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It's been three days. 

Three days since that happened, and your skin burns in memory. Lingering memory, the ones that refuse to wear off no matter how much you try and try to scrub it off.

Eyes, lips, hands, dick.

Dick, dick — and dick.

You couldn't stop thinking about it before — but it's worse now! Pretty sure that you've developed the insane habit of staring at people's pelvis. Well, people, really — it consists only of them. The who-you-must-not-speak-of, because it seems that they have some sort of spider senses, knowing exactly when they cross your mind or when their names happen to articulate out of your mouth; since the first thing that pops up in those situations is their text messages.

Which is a constant now.

They're texting you. Like. Everyday?

Not lovely texts though, barely running errands for them under the guise of that dumbass project. Their errand girl. Hence, why you're here with Jeongin.

Seungmin left about an hour ago, duty calls, or his coach might end him right here and there. Unwilling to leave you alone with his friend, the glare he gave you was cold enough. As if all of this was your fault. As if the uncomfortable coil in his chest was your fault. You're unaware of the latter though, not like he'd ever tell you how he feels. It's stupid and recent, too recent to act on any of it. Did he say stupid?

You couldn’t expect any less from Jeongin either. At least, he treats you a tad kinder than Seungmin, who decided to use you as a stress ball — hands groping and roaming your body like second nature. Driving you nuts when his palms ride a centimetre too high, almost giving you the wrong idea, only to pull back at the last second. Acting bothered, annoyed that you exist after he instigated physical contact.

Unlike Seungmin, Jeongin wants you to initiate it. He’ll brush his hand against yours on purpose, fingers curling absently. Right, absently. Weird, because you were sure he wasn’t fond of skinship. That’s what you heard — rumors before you met him. He likes to give you the idea that his touches are innocent, even when it feels the dirtiest. Offering you the tightest, cutest smile, proudly backing his image as the golden boy of their cult. Though it feels too warm, sometimes you get the idea that he’s faking it, especially when Seungmin is around. His ulterior motives speak through the twitches in his frown to the tongue poking at his cheek.

You can’t tell if they’re easier to deal with alone or together. There has been a weird, simmering tension between you three ever since, despite not having gone further than what happened last time. You’re certain that if there’s already been an awkward tension, it’s just gotten worse. Jeongin's presence next to you is loud, the heat radiating from his body bothers you. You should’ve gone home when Seungmin left, but then you’d be walking the path with him. Is it any better than being sequestered inside Jeongin’s room?

You keep trying to find excuses to excuse yourself, which he quickly finds solutions for. You’ve run out of ideas, falling into a slump at the complete edge of his mattress, as far away from him as possible. Somehow, his existence irritates you as much as it gets you wet. Embarrassingly so, you steal glances you have no control over. Your pitiful attempt at seeming busy with your phone fooling none.

“Noona,” he snaps you out in a sigh. A deep one. Throwing his head back the slightest, he drops his phone onto the pillow, eyes landing on your wide ones. “My eyes, they’re up here. Not down there.”

Oh god. You’re doing it again. He knows — he knows. Of course he would, who wouldn’t notice those perverse eyes. You squeeze your vision shut, face drowning in your palms and growing embarrassment. “I’m not— I’’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look there–”

He stays silent for a second, taking in your shy reaction. A faint smile turning his lips upwards, you can hear the smugness of it. “You didn’t mean to? You sure about that–”

“Yes!”

He hums, nodding along, pretending to believe that. “I think… that you’re thinking about last time.” The flustered scrunch of your nose is nothing short of sweet, he has to continue toying with it. “Honestly, noona. You’re kind of a pervert.” His tone is casual, that doesn’t stop the arrow of accusation from stabbing you.

The word pervert rings an uncomfortable bell, however it twists a delicious shame in your guts. Pathetic, you’re pathetic for getting turned on by the idea of him knowing your dirty secret. He mustn’t… never. No one should ever find out.

“If you keep staring at my pants like that, I’ll assume that you want to do it again.”

It. It’s evident what he’s talking about. It still takes you a moment. A brief moment that feels like hours in your running brain. The innocence in his tone is paradoxical to the light shade dusting his ears. Everything else remains unaffected. But you, of course.

“What?”

You're frozen on his bed, thumbs still hovering the screen of your phone. You hadn't anticipated this. Okay fine, maybe you were hoping that something as such would occur on your first step inside, well, his bedroom. Your excuse is that you were invited for academic reasons! Not to… to–

“I could teach you… how to properly suck dick,” it's flagrant, but he's close now. The flashing images of exactly three days ago playing on your mind. The taste of him, the heaviness of cock hitting the roof of your mouth — his scent, how your jaw ached afterwards — your body heats up, sucking in your bottom lip. The action doesn't go unnoticed, his eyes fly to your bitten lips. “Not calling you sloppy, it was your first time?”

You nod, face growing unbearably hot.

“Then, let me teach you?” Not Seungmin, not anyone else. Just him, Jeongin — he’ll show you how.

Your eyes fly to the condensing soda can on your left, the icy water discolouring the wood of his drawer. Panicked, you can’t get used to it yet. You weren’t even sure if they were going to encourage this again — you should’ve known better. “Jeongin— I don’t know…”

“Noona,” he coaxes, tone taking a manipulative undertone — and you’re aware of that. “Don’t act coy on me now, you’ve swallowed it no issue.” This is desperate, he’s getting desperate despite his cool exterior. Perhaps not as desperate as your melting resolve. You gulp, vision trailing down his body, where he’s sitting in dangerous proximity. He’s half hard, as if the thought had just hit him and he decided to run along with it. Your endearing blinking tightening the strain in his pants. “Come on…”

A heavy palm slides to your wrist, grabbing your phone to settle it next to the can. Face inches from you, he cocks his head to the side, the same now-cold palm scooting up your neck. Cradling your jaw. “You want it?” he asks, observing the subtle-yet-very obvious(unfortunate) signs of arousal shading your expression. Your heart hammers, eyelids dropping shut with a nod. A tiny approval sighing out of your lips, the only confirmation he needed before smiling against your lips. The kiss starts soft, an endeavour at calming your shaking body.

