, taking the jacket from you. "I didn't even realize until I was almost home, I was wondering why I was so cold."

"Sorry," you smile apologetically.

"Don't even worry about it," he smiles back at you. "Thanks for bringing it to me, you didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did. I know for a fact that you don't own any other jackets," you tease.

"Okay, you got me there," he grins.

"How's the job going?" you ask.

"It's great!" he answers with more enthusiasm than you're used to from him. "I'm can officially run the show and be on air by myself now, no more supervision required."

"That's so cool," you beam at him. "You seem like you're really liking it so far."

"Yeah," he nods. "I definitely am."

"Well, I should let you get back to work now," you tell him. "Hope you have a good rest of your shift."

"Thanks, y/n," Jeonghan smiles warmly. "See ya later."

The end credits to Law & Order: Special Victims Unit begin to play as you lay on the couch, eating potato chips straight from the bag. It's not particularly the most exciting Saturday night you could be having, but you're enjoying the relaxing night in. You're not really in the mood to keep watching TV, so you grab the remote and shut it off. Mina isn't home yet, so you figure you'd take this opportunity to play your music out loud without wearing headphones. You get up and shuffle over to the boombox perched on the bookshelf, turning it on; it's tuned to the local pop station — clearly Mina used it last. You enjoy this station too, but your mind flashed back to Jeonghan in the booth. Maybe I'll hear him on the air, you think to yourself excitedly. You change the tuner to 90.5 and are greeted by the heavy tune of an unfamiliar but grungy-sounding song.

Plopping back on the couch you reach for your bag of chips again — but over the crinkling of the bag as you stick your hand in it, a very familiar voice comes through on the radio.

"You're listening to WFVC 90.5, the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll. The track you just heard was "Beautiful Monster" by Meatglove, one of their earliest and most iconic releases. Up next — we've got some Death Day Party for you, as well as a classic from Wunderguts; but first, some local flavor from Z-41 with their newest track "Hell Highway."

You're a bit taken aback by the confidence and air which he delivered his spiel. You can tell he's still getting used to it, but you swear you've never heard him sound so self-assured. The crashing drums of the next song begin; you're getting a bit sleepy, but you're comfy — so you end up laying on the couch for another hour or so, zoned out as you enjoy the music. You're halfway asleep when Mina returns home, so out of it that you don't even hear her come in; but you do hear Jeonghan's voice over the speakers, making you smile as your eyes start to drift close.

"I assume that's your boyfriend on the radio?"

Your eyes shoot open again at the sudden sound of Mina's voice. Looking up, you see her looming above you as she stands beside the armrest.

"I didn't even hear you come in," you tell her, rubbing your tired eyes.

"Yeah, I can tell," she teases. "You wouldn't be swooning and gushing over him like that if you knew I was here."

"I was not," you roll your eyes. "I was like half-asleep."

"Mhmm. Well, I'm going right to bed — goodnight!"

And with that, you're alone with the radio again.

While the commercials play, an idea pops into your head. You remember Jeonghan making an off-hand comment about how the station does take requests — it's just that hardly anyone ever calls them in. You consider for a minute, and then decide, fuck it.

You get up again, quietly heading over to the landline. You're don't actually know the number, so you flip through the phone book, perusing the thin yellow pages for the station. Eventually, you spot it: Foxville College Communications Department, WFVC 90.5 — 555-1004.

You dial the number, the line ringing as you wait for it to connect. You realize you're not even sure what exactly it is you planned to request, considering that the station only plays underground stuff. Anything you would normally request on the radio is off the table.

Before you can think of something, the line picks up.

"WFVC 90.5, we have a caller live on the air," you hear Jeonghan answer the call. "Hi there, whatcha calling for?"

Your stomach drops a bit — you weren't expecting him to actually pick up live on the air. You're not a shy person, but the thought that a bunch of random strangers can hear you right now does make you at least a little bit nervous.

"Hi!" you say cheerfully, careful not to be to so loud as to wake Mina. "Um, I was hoping I could call in a request."

"Of course you can!" he answers. You were wondering if Jeonghan would recognize your voice, but the slight pause and the upward shift in his voice tells you he definitely does. "What are you looking for?"

Thinking on the fly, you say the first thing that pops into your head.

"Well, I don't actually have a specific song in mind," you reply. " Can you play me something upbeat and happy? A song I'd play if I was just chilling with my friend or something."