You’re so easily overwhelmed, what is he going to do with you?

Plump lips pull onto your lower ones, fingers digging onto your cheeks, urging your mouth to open for him. The exhale you release is swallowed along with your small moans, thighs quivering shut. He leans towards you, crowding your senses; utterly refusing to separate from your mouth. Your pretty mouth, which he’s got many ideas of using. He can’t let go, pushing you upwards with him, palms finding your waist, his grip strengthens. “Get off the bed,” he murmurs, muffled by the sound of wet whines. His sentence surprisingly registers, following the order mindlessly till your soles make contact with the cold floor. He finally gives you the opportunity to breathe, a string of spit attaching the two of you. “Your knees,” he speaks, using your shoulders to push you downwards. “Hm, you’re pretty.” he compliments, eyeing you on the floor before him. You’re directly positioned to his bulge, the roughness of it now obscene. You gaze up at him through your lashes, he nearly whines at the sight, if it wasn’t for his pride.

“How should I start–?” Your voice is meek, he must be having a wet dream. You haven’t started for shit and he’s throbbing pathetically at your timid eagerness. Timid. He wishes he could tell you that he knows. Fully conscious of the type of person you are — nevertheless, he holds onto the fact. It might prove to be useful in the future, who knows? God knows how you’d react if he told you, probably bolt out and transfer, or drop out. You’re crazy enough for that. He thinks he might go crazier if you stare at him like this any longer.

“Take my pants off,” he instructs, watching your trembling hands tug at his pants. “Slow– it should be sensual. Teasing is hotter.”

“Always?”

He licks his lips, breathing through his nose. “Nah, depends on the mood. If the person’s desperate enough then–”

“Are you? Desperate, I mean…”

“Fuck, are you teasing me?” he curses, the naivety of your tone could be mistaken for innocence if it wasn’t for the darker tint in your pupils. You don’t laugh, but the tiny lift of your cheeks tells him that you’re trying to ease up. Trying.

“Okay, slow then,” you divert the question, hooking your digits onto the waistband of his pants. You roll it down, revealing further skin with each tug. Saliva pools your mouth, reaching his thighs, you let the fabric go. Dropping at his feet, you’re met with his stained underwear. He’s flustered, more than he’d like to admit, leaking precum all over the cloth. You’re too entranced to care, adoring it beyond limit, making his situation worsen under your heavy gaze.

“Don’t just look, do something.”

“‘M sorry, was waiting for your words…” you mutter, a silent sound rumbles out of his throat. He wants nothing more than to tear his boxers off and shove it down your throat — have you choke on it till you brim with tears. He chooses to close his eyes instead, swallowing his flowing spit. Slow. He told you to take it slow, how long can he follow his own advice?

He sighs, ragged, “Come closer, yeah like that–” you scoot towards him, cheek pressed to his built thigh. “Just… kiss it, mhm–” his voice dies in his throat, curling into a moan the second you pamper him. Lips resting against his tip, you watch him. This is pornographic, spreading your mouth open, blowing warm air through the fabric. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, simply hoping to recreate those porno scenes which you’ve touched yourself to countless of times. Praying that one day — you’d get the real thing to test on.

Those accumulated twenty-years-something of bad luck mounted to something, in the end, you aren’t as unlucky as you had presumed to be. Perhaps, you were a monk in your past life? Those decades of keeping chaste the reason for today's lust.

“Yn—” he calls, bringing you back to Earth, far from the mountain you probably meditated on throughout the last life. “You’re zoning out.”

You wince through your teeth, nails digging into the smooth fabric of his boxers, “Sorry– sorry, this ain’t because of you I swear–”

“I know,” he replies, patience wearing thin. He knows it’s a you thing by now, but if you don’t move in the next few seconds, he might lose composure entirely.

“Imma uhm…” you mumble, eye dropping to his erection once again, chewing on your lips — you finally free him, “continue…”

You’ve seen him before. One time isn’t enough. You’d die to see him everyday. Without the haste and daze of last time — you’re given a proper look of him, hard and wet. So fucking wet, he’s glistening. You try to say something, however it fails to come out. Staring in stupid awe, you can’t tear your eyes from his cock. No matter how many women have touched or seen him, there’s something about your dumbfounded glint that makes you addicting. Somewhat, never failing to appear as naive despite being anything but that. He can’t find it in himself to scold you for staring for this long, instead, he allows you. Tip flushed, twitching embarrassingly.

You gulp, constantly gulping from the excess of saliva forming. Though, you could do something much better with it. Tentative fingers find the base, gliding your fingertip across the prominent vein. Feeling the slick skin under yours. “God, what’re you doing–”

“Testing,” you reply, barely paying mind to him. Your palm is next, completely wrapped around him, fingers not lengthy enough to bind the entire girth. So big, so hot and heavy — different from the silicones you’re used to. This was in your mouth. Your pulse quickens at the mere thought. “Can I–?” you gaze up, lashes fluttering as you bring your mouth closer, making a kissy motion.

What the fuck– you’re trying to kill him. Inexperienced, his ass. He’s thankful that Seungmin isn’t here to experience this, glad to have you for himself and his selfish desires. “Yeah–” the worry of Seungmin is wiped from his brain with a kiss on his tip, shuddering under your experimental fondness. “Tongue.” You follow his guidance, prodding your tongue out. “The underside… it’s sensitive, ah shit,” sensitive. Has he always been this sensitive? To cry out from a lick alone —? He can’t recognise himself. The saltiness of precum takes over your senses, moaning at the familiar taste — it vibrates through him, sending goosebumps across his flesh. His mouth flies open, about to tell you to actually open up before he finds himself grasping your jaw wide himself — the process of learning fading with his patience. He needs it. Needs it badly, he might fucking die.