"I sure can," Jeonghan responds, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice. "What's your name?" he remembers to ask at the last second — of course, he already knows, but he makes sure he sticks to the script.

"Y/n," you tell him.

"Well, y/n, thanks for calling in — we appreciate ya. Got a special one just for you coming up right now: this one's called 'Heart Attack', by good friends of the station, Fever Baby — right here on WFVC 90.5!"

The call ends, the flat tone humming in your ear. You put the receiver back, heading back into the living room. You're not entirely sure how radio requests work, but you assume there's some sort of slight delay. Sure enough, right as you return the end of your call plays, followed by a light and rhythmic guitar strumming — the song he chose for you. You sit down as you listen, the melody picking up with a bright atmosphere. The song is exactly the vibe you were looking for, and you like it a lot. Turns out the band has a female lead too, something you always love, especially in this genre of music. You must've said that once a long time ago, in some off-hand comment, but Jeonghan remembered. That's the thing about Jeonghan, though — he always does.

[SEVEN]

The semester passes by, days getting shorter and temperatures getting lower as the final weeks of fall come to a close. School has kept you plenty busy, with midterms and papers taking up the majority of your time. You haven't been able to have as much of a social life as you would like, which isn't particularly unusual for this time of year; but Jeonghan especially has been busy — late nights at the station have caused his sleep schedule to shift significantly, rendering your schedules largely incompatible. You miss him, and you really hope you can find a way to hang out with him soon.

You're sitting in your apartment studying one night when the phone rings. The phone doesn't have caller ID, but you expect it's one of Mina's friends calling, as she likes to chat on the phone more often than you do. She's not home right now, so you could easily just let it go to voicemail, but something in you feels the urge to answer.

"Hello?" you answer as you pick up, grabbing the nearby stack of sticky notes and a pen in case you need to take a message.

"Hey y/n," you hear Jeonghan say softly through the line.

"Hannie!" you say, surprised but excited to be hearing his voice. "How's it going? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"I know, I've been so busy," he concurs. "I'm tired as hell, but I'm okay. How are you?"

"Same, I'm exhausted but I'm getting by. How's the DJ life treating you?"

"It's good!" he answers eagerly. "I mean, that's why I'm so tired. But in a way it also kinda gives me an energy boost. I know that probably sounds crazy…"

"Not at all," you smile. "That means you really like it! I'm so glad it ended up being a great fit for you."

"Me too," he agrees. "I've been so happy lately. Except for the fact that we haven't hung out like, at all. That part sucks."

"We gotta find some time to hang," you say assertively.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling," he replies. "The Comms Department is having this social thing on Friday night. I wasn't really planning to go, but guests are allowed if you'd wanna come with me. There's gonna be free food."

"Hell yeah, I'm always down for free food," you grin — though, you're much more excited about getting to see Jeonghan finally.

"Cool! It starts at 7, I'll drop by your place around then and we can walk to campus together."

"Sounds good," you say excitedly. "Is this like, a formal event?"

"Um, I don't think so? But like, maybe a little?"

"I'll dress up at least a little, then," you tell him. "I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed."

"Good idea, I'll do the same. Well, I gotta head to work in a few minutes, so I gotta go."

"Have a good shift!" you tell him. "See ya on Friday."

"See ya then, y/n."

Friday afternoon you start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear to the social later. You have a few hours until you need to be ready, but you figured you'd give yourself a little extra time to make yourself look at least a little bit nice. It's been a while since you've had an excuse to dress up anyway, so what the hell, why not.

Nothing is particularly catching your eye as you flip through the hangers, until you get to the end and spot a brand new skirt you had completely forgotten about. You pull it out to look at it; it's a black pinstripe pleated mini skirt, brandishing a built-in belt, and it still has the tags on. A bit on the casual side, but you figure if you pair it with a nice sweater and tights that don't have any holes in them the outfit will look just the right amount of sophisticated for the occasion.

Digging through your dresser drawer, you take a look at your sweaters. Most are a bit too tattered, and about half of them are just sweatshirts featuring a band logo, but you do find a deep maroon sweater that you rarely wear. You lay it on your bed above the skirt and grab a pair of tights to lay out as well; all put together, it actually looks pretty nice.

You throw your outfit on and spend a little bit longer than usual putting makeup on, adding some shimmery eyeshadow and some tinted lip gloss to your usual routine of eyeliner and mascara. When you're done styling your hair, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. It's not that you usually look bad, but you definitely tend to dress more on the casual side, so you're pleasantly surprised by how put-together you look right now. Turns out, a little extra effort can go a long way.