You read his mind, perhaps you possess those psychic skills too, his own head running as delusional as yours the second your lips wrap tightly around him. Welcoming him inside. You’re really rubbing off on him. You swallow the tip, brows pinching in concentration. In those videos… they usually — your tongue moves underside, laying it flat the best you can. Smiling against him, he makes a sound. Victory. Throwing his head back the deeper you take him, warm and wet tongue sliding underneath at a torturous pace.

You nearly reach halfway, his reactions feeding you on. This is right, you’re confident. You’re doing good, well, amazing — however, he hits the back of your throat — your jaw locks, a sudden sting spreading at your gums. You ignore it, getting some more in… halt.

You gag.

Gagged. You.

Your eyes fly open, gaping at him. He didn’t notice. Okay. OK.

You try again, squeezing your eyelids shut in pressured focus. “Egh–”

You panic. Lashes battling open for a quick solution, eyes landing on his face, back to his cock, back to his face and vice versa. Nostrils flaring in ragged breathing.

“Something’s wrong?” he asks, voice loud and ringing in your ears. Your imagination, this is your imagination. “Noona?”

“No.” It’s quick, absolute. Leaving no room for further questions. You pull back — spit attached to his flushed skin, offering him a tight smile — making an excuse of using your hands to jerk the rest.

Halt!

Isn’t no hands better? You’ve read that somewhere… No, no — no gagging is undeniably better. Sacrifices are to be made for everyone’s benefit. Sacrifices… your hands wrap around the base, jerking him off in sloppy motions as your head bobs off his cock. Keeping just the tip in. For security measures.

You could do it the other day! Why not now?!

He observes. Observes you in a way that has your skin crawling, reading you beyond your safety measures. Eyes narrowing, he inhales. “Something is wrong. Look at you, what happened?”

Wow, damn okay Yang-LookAtYou-Jeongin.

Your lips purse, lining flat on your face. He doesn’t think that you realised that your cheeks were puffed in subtle disappointment, totally bummed. You’re pouting. It plays at his heart, skipping a ridiculous beat to see you wear this expression with his cock in your hand. Still jerking him off in small motions. “You want to use your hands? Jaw hurts?”

“I want to use my mouth,” you interject, shaking your head. “But I have–”

“A gag reflex?” he cuts you off midway, “I know.”

“Huh,” your head tilts, offended and flustered by your own truth. You knew, it hurts to hear it in such an unbothered tone though. He should really drop the aloof wannabe bullshit.

You don’t know what you were expecting, nonetheless, a grin wasn’t on your list. It’s faint, growing bolder the longer he stares at you, tongue peeking out to swipe on his bottom lip. “Choking on it,” he begins; his knuckles graze your cheek, moving the sticking hairstrands, “is part of the fun, noona.”

He sits back, spreading his legs wider for you to nestle in. One hand in your hair, the other supporting his leaned body, he pushes you towards him. Close enough to have your breath fanning over him, heavy and shallow. You swallow, his fingers digging into your roots, biting the inside of his cheeks.“Try again, I’ll guide you. Properly.”

—

“What’re you guys up to?” Seungmin’s voice rings through the phone speaker, Jeongin leans down against the headboard, almost hearing the frown in Seungmin’s question. Sighing, he blinks ahead, wondering if he has to entertain this conversation right now?

“Nothing,” though, that nothing sounds like everything.

“Nothing?” Seungmin repeats, skeptical in his approach. Jeongin hums, his small grunt to get comfortable vibrating through his microphone.

“Yeah, she just left.”

Seungmin pauses. Steps faltering, checking the time on his screen. “This early? It’s still five p.m–”

The smirk that edges on Jeongin’s face is involuntary, but he wishes Seungmin was there to see it. It’s fine, he’ll hear it in his voice. “What can I say hyung? She probably had things to tend to. She’s busy, y’know?”

“Yeah. Right,” Seungmin replies, growing a mild itch in his throat. The annoying kind. “The girl who has porn as a hobby is busy, sure.” He shields his eyes, the sun is blazing for no fucking reason. For god’s sake, it’s five not noon. He left around three, and in two hours you’re gone. Something must’ve happened. Not like he gives a shit, “I met with Changbin hyung, said there’s a party this friday. You coming?”

“Who doesn’t go to the party they, themself, host? Everybody is there to see us, what’s the point in not going–”

“Yn,” Seungmin breaks in, and suddenly Jeongin falls into silence. “I’m inviting her.”

Jeongin’s certain that there’s a bug crawling on his face. Blunt nails graze his cheek, moving to the back of his nape to ease the crawl on his neck instead. “Why?”

“Why? Isn’t it obvious,” Seungmin replies, tucking the phone an inch away. “She needs to get used to the circle, or else she’ll be an awkward idiot who runs at every sliver of contact–”

“Then hold a fucking meeting bro,” Jeongin’s tsks, “How is a party the appropriate place?”

“Oh?” Seungmin is the one to laugh now, disbelief washing over him. “You care about what’s proper now?” Jeongin is about to retort but Seungmin is quick to cut him off, not sparing him the opportunity to retaliate. “Listen, I don’t care about your possessive stunts. You agree or not, not my problem. I’m meeting with Hyunjin tomorrow, I’ll go see yn then. They share a class, did you know that?”

Well, no. It didn’t matter either way, Hyunjin never goes to class. Once a blue moon whenever he feels like it.

The call ends. Jeongin scoffs, skull throbbing with an impending headache. Do they have to do this? Everytime?

He falls back, staring at the ceiling — pupils drifting to his phone in hand. Should he call you? But you just left, it’ll seem needy. It’ll seem like more than it actually is. If he could count his sighs, he’d be in mathematics instead.

What can he do?