You're reading your book a couple hours later when you hear a light knocking at your door. Hopping up off the couch you flutter over to answer it, opening the door to reveal Jeonghan looking the fanciest you've ever seen him. He's still in his leather jacket, of course — but underneath he wears a maroon button-down shirt and crisp black dress pants, and you've never seen his long hair so neat and styled.

"Holy shit, since when do you own dress pants?" you ask with a playful smirk.

"Hey, shut up," he pouts. "I know they look stupid."

"They do not!" you insist. "You look really nice, Jeonghan. I've just never seen you so dressed up. And we even matched on accident!" you chuckle.

"Looks like we did," he smiles. "You look really nice as well," he says, staring at your outfit for a moment but quickly averting his gaze. You typically wear clothes that are at least a little bit baggy, but this sweater fits you snugly, its thin knit fabric accentuating your every curve very flatteringly. Jeonghan tries not to think about it.

"Thanks! Here, let me put my shoes on and then we can bounce."

He steps inside as you grab your Doc Martens, leaning down to slip your feet into them and tighten the laces. Your back is to him as you bend over, and while your skirt isn't super short it does ride up a bit in the process, your thighs on full display through the sheer black tights. He ogles you as you tie the boots up, feeling his face grow hot. He knows you don't notice, but he forces himself to turn away before you do, prying his eyes off of you, but it's too late.

"Um, I'm gonna go pee real quick," he tells you, scurrying off to your bathroom.

"Okie dokie," you reply.

Jeonghan doesn't actually have to pee, but he locks himself in the bathroom anyway. He stares at himself in the mirror, still thrown off by how different he looks all cleaned up.

"Get it together man," he grumbles to himself.

A couple minutes later he returns.

"Ready?" you ask, grabbing your coat.

"Yep!" he says with a smile.

The walk to campus is cold, but there's no wind, so it's surprisingly pleasant. On your way there it begins to snow, huge flakes falling gently through the air and starting to accumulate on the ground. You arrive to the Comms Building, brushing the snow off your jacket before you step through its doors to the warm interior.

"You've got some in your hair, too," Jeonghan points out. You ruffle your hair lightly, shaking the snow off.

"So do you," you tell him, reaching up and brushing your fingers across his hair, brushing the stark white snow out of his long, dark locks. Jeonghan freezes up slightly, grateful that his cheeks are already pink from the cold so you can't see him blushing like an idiot.

"Thanks," he says softly.

You make your way to the end of the hall, where two doors propped open lead you into the event space. Immediately you see that despite your efforts, you are both still noticeably underdressed.

"Welp," he mumbles to you quietly. "Guess I didn't get the memo that this was actually fancy."

"It's okay," you reply reassuringly. "We still look nice." And it's true, but amongst all the suits and heels you still feel a bit out of place.

You make your way over to the food table together, grabbing plates and piling them high with the assortment of hors d'oeuvres on display. It earns you a few judgmental glares from a group of older adults standing nearby, but you're both broke college kids, so you don't really give a fuck.

"Let's go over there," Jeonghan says after you each grab a glass of wine, nudging his head toward the back of the room. You meander through the groups of professors and whomever else standing around and chatting, claiming the two chairs in the corner.

"So, what exactly is this event supposed to be again?" you ask him as you pop a fancy cracker with cheese on it into your mouth.

"Um, I don't actually know," he admits as he sips at wine, glancing around the room. "I thought it was for students and professors to meet each other, but I don't think any of these people are actually students…"

You look around too, and he seems to be right. Everyone is significantly older and distinguished-looking — very clearly not undergraduates.

"Oops," you say, trying not to smile too big. "Does that mean we just walked in here and stole their food?"

A grin starts to spread across his face. "Um, yeah. Looks like it."

He starts to giggle out loud, prompting you to subtly whack him in the leg.

"Shhh, people are gonna notice!" you whisper, but you feel the urge to start laughing too. A voice rings out over the speaker system as somebody starts talking into a microphone. The attendees all turn and face the small stage, where a woman in a sequined navy dress starts to speak.

"Should we go?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, definitely," you reply, tossing back the rest of your wine. "But let's grab some more food on the way out."

Jeonghan grins. "I like the way you think."

After piling the small plastic plates with as much food as you possibly can and grabbing another glass of wine each, you sneak out the back door of the room, quickly making your way towards the building's exit.

"Holy shit," Jeonghan laughs as you burst through the door returning you to the quad. "That was awesome."

"I love to steal free food," you giggle. The falling snow has picked up, blustering around calmly but shrouding everything in a sea of white. "C'mon," you say to him, zipping off toward your usual spot under the small oak tree. "Let's go over here."

You stand together beneath the branches, accepting their humble offering of any sort of cover as you scarf down the rest of the food on your plates.

"I guess we also technically stole these wine glasses," Jeonghan comments as he stares at the remaining red liquid in the bowl. "I didn't even realize they were real."

"Me neither," you say, finishing your drink. "Whoops."

Hors d'oeuvres and wine now gone, you toss the plates in a nearby trashcan, leaving the glasses sitting on the steps to the Comms Building and zooming off before somebody catches you. When you get off campus you slow your pace, strolling casually down the block through the deluge of snow.

"Maybe I should've driven," Jeonghan chuckles. "But also who wants to drive in this weather."

"True," you smile. "But I don't mind the snow. It's nice."

"Me neither."

You chat the whole walk home, taking and laughing about anything and everything and nothing at all. By the time you make it to your building, your cheeks hurt — not only from the cold but from smiling nonstop the whole night.

"Tonight was really fun — even if it wasn't what we expected," you say, turning to face Jeonghan.

"Same here," he smiles softly. "I'm glad I finally got to see you."

"Me too," you beam back. You're thinking about inviting him up, maybe to smoke a J or something, when suddenly his lips are on yours.

Your whole body freezes. His lips are soft, the kiss is sweet, but you were not prepared for it. Quickly he pulls his face back, his eyes widening with fear like a deer in the headlights.

"Sorry," he stammers, then takes off.

"Wait!" you call out after him. "Jeonghan!" But he's gone in the blink of an eye, running off down the street into the snowy night.

[EIGHT]

Almost an entire week passes, and you don't see or hear from Jeonghan once.

You tried calling him, but you just kept getting Jun, who seemed to be confused but didn't ask any questions. You tried to meet him after several of his classes, but he either wasn't there or managed to completely evade you. You even tried e-mailing him, but as you expected, no response.

So you gave up for the time being. You knew he wasn't going to avoid you forever, that eventually he would come back. But damn, you hated waiting for it.

It's now Thursday night. Six nights have gone by, and still radio silence from Jeonghan. You're not even upset with him, you just want to talk to him. There's too many questions swimming around in your brain right now — you can hardly think about anything else.

Why did you kiss me?

Why did you run away?

Why have you been so scared to talk to me?

Do you love me?

The living room boom box softly plays the local classic rock channel as you lay at the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking too much. For reasons you can't explain, you suddenly get up and go change the tuner to 90.5. You lay back down, unsure what exactly the point of that was, but also you don't really care. You're not even sure if Jeonghan is working tonight, and even if he is it's too early for him to be on — but the radio station is enough to remind you of him. You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, blinking them away quickly.

The DJ eventually comes back on the air; as expected, it's not Jeonghan, but that doesn't make you any less sad about the whole situation. The next song that comes on sounds vaguely familiar, and awful; it occurs to you about two minutes into the song that this sounds like that terrible band you saw at that bar — Fuckwagon or whatever. The one you saw with Jeonghan.

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks. Unable to shut them down, you just let them flow, softly sobbing into the couch.

This is so fucking stupid, you tell yourself. I'm crying to a Fuckwagon song right now. You let out a laugh through your tears, in disbelief of how utterly stupid this scenario is. After crying for a few more minutes, you eventually calm back down. Your mind is a bit clearer now, and you come to the realization that there's nothing stopping you from marching over there right this instant and putting an end to this nonsense.

Fifteen minutes later, you're standing outside Jeonghan's apartment. All that's left is to knock, but now that you're here that part feels daunting. You take a deep breath, slowly raising your hand to the door, then you knock. It comes out a bit more aggressive than you meant it, but you hope that means he'll hear you right away. You hear footsteps trodding toward the door, and then it opens.

"Oh, hi y/n," Jun greets you. He looks frazzled, like you just woke him from a thousand-year slumber.

"Hey, Jun. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," you tell him apologetically.

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," he replies nonchalantly. You're about to ask him what the hell he was doing then, but you decide some questions don't need to be answered. Besides, that's not why you're here.