—

You smile. You don’t mean to — but you do. Grinning like an idiot at your opened locker for the past minute, hand hovering on your photobook. You stare. Stare and giggle. Have you ever been this lucky? Like—

“Are you crazy?”

“Eh–!” your soul escapes for a fragment of a second, slamming your locker shut at the sudden disturbance. Eyes gaping to meet a familiar face. Seungmin. “What the fuck, what's your probl—” he raises a brow, immediately catching your slip, you smile. Tightly, “–eeem, what brings you here? Kim Seungmin…”

Seungmin scoffs, a grimace forming on his face, poorly hiding his amusement. “You.”

“Me?” Stunned would be an understatement. You had expected a snap back from him, maybe shrugging you off at the mere thought. But you?

“Don't feed your sick fantasies. I’m here business related,” he sighs, flicking your forehead. Cliché. If you knew better you'd think he stole that from a romance drama. “Come on, let's go.”

“Go where–?” you try, but he grabs you before your sentence gets the chance to voice out, the first few steps clumsy and awkward till you find a common pace. Still, his fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding you towards him. His hand is warm, kind of rough on the surface. But undeniably softer than Jeongin’s. You can’t help but notice the lotion of his hand cream, eyes fixing the contact then ahead — the back of his head — falling into a brief silence, except for your steps and the heavy commotion of students around.

This got to be another of his errands. How cruel, you aren’t allowed to go to class anymore. You think — but then he abruptly stops. Not literally, only slowing his steps so that he matches your pace instead. Slow enough to call it stopping. “Hey,” he says, although your attention is already on him. He nips on his lip, you’d claim he looks perplexed right now. “There’s a party this Friday. You’re coming.”

“I’m coming?”

No. No. Run that back.

He didn’t say, are you coming? He didn’t even say, you coming?

Just, you coming. As in… “An assertion?”

“Yes. Definitive, no argument.” he replies, nodding.

“Me– like, at a party? Fraternity party?”

“Yes, you at a frat party. Our party–”

“Okay.”

“Huh?” he retorts, head tilting. He squints, “Okay? Just okay?”

You hum, shrugging. “I mean, what did you want me to say?”

To freak out. To reject. To rejoice, maybe. There’s many things he wanted you to say, and many things he imagined you saying on his way here. Okay wasn’t anticipated though. Fuck that, he didn’t envisage all the possibilities. Amateur move, Kim Seungmin.

“Oh, my class is here. I’ll go then,” you point out, your stroll had somehow brought you to your initial destination. Somehow, but also somehow, he happens to step inside with you. “What are you doing… Are you following me? That’s kind of freakish–”

His chest puffs in total disbelief that you could come to such a foolish conclusion, glancing at his surroundings. “Yah, full of yourself, aren’t you?” he sneers, pushing you aside at the doorway. However, he doesn’t walk past, choosing to stay here mushed against you. Blocking the pathway. Squeezing your shoulders in defense at his sudden rudeness. He’s always rude though. “I’m not here for you.”

“You said otherwise earlier–” your mouth speaks before your brain thinks, lashes battling at the realisation. Lips tucked into an awkward line, you glance at him. Practically seeing the fumes of his hurt ego flying out of his ears in huge smokes. “Sorry. It came out as wrong–”

“You’re seriously trying to piss me off,” You fuck once and now you act all mighty. He can’t believe this shit. He backs up, giving you the impression of personal space for a first. Alas, he’s as quick to close that distance, backing you up against the edge of the entrance. Your vision runs to the nearby students, the crowd who blatantly ignore what’s happening. You can’t tell if you’re thankful or hateful towards their response. His cologne hits you, then the tint in his eyes. As if he’s wondering what to do with you, that he couldn’t decide yet and needs time to think about it. You’re in public, what is he doing– “You…” he mutters, voice dropping with his gaze, “You get on my nerves, s’much. Why do you–”

“Ahem, what’s going on here?” someone speaks over your shoulder. Not someone you recognise, but almost like you heard it somewhere. It’s on the tip of your tongue. “Kim Seungmin-ssi, is this the correct behaviour for a lecture room?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, stepping away for scarcely two inches. “Piss off, have you got nothing to do than play rules and regulations cop on campus?” They hover on either side of you, caging you inside with no prior care of your existence. You’re invisible, completely-utterly-transparent. “Last thing I knew, Visual Arts wasn’t part of your major? Focus on maths, yeah?”

Maths? Mathematics? Who in their right mind… oh.

You peek over your shoulder, catching a brief glance at the person standing behind you. He’s broad, that’d be an understatement. You’ve only seen him from afar before, dark hair falling right above his eyes. Your vision meets. Lingering for a second, scanning you, a spark of a smile flashes on his face. You tense up. He lifts his attention back to Seungmin, “Must you be so harsh? I walked Hyunjin off to his class, what’s so wrong in accompanying a friend.”

Their conversation falls to deaf ears, your sole focus is on escaping whatever this is. Their beef or clash, no matter what they call it. “What’s gotten you this heated?” The guy questions, tone sarcastic. You couldn’t careless, carefully trying to step aside, however, rough fingers find your shoulder. Glueing your steps to the ground. He tuts, keeping you in place. “Where are you going? You’re as guilty of misbehaviour in class, I should bring you to the office.”

“What? No–!” you begin, shoulder squirming out of his grasp. You’re a victim here!

Quickly facing Seungmin for help, which he fails to aid. Aren’t they in the same frathouse — what the fuck is this weird tension, shouldn’t it be — are they messing with you?

“Changbinnie,” another one. This is hell, you died in your senior year of high school and you’re in hell. Changbin is pushed from behind, colliding into your back. Feeling every definition of muscle through his shirt. Ouh shit. Ok no. Not the moment. The collision creates a domino effect, throwing you onto Seungmin’s chest. Your fingers trail past his chest, the bump of his abs flexing underneath your fingertips, eyes squeezing shut, this couldn’t get any more cringe. Wincing at the unfortunate situation. You exhale into Seungmin, lashes fluttering open to focus your eyesight. Finding the culprit of the fall, your mouth dries.