"Is Jeonghan here?" you cut to the chase. "I was hoping to talk to him."

"Sorry, no," he shakes his head. "You just missed him — he left for work about ten minutes ago."

"Dammit," you mutter.

"Has he still not talked to you since he kissed you?"

You look up at Jun, a perplexed expression coloring your face. "You know about that?"

"Yes," he replies matter-of-factly. "He came home right after that and was freaking out about it. He wasn't exactly very coherent, but through his ramblings I got the general picture."

"Did he say why he was freaking out?" you try.

"He was scared that it was a mistake, that he fucked it all up."

"Fucked what all up?" you ask, furrowing your brow. "Our friendship?"

Jun lets out a gentle sigh. "So you didn't know, then," he says softly. "Jeonghan is in love with you, y/n. Has been since the day he met you."

You make it to campus in record time, speed-walking as fast as you can, zooming across the quad directly toward the Comms Building. You're out of breath as you enter, groaning as you spot the three flights of stairs you now have to climb. But you move quickly anyway, your body seemingly unable to slow down for anything.

This time you don't even bother knocking on the red door. You fling it open, expected to have to come up with some sort of explanation on the fly with his boss, but you are greeted by an empty office. The door slowly closes behind you as you walk over to the booth window. Peering in, sure enough you can see the top of his head as he sits at the broadcast mixer. The ON AIR sign above you is lit; you wait for the red light to shut off, then you knock on the booth door. Jeonghan turns around slowly, looking confused, but then he sees you standing outside the window. His eyes widen, and he leaps out out of his chair, bolting to the door and swinging it open.

"What are you doing here??" he asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, but we have to talk."

"Nobody else is here tonight," he replies. "Here, come inside."

He shuts the door behind you as you enter, but as soon as he does you grab him by the arm and spin him around to face you.

"What the—"

"Why did you run away?"

"I—" He pauses for a moment. "That's… not what I thought you were going to ask," he admits.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I just thought you were going to ask me why I kissed you first."

"Okay," you reply. "Then why did you kiss me?"

Jeonghan sighs, dropping his head slightly; but a moment later he lifts it again, looking you directly in the eyes.

"I kissed you because I love you, y/n. I ran away because I was scared you didn't love me back, and I wasn't prepared to face that reality."

His gaze is locked onto yours so intensely that you feel like you might burst into flames. He looks like he's experiencing every emotion at once, anxiously waiting for you to say something, anything. But you don't know what to say, so you do what only feels right — you throw your arms around him, pulling him into your embrace.

He gasps softly as you squeeze him tight, burying your face into his chest; you can feel the accelerating pace of his heart, thumping against your cheek. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, leaning his head on top of yours.

"I love you too," you say softly. "I didn't realize it for a while — but it's so obvious to me now."

He kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back as you nuzzle your face deeper into his sweater.

"That's the best news I've ever heard."

You could stay here in his embrace indefinitely, but eventually you lift your head, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Kiss me — but for real this time."

Slowly, Jeonghan grabs your face with both hands, eyeing you hungrily before pulling you into a kiss. This time it's slow, sweet; you slip your hands around his waist, clinging to him as you savor it. Your heart pounds in your chest as your lips tug at each other, refusing to let go, pressing your body into his and pushing him up against the door. A soft, involuntarily moan emanates from his throat, and you feel the stiff, growing bulge in his pants against your stomach.

Eventually your lips part, lingering near each other as he presses his forehead into yours.

"Holy shit," he mutters. "I can't believe this is really happening."

He drops his hands from their grasp on your head, unzipping your coat and taking it off of you; tossing it on a nearby desk, he hurriedly slips his hands around your waist, kneading at the soft flesh and holding your body tightly against him. He feels slightly embarrassed by how quickly he got a full-fledged boner, but he's too aroused to care — besides, judging by the burning desire in your eyes, you're feeling the exact same thing right now.

"You're perfect," he tells you, cracking a smile and blushing as the words leave his lips. You grin back, giving him another soft kiss before taking hold of his hands.

"C'mere," you say to him, dragging him over to the sound mixer.

"What are you—oh." You cut him off by giving him a slight push, sitting him down into the thick, sturdy chair. You straddle his lap, pressing your core against his bulge, rubbing yourself against it through both of your jeans.

"Fuck," Jeonghan gasps as your weight presses against his cock; you lean your head down to kiss him again, locking lips as you start to make out, mouths crashing and tongues eagerly dancing against each other. Eventually you begin to sway your hips, unable to contain your excitement. You gasp as your mouths part, tossing your head back as you grind against him harder; his arms around you squeeze tighter, pulling you in as close as physically possible. His face presses against your tits as he rubs his hands over your ass, guiding you as you rock back and forth on top of him.

"Oh my god…" he sighs. He tosses his head back, and you swoop in, kissing the delicate flesh of his neck, making him let out the most pathetic-sounding groan. You moan as you grind your heat against him, getting the both of you off at once.

"F-fuck, that's so hot," his voice wavers.

"If I keep doing this it's gonna make me cum," you tell him, starting to sound whiny and frantic.

"Oh my god, please do."

You increase your pace, pressing your aching clit against his clothed cock. It feels incredible — you simply can't help the soft little cries escaping your lips.

"Can I…" Jeonghan asks, tugging at the button of your jeans.

"Please," you say breathily as you eagerly nod your head. He unfastens the button, tugging down your zipper and opening your pants enough for him to slip his fingers beneath your underwear. You let out a whimper as his fingertips dip into your folds, his lips parting lustfully as he discovers the absolute pool of wetness in your panties right now.

"Fuck," you whine, rubbing your clit against his fingers with fervor. A burning fire builds in your gut, your whole body tensing in anticipation of your release. It washes over you in bursting waves, your body trembling atop Jeonghan as you ride out your orgasm. As your movement slows, you catch your breath, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. As you open your eyes you get a glimpse at him, you find him looking utterly desperate, and ready to bust at any given moment. You let out a giggle, still in a daze from your high; but you slip off the chair, kneeling down before him between his legs.

"Oh my god, you're gonna kill me," he half-laughs, half-whines. He raises his drenched fingers to his mouth, lapping your juices up feverously, eyes rolling back as he savors the taste of you. You slowly unbuckle the studded leather belt around his waist, unbuttoning his jeans painfully slowly; he wriggles in his seat, silently pleading for you to take his cock out, for you to put your mouth over it…

Finally, you do — reaching into his boxers, you tug them down, wrapping your hand around his hard, thick cock and pulling it out.

"Holy shit," you blurt out, glancing up at him and giving him a giddy smile. "You've been packing this the whole time?!"

He bursts out laughing, cradling your cheek in his hand, slowly guiding your lips to his cock. You lightly circle the tip with your tongue, teasing him; he lets out a sigh, licking his lips as he watches you taste his cock. Slowly you take the head between your lips, suckling it lightly before you start to slide your mouth down his length. You're not even halfway down when it reaches the back of your mouth; you push down further, taking him in your throat, gagging audibly on his size.

"Ohhh, wow," he mumbles as his eyelids flutter back. "That's so good…"

His hips gently push upward as you bob your head up and down, feeding you more of his length as you slide it in and out of your mouth. Your noises escalate, pathetic whining growing louder as you start to increase your pace. He can't help himself — he starts to fuck his cock into your mouth, sliding deep into your throat. Tears well in your eyes, but you continue to stare up at him; the sight is enough to send him over the edge.

"Baby, 'm gonna cum," he groans. A few thrusts later, you feel ropes of hot cum shooting down your throat, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he releases. Soft whimpers escape his trembling lips as he cums hard in your mouth, relishing every moment of the delicious sensation. He strokes your head gently as he finishes; you swallow all his cum, slowly dragging your lips off his spent cock.

"Fuck," he sighs, melting into the chair. Opening his eyes, he looks down at you sweetly, his head still spinning from the orgasm. "Thank you."

"For sucking your dick?" you ask, starting to giggle.

"Yeah," he says with a stupid grin. "That was awesome."

He helps to you your feet, tucking his cock back inside his pants and zipping them up again. He pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you again.

"Sorry I kissed you and ran away like an idiot," he tells you, holding you snugly against him. "That was really stupid and embarrassing."

"You're not an idiot," you reply, playfully thumping him in the chest. "I like you just the way you are."

Jeonghan smiles. In the few years you've known him, you've never seen him radiating with genuine happiness like this — you decide it looks great on him.

[EPILOGUE]

You gasp for air as your head falls back into the pillows, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm. Jeonghan remains parked between your legs, lazily lapping at your soaked pussy — his new favorite place to be.

"Fuck," you sigh, dragging your fingers through his hair. "That was so good."

He lifts his head, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices.