Hwang Hyunjin who never goes to class.

Has gone to class.

—

One hour left, one hour of this torment left.

Not to get you wrong, you love your major and classes. Nails clicking against the keys of your keyboard with utmost satisfaction, the lesson of your professor, something you’d enjoy on a regular day. If it wasn’t for the intense stares punching holes at your back. You’d seriously be enjoying this class. 

Each time you happen to look to your side, you find leering eyes fixed upon you. You swallow, perhaps you’re imagining it. But then, he’d look at you too. Hyunjin, who never ever interacted with you beforehand, keeps smiling and blinking at you as if you were lifelong friends. Your imagination has been top notch lately, you’ve got to admit it. Though, the realness of the situation hit you as early as the class ended, and a girl accidentally bumped into you. Splattering her coffee everywhere on your shirt. She apologised, which you understood. However, she proceeded to give you the nastiest eye before walking over to Hyunjin, letting him throw an arm onto her shoulders.

Leaving you with a wet and sticky shirt for the rest of the day. The bubbling urge to find and curse off the two of them (and Seungmin, Changbin included for scaring you) tipped you for a hot thirty minutes after the incident, sucking in on your teeth in sulking grumbles on the way back to your dorm. To wipe that grin off his dirty handsome face.

Though, a strange sense of fulfillment suits you as you swipe your student ID in, finally releasing a much needed breath. You replay your day, it was bad. Yeah. But definitely not your worst day. If anything…

“I got invited to a party!!” you exclaim, kicking the door shut. Throwing your bag onto the couch, arms flailing in the air. You’ve been dying to do that, except that Seungmin was there, can not be caught rejoicing like this. Especially by him, that would’ve for sure fed his jock pride.

This is the widest you’ve smiled since yesterday, sensing your social status boosting despite your ultimate goal of keeping it on the low. It completely fades from your mind. Pathetic, but attending a college party has been on the top of your to-do list ever since you started. Right under losing your virginity. In one week, strike, two boxes ticked. Not yet, but soon. Soon enough.

You jolt to your bedroom, yanking the closet open. It must be there, crouching to the bottom, you rummage through the pile of clothing. “Where…” muttering under your breath, the tip of your fingers finally reaching it. A paper bag, pulling it out, the content falls onto your mattress. “Which one,” there’s two dresses that you have never worn before. Having brought them for these types of special occasions, they’ve been catching dust within your closet. Smoothing the fabric with your palms, you gape. Which…

An abrupt vibration in your pocket knocks you out. You can’t allow yourself to be surprised anymore, phone calls have been your routines lately. Reading the contact info, Yang Jeongin, you swipe the screen. “Hello.”

There’s a momentarily silence, a breath taken and a shuffle. “Hi–?”

“Sup,” he thuds his head against his bedroom’s wall, grimacing at the slight sting.

Sup. Yeah, yeah, okay. “I’m good, why’d you call?” there’s a subtle groan on the other side, you assume he’s trying to get comfortable — but the sound… It's so similar to last time. Your ears warm, slapping your cheek to snap out of it. He chuckles, almost innocently.

“Are you in a battle? What’s with the strange noises?”

“No…” you reply, biting on your nail.

He hums, pausing. “Actually, I–” What’s with him? Acting like that is out of character. Jeongin, snap out of it!

“Did Seungmin ask you?”

“About?” you ask, “Oh, you mean the party. He did, why?”

“You sound happy about it,” he mentions, arising confusion in your throat. You hadn’t even noticed your voice picking up or anything, how’d he tell? “I mean— you’re easy to read.”

“Hey,” you tsk, does audacity come along with being famous? You won’t end like them, trust.

If you become famous.

Maybe. Unlikely.

“What are you going to wear?” The question hits both of you at the same time. Impeccable timing, you’d say. A mistake of a question, he’d say. Seeming too curious for his own good.

“Wooh, Yang Jeongin, do you actually have a sixth sense?” You’re in awe, your scenarios were likely right. They can read your mind. Wait– no! That’d be awful. No, no mind reading. Begone!

“I have, uhm. Two choices, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Send them to me.”

A beat passes. A fly gets brutally slapped dead by your fan.

“Why…?”

Why? Ah, he didn’t think this far. Seriously, is he looking too deep into this?

“I’ll help you choose. Don’t you… want the help of a party connoisseur?”

You shiver. What’s with the tone, is he possessed?

“Sure, I’ll hang up and send you–”

“Can’t we just– video call?” You’re on the verge of replying, but he shuts the idea down, his laughter rising through the phone. “Kidding, I don’t have time for this. I really don’t have time for this, I got practice and stuff to go to.”

“But it’s past eight–”

“Are you assuming that I should be in bed by eight?” He’s in fact, in bed, at eight. “I’m grown, the hell.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you mumble, forehead creasing at his sheepish rambles. “I’m hanging up.”

“Hang up then,” he mumbles back, however the beep screams at your ears before you find the opportunity to end the call.

He hung up. “How strange…” facing the ceiling, you suck on your teeth. “Are they doing drugs out there?” Most likely, what else to expect from those people.

—

He ended up calling you again, getting on video call at last, not as busy as he tried to perceive as. “They texted last minute, practice was cancelled.”

As if you’d believe that, though you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Now, you’re stuck playing dress-up-doll with Jeongin, telling you to turn around for the fifth time this evening. “How long do I have to keep doing this,” you complain, the bottom of your feet aching to sit on your much comforting bed.

“A little more,” he replies, voice low, it unfortunately rumbles in the pit of your stomach. You’ve been growing shy for the past minutes. He stares intently, awakening the nerves in your body. You wish he’d stop already and let you ‘sleep’. Today was tiring enough, you have a routine. You’d like to complete that routine. A warm familiar haziness spreads through your legs, you absolutely need to do it now. Addiction, but it's your addiction and he’s being an obstruction.

“Please, I wan’ sleep.” You whine unintentionally, impatience bubbling your throat. “Jeongin.”

You see him visibly swallow, eyes snapping to his own reflection briefly then back to you, nodding. “The second dress is better, wear that one.”

The statement breaks your train of thoughts, skeptical, rucking at the skirt of the dress. “Is that so? I thought this one was kinda ugly… I preferred the other.”

It’s modest compared to the other option, awkwardly falling off your body, the sleeves sticking to your arms. However, he tuts, shutting up the thought. “Trust me, yeah? Don’t want you to look ugly there, noona.”

Still. “Are you sure…?”

“Hundred percent.”

You hum, pondering on the dress laying flat on your mattress. If he says so. “All right then… I’ll go to sleep now.”

He blinks, looking at the time. He makes a face, one that hints that he wants to say something, though chooses not to. Humming back at you. “M’kay, bye.”

You wait a few seconds, giving him the opportunity to say whatever he wants to. He doesn’t grasp it, finally getting to hang up.

Putting your phone aside, a notification catches your attention. Spreading a smile on your face.

Jeongin:

night, sleep well

—

You’re going nuts.

The party starts at nine p.m.

Three p.m. you decided to take a power nap. Sounds corny, but reddit told you to do it. Yes, you searched for how to prepare for your first party…

How could you trust redditors for anything related to real life!

Six p.m. you woke up. Had one hour for an entire body shower(the hardcore kind), shave, wash your hair, oil up. Not literally.

Seven p.m. you started ironing your clothes while simultaneously doing your makeup, seven forty you had to do your hair. Everything was a mess.

Eight p.m. you ran into your roommate while searching for the purse you aimlessly discarded on the couch somewhere. Two past eight, she asked you, “Where are you going–?” with evident surprise in her eyes that you’re going somewhere. Dressed like that.

“A party–”

She flinched at the word party leaving your mouth, unable to associate the two entirely unrelated topics together. You and party.

Her pupils raked over you, taking in your distress. “Do you… need help?”

Lately, you’ve been wanting to kiss her so bad. Nodding furiously, “Yes!”

In thirty minutes, she managed to do whatever you were hopelessly trying to do for the past hours. Maybe she’s not as evil as you thought, perhaps she’s been turning into an angel through your manifestations and behind-the-doors chakra healing guidance.

“I was about to head out, but like.” she sighs, smoothing your shoulders. Staring at you from the mirror, “You’re a pretty lost cause…”

No, she’s demonic. You withdraw your words.

“Are you going to that frat party? The stray kids one,” she asks, and you peek at her, nodding. “It was weird when they came over last time. Have fun, but be careful okay? There’s rumors about them, heard they’re dickheads underneath the glam.”

Honestly, you knew about this. It’s pretty obvious, anyone with a working brain would be able to correlate college guys and a fraternity to be assholes. “It’s okay, don’t worry about me.” You’re aware, however, that’s what you desire. Nobody could clutch your claws off this opportunity except yourself.

“Hmm, I’ll get going then.” she says, grabbing her keys. Looking at you again, “Oh uhm, also— what’s with the…” she starts, peering at your attire before shaking her head. “Forget it. I suppose a pretty face could fix that…”

“What?” you call back, not hearing the last few words. She doesn’t reply, only escaping through the door, leaving you in confusion.

—

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Blunt. Sharp. And very rude. Extremely rude, even coming from him.

You’re pulled to the side, shielding you and the perpetrator of ruining your mood from the outside world. The barringly loud, outside world. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”

Your mouth opens, closes then opens back up. You don’t mean to sound childish, but, “That’s mean.”

Seungmin slowly tilts his head back, fingers rubbing smooth lines on his neck. Opting for a deep inhale, “This is a party, why are you– what is this? Are we going to church?”

He’s not holding you too roughly, but it still hurts. Probably his tone, you don’t like it. You kind of do, but you hate it more than you like it. Oh, fuck him actually.

Eleven past nine, you pushed Seungmin away. You pushed Kim Seungmin away. Ignoring his shouts of your name, making it into the crowd because you refuse to go home, and you refuse to let anyone ruin this for you. It escalated so fast, you barely recall how you ended up tipsy at the bar, alone. Trying out different cheap mixtures of alcoholic punches found on the table.

You aren’t drunk, just enough to lower your inhibitors and not feel like a total outcast on your own. You can tell some people are shooting you weird looks, gazing at your attire in quiet whispers. Fuck if it mattered, they are back to their initial actions a minute later.

You might hate Seungmin for this. How could he— when he’s the one who…–

He fills your mind though, relentlessly hearing him despite his absence. He couldn’t bother to at least notice your efforts, one flaw and he’s mad. There’s nothing wrong with your dress. Except for its length, the white colour, the long sleeve… Maybe not for a party, you admit. No reason to be this rude about it, he’s mean. “Mean…” you cross your arms over the counter, watching the lights bounce off the silky white sleeves. This is not fun at all. You chew on your lips, wearing an absent pout, “Just one more.”

“Should you be drinking that much?” a voice drifts from the left, a guy pulling the stool next to you to hop on.

“I can handle it, mind your own busin–” you reply, though, you shut up as you take in his appearance. It’s the guy you bumped into at Seungmin’s dorm the other day.

“Hm, then, let me pour you one? If you can handle it,” he smiles, sweet and kind. Wow, are they really roommates? Is this a yin and yang situation, opposites create chemistry type of shit?

“I suppose that we know each other? Just one encounter tho, you were in a hurry that day.”

“Oh, that…” you mumble, rubbing your palm across your forehead. Swearing when you remember you’re wearing makeup, quickly snatching your hand off your skin. “I’m sorry about that day– I should’ve been careful.”

“No worries, I don’t take things to heart.”

You wish others would take notes. “What’s your name? I’m Felix, you know that though. Right?”