"Good," he replies, grinning at you proudly.

"Kiss me," you plead softly; he crawls up the bed to greet your lips with his, planting a deep kiss onto your mouth. A sudden knocking at your bedroom door makes the both of you jump.

"Hey lovebirds," Mina calls out through the door. "Your take-out just got here. I already paid for it, so you owe me $20."

"It was only $15!" you shout back.

"Service fee. For me," she responds cheekily, already walking away. You roll your eyes, laughing it off. Jeonghan starts kissing your cheeks, pecking gently as the soft skin.

"Hey, that tickles!" you giggle.

"But you look so pretty when you laugh," he replies, continuing to kiss you.

"You're ridiculous."

"I just love you, that's all."

He lifts his head, smiling at you sweetly.

"I love you too," you reply, beaming back at him. "We should go get our food before it gets cold—" you say, starting to try and sit up, but Jeonghan holds you pinned against the bed.

"Hey!" you protest, but he's already sliding back down the bed.

"You have a microwave," he says matter-of-factly, taking hold of your thighs as he positions his face right in front of your dripping core again.

"Besides, I'm not done here yet…"

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, don't forget to REBLOG and COMMENT — your feedback is greatly valued ♡

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower  @hanniebub

You wake up in your bed.

For a confused moment you just stare at the ceiling, trying to piece together how you got here. Then it all comes back—the club, the frustration, Seungcheol on the couch, his words, his hands, his—

You sit up so fast your head spins. You have to close your eyes and breathe deeper for a good minute before opening them again and taking in your surroundings, just to make sure.

It is your room. You're in your room. But… you're wearing an oversized t-shirt that's definitely not yours. You tug at the collar and bring it closer to your face, sniffing it on reflex. A shudder runs through you when you realise it's Seungcheol's—and you fall back down onto your bed, burrowing yourself deeper into your blanket, with the collar still pulled over your nose. A part of you judges you silently and if you cared more in the moment, you'd agree and call yourself a weirdo and stop immediately, but you can't care less because it smells nice—like him, like cedarwood and a bit of pineapple and bergamot. You let out a minuscule whimper. Fuck. The memories of last night are fuzzy around the edges but the physical evidence is not as subtle—you can still feel the ache between your legs from spreading them wide for too long, the tenderness that speaks to being thoroughly, completely fucked.

You let out a muffled groan. You need coffee. You need to figure out what the hell to do with what you did. And there are so many other things swarming your mind, like—

Knock knock.

"Hey, are you up?" Seungcheol's voice comes through the door. "I made coffee. And I'm onto breakfast. If you want."

"Give me a minute," you rasp back from under the blanket and clear your throat.

Silence follows for a moment, as if he's hesitating on what to do next, and then you hear him move away. You sit up in your bed again, staring at your surroundings for a long moment, then drag yourself out of it and to the bathroom, where you then stare at your reflection in the mirror. You look… fine. A little tired, maybe. Your hair is a mess. But there's something in your expression you barely recognise because it's been so long since the last time you saw yourself like that—a softness around your eyes, a curve to your mouth. You scowl at your own reflection which just happens to be another confirmation.

You look like someone who got fucked stupid and liked it.

Five minutes later you're in the kitchen, feeling a little more like a human after completing your morning routine.

Seungcheol is at the stove, flipping pancakes. He's wearing a different t-shirt—a soft black one that's more of his version of loungewear—and his hair is damp, like he showered, which he probably did. He looks up when you walk in and there's a moment of eye contact that feels charged with everything that happened last night.

"Hey," he greets you, and you catch a note of carefulness in his tone. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit simply and watch his ears go pink. Something satisfied churns in your chest at the sight of that, you can't help the way your lips twitch in a ghost of a shit-eating grin. You hold yourself back. Barely.

He's so pathetic, you think. You love it. If you were any more cruel, you'd probably tease him about it and make him squirm uncomfortably.

"I, uh. Sorry about that. I mean—not actually sorry, not like I regret it, I mean, if you do I understand, but—if you need anything, like ibuprofen or—"

"Seungcheol."

He stops, blinking at you with his shiny boba eyes, mouth slightly agape and your eyes flicker to his lips for a second, you lick your own unconsciously before meeting his eyes again.

"Last night," you start slowly, "was…"

"Amazing?" he offers, then winces. "Sorry. That was—I'm not trying to—I just—"

"Would you please shut up for a second?"