“I do–” you tell him your name, your major and a bunch of unnecessary information. Never the necessary ones, fortunately, the state that you’re in doesn’t matter — locking your secret is wired in your brain. He’s unsurprisingly talented at small talk, showing interest in whatever nonsense you’re spurring at him. You’re certain that you’re making a fool of yourself as you speak, he laughs. Voice deep, but his cackles are lighthearted, it’s making your head lighter. Almost forgetting about your conflict with Seungmin.

“You’re cute,” he eases out, laying his head onto his knuckles, the other brushing your cheek. Hell, when did he start touching you–? You’re unsure. Shit, you’re drunker than you assumed. Flushing underneath the contact, you fight to open your eyes, him shifting towards you does the job. “Funny too. Who comes to a party dressed for a picnic,” he chuckles, staring right at your dazed gaze.

“Yongbok?”

Felix looks upright, his smile widening into a huff. “Changbin,” his lips part, you find yourself staring at his teeth.

“You got cute canines,” you slur, completely out of it. “Funny? Me? Thank you… you acquire this skill from being a loser, like… Not calling myself a loser tho— that’s, that’s lame. Do you find it lame? But you know what’s lamer–” you hiccup, pointing your finger up to make a declaration. “Kim Seungmin!”

Yn. Stop.

Felix interchanges a glance with Changbin, “Record this, quick.” Amused sounds rumbling out of them as Changbin presses record.

“Kim Seungmin. He brings out anger I didn’t know I had… I hate him so much, well—” your head bobs back, the two of them gaping at you, “I don’t… low-key… he makes me so, horny. He’s so freaking hot, I want to pounce on him whenever he gets angry. Shiiit, yall seeing blurry too?” Your forehead drops, banging with the counter, wincing in pain.

“Send it to the group chat, this is priceless–”

“No need,” Changbin’s phone is snatched. “I’ve already seen it,” Seungmin speaks over, a grimace written on his face. He deletes the video from Changbin’s gallery, earning a low whistle from the guy. Felix can’t hide his curious holler, smirk permanent on his expression. Tossing Changbin’s phone at him, he reaches for you, which Felix halts him.

“But, I was having fun with her?”

The twitch in Seungmin’s jaw shows enough, returning the sarcastic tone. “Too bad, she’s mine tonight.”

Felix shrugs, surrendering for now. Allowing Seungmin to push you over his shoulder, awake enough to grumble at the suddenness of the action. He’s surprised to hear nothing from Changbin, staying oblivious to his presence on purpose. He’s not up to any of this bullshit, his mistake for letting you leave earlier. Should’ve chained you up to him, no matter how upset you were.

“Hmm, those shoulders–” you mumble, jerking your head back into his neck. He shudders, what on earth. “Seungmin?”

“You recognise me by my shoulders, weirdo.” He replies, softer now. Not carrying the animosity of before, he seemed to have calmed down.

“You’re a bully, what’s worse. A weirdo or a bully?”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You must really be drunk to talk to me like this…”

“No, I talk to you like this all the time. In my head–”

“Shut up, you’re heavy. You talking adds to your weight,” he grunts, climbing the stairs. You pucker your lips, frown creasing.

“I am?”

He thinks about it. He can’t believe that he’s thinking about it, the words hardly rumbling out of his throat. “No, I’m lying.”

“I heard that,” you giggle, clinging to him, missing a stair.

“Focus, we’re both gonna fall–”

“I’m focused,” you’re quick to say, eyes wide now. Fixing him. He gives you a side eye, muttering about how creepy you’re acting. “On you.”

He snorts now, a sense of triumph washing over you for succeeding at pulling a laugh out of him. “Quit that, timidity suits you better. Like a scaredy cat, or a kicked puppy.”

Your answer dies with the echoing music, landing upstairs. He opens a bedroom door, checking inside before urging you to follow. The sight of the room earns heavy blinking from you. Is this the genre of room people hook up in at those famous parties?

“Come here,” he instructs, guiding you to sit on the bed. “You’re all drunk, you probably won’t remember this.” he says under his breath, kneeling down, brushing your skirt up your legs. He sighs, palm sliding across your leg to your ankle. “Easy,” he says, noticing the tension in your muscles. His fingers move, unclasping your shoes with uncharacteristic tenderness. Eyes occasionally meeting your face, engraving your expression to memory.

Fuck, fuck, hell, what the hell, shit, what. God no, this is turning you on. Stop, stop.

Both your heels are gone, he soothes your aching legs. You breathe heavy, the kindness doing things to your brain. Sobering up, your eyes close, feeling every glimpse of patience in which he’s touching you. Caressing is the proper word.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, on his knees before you. You gulp, the sincerity in his voice causing a shakiness in your hands. His attention darts to your fingers curling into the sheets. He grasps your wrist, bringing your palm to his cheek, leaning into the touch. “I can be nice too. Is that what you’d like? Or, do you prefer when I’m mean. It makes you horny?”

He’s teasing you. You should be used to it, but it renders you unbearably hot. You shake your head, denying his insights. He grins, sickeningly sweet with a mocking undertone. Standing up, he pockets your phone out of your purse. “I’ll be right here, call me if anything happens. Rest up–” he proposes, however, you hold onto his shirt before he gets the opportunity to disappear. The alcohol might’ve evaporated out of your body, his attitude enough to shake you up. Spooky, you want more.

You want, “You. I want you–”

“You’re drunk–” when did he care about someone being drunk? Countless of drunk hookups, but your consent is the first thing that flew to his mind.

“I’m fine, I am sober. Please, Seungmin?”

He curses, faltering on his steps. Hesitant between you and the door, your plea looping in his head. “Get a grip, Seungmin.” he breathes out, pausing before you as your fingers tighten around his shirt, subtly pushing him towards you. “You–” God, self control has never been his strongest virtue.

“Please?”