He does, his jaw snaps shut with a quiet click of his teeth.

You take a breath. "Last night was good. Really good," it's an understatement of the century actually, but Seungcheol doesn't have to know. You don't want to feed his ego. You also don't want to think why exactly you don't want to let him know. "But I was drunk, and I don't know if—I need to know if it was just the alcohol or if…" you trail off, gesticulating vaguely.

Wow, how low have you fallen? Coming up with any type of bullshit just to get railed again, a voice in the back of your head judges.

"It wasn't the alcohol."

You look at Seungcheol. He's put the spatula down, turned to face you fully, and there's something steady in his expression that makes your chest tight.

"I've wanted you since you moved in," he says quietly. "Last night wasn't… I didn't do it because you were drunk. I did it because you asked and because I couldn't really say no to you even if I tried. But I need you to know that if you woke up today and decided it was a mistake, I understand. We can pretend it never happened. I won't make it weird."

There's a distant thought in your head, that you should take his words and run with them. Nod and agree and go back to the way things were before, instead of making it complicated. After all, you really like this apartment and you really don't mind Seungcheol as your flatmate. He's not the worst. You'd hate to look for a different place. But can you actually go back to what it was before after the wildest night of your life that even your drunken state couldn't truly dim in your memory? You don't think so.

So instead you cross the little distance of the kitchen between you and Seungcheol, take his face in your hands and kiss him.

He makes a surprised sound against your mouth then his hands come up to grip your waist and he's kissing you back, deep and hungry, prying your mouth open for him and slipping his tongue against yoursand you can feel him hardening against your hip and it's barely been six hours and you already want him again.

"Pancakes," he gasps against your lips. "Going to burn."

"Fuck the pancakes."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'd rather fuck you instead."

You pull away to give him an the most disgusted 'ew' face and Seungcheol laughs at that and then swiftly turns off the stove anyways, lifting you onto the counter and settling between your legs and you're wearing his t-shirt with nothing underneath and his hands are pushing it up your thighs and—

"Wait," You put a hand on his chest. He stops immediately, concern flickering in his eyes. "I'm sober right now. Completely sober. Maybe a tiny bit hungover. And I still want this. I need you to know that."

Something soft and bright blooms in Seungcheol's expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kisses you again, slower this time, savouring the way you feel against his lips. His palms sneak under the hem of his t-shirt on you and settle on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh of it before sliding a little higher, to your waist. Then he drops to his knees in front of the counter, his palms gently sliding down over your legs, and looks up at you with those big brown eyes.

"Then let me taste you," Seungcheol murmurs as his hands travel back up from your calves to your thighs, caressing and squeezing. "I've been thinking about this for months. Let me show you what I can do, hmm?" He presses a kiss to your knee, then another, and another—all of them feather-light and soft.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he leans in right as he parts your legs wider for him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Seungcheol's mouth is warm and wet as he wraps his lips around your clit and flicks his tongue against it once. Then he's licking a broad stripe from your centre and up and you just know he's good at this. Of course he is, because the universe has a sick sense of humour. His tongue is skilled in ways that make you wonder exactly what kind of porn he's been watching, and he reads your body like a map finding every spot that makes you gasp and focusing there until you're taken apart on his mouth.

By the time he's done, you've come twice and your legs are useless and you're bracing yourself against the counter with the last bits of strength left in your now-pliant body, head resting against the cupboards as you stare at the ceiling, wondering what you've gotten yourself into.

You feel him trace soothing kisses along the inner side of your thigh before he stands up, licking his lips instead of wiping them clean with the back of his hand. It leaves his lips glistening, chin a mess still. The sight has you clenching around nothing and swallowing. Instead, you reach out and wipe the wetness with your thumb, transfixed on the way his plush lower lip gives under your touch.

There's something almost shy in his expression as he meets your eyes again. "Good?"

"Good?" You laugh, a little hysterically. He does know how to make an understatement. "Good doesn't even begin to cover it."

His smile is like sunrise. "Really?"

"Really," you pull Seungcheol closer, wrap your weakened legs around his waist. One of your hands goes carding through his hair to tug him closer to you, lips to lips. "Now fuck me. Properly. I want to feel you while I'm fully aware."

His eyes go dark but also excited, like a puppy. It's a perplexing combination but you have a feeling—which rings like a warning bell in the back of your mind—that it's going to be addicting.

He carries you back to your room. You barely find a minute to 'call in sick' for a PTO.