Then, his lips are on you faster than you’re able to process. Sweet, he also tastes of alcohol. He must’ve had a drink or two, you want more of it. Drowning in the haziness he induces you with. “You taste of everything, had fun playing tester?” he says, the motion of lips smacking muffling his question. Not like he was expecting an answer. He’s hungry, hungry to receive all of you. Swallowing each of the noises you whimper out, allowing the tiniest gap for you to breathe in and out. His mouth glides to the lining of your jaw; trailing searing, open-mouth, kisses to your neck.

“Hmm,” you moan out at the feel of his teeth nipping at your skin, arms wrapping around his body for any form of support and restraint, for yourself. He bites down, you yelp, thighs closing from need.

Your phone vibrates, though you pay no mind, thoughts elsewhere entirely. He does, peeking at the screen to find Jeongin’s contact. Seungmin shuts the device up, grabbing his to turn on ‘do not disturb’, he has you all for himself. No way he’d give up on this opportunity. Your whine at the loss of contact gathers his attention, palms digging into the loose fabric of the dress. Suddenly, it makes sense. Brain picking up the clues, his shoulders rigid. “Who picked that dress?”

“Eh?” you ponder on his question, searching for your inhibitions to answer. “Oh, Jeongin–”

He laughs, dryly. “No wonder. Of course he did,” he should probably thank Jeongin for this, as much as he would’ve preferred that you look pretty tonight. This gave him the chance to get you alone. “Next time, ask me instead.” he expresses, however, his vision falters on your face, just now noticing the efforts you’ve put in for tonight. Pretty. Pretty? You’re pretty as hell— why didn’t he realise?

“Hey,” you poke at him, catching his attention. “Eat me out.”

He lets a beat past, processing. “You’re bolder, are you still drunk?”

You shake your head, cradling his face. “I just… really want you to.”

“You’re getting me hard, acting like that.” he rasps, your eyes drifting to his pants in conclusion.

“Oh…” you slur, almost pathetic in how endearingly you stare at his bulge. Your panties stick to your cunt, slick fluids drenching it. This is the hornier you’ve ever been, he grabs the hint, rucking your skirt the entire way up to your stomach.

“Stupid dress,” he mutters, the fabric getting in his way. You giggle, he shoots you a look but it does nothing at intimidating you. Not when he’s being so nice. And cute. Nice and cute. Spreading your knees apart, he nestles in, being met head on with your aching pussy. “Have you been this wet since earlier?” he comments, biting his cheek in contemplation. Your stomach jumps at the question, answering him. His lips are tender, planting kisses to the junction of your thigh. You gasp, responsive like no one else, urging him to try and coax more out of you.

“Hurry, no teasing– need it now,” you egg on, hand flying to the edge of your panties, hardly inching underneath the cotton.

He listens, to your shock. Raising your legs to tug the panties off. Your hand rests on your pelvis, which he grabs, pushing your fingers into his mouth. “I–”

He sucks on them, loud and wet slurps. “Touch yourself, needy girl.” he commands, watching you comply with whatever he says. Wet fingers spreading yourself for him, putting on a show at traveling to your sobbing hole. He observes till he can’t anymore, jolting awake as his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Punching a keen sound from your agape lips. He moans into you, wrapping his lips onto your clit, sucking onto the bud with much eagerness. “This is how you wanted it?” he slurs, not hearing shit of what he’s blabbering about, getting overdriven by pleasure the second he laps downwards to your hole. Tongue flat and burning, wet with saliva that he shamelessly spits at your lips — only to drink it back from you in nasty, disgusting, gulps.

He grumbles into you, the motion blowing at your clit, tongue twisting into slow circles. Feels so good, to him almost. Erection grazing the edge of the bed, he groans. Voice cracking, he grabs both of your thighs, lifting them upwards so that you’re bending for him. Has pussy ever tasted this good. Giving isn’t something he usually does, it could grow onto him if every girl were you.

Wait, what.

Scratch that, he’ll dwell over these thoughts later. Drooling all over your lips, his tongue pokes at your entrance. Catching the sensation of your tight walls around him, his cock twitches. Your hips jerk upwards as he slides inside, shit he might as well be whimpering. You’re too fucked out to notice, blissed to the heavens and back. Someone could get shot and you wouldn’t realise. Eyelids squeezed shut, your legs shake, joints tightening around anything they can snatch.

The door opens, no knocking or anything. Just Hyunjin, a few girls in hand. As ravenous as he is, he enters the room lost in conversation until his eyes land on the two of you. He makes a surprised noise, the elated kind. You squeal, instantly dragging your skirt over Seungmin’s head, much to his temper.

“Are you guys playing prince and princess? What is she wearing–” then, he searches for your face, eyebrows kicking upwards. “Oh! You’re the girl from class.”

You shake your head violently, hoping to deny when a finger breaches you, tuning your voice into a moan. “Seungmin– Ah! Stop–”

“Tell him to get out,” he replies bluntly, showing no signs of stopping. If anything, he adds a second, curling them just right. You twist in shame, the humiliation burning at your skin. Hyunjin’s mouth forms an ‘O’, nodding with a growing smirk. You’re a hundred percent sure that he can still see what’s happening, grabbing onto a pillow, you slap it on your face. Coward puppy it is. Seungmin looks over, brushing the skirt off him with mild annoyance. Though, he makes a pitiful attempt at shielding you, shoulders hiding what you want to keep hidden.

“Stop peering, you’re being a creep.” Seungmin tells Hyunjin, not bothering to wipe his soaked mouth. “Move on to another room, this one is occupied.”

“Is she that good?” Hyunjin asks, brazen. He doesn’t give a fuck, or two, or even three. “You’ve been sticking for a while, I heard.”

Seungmin cocks his head to the side, squinting at the ceiling in fake ponder. “I think, that you should stop sticking your nose in other’s business. I heard you had trouble doing that,” His vision points to the girls on Hyunjin’s side, nothing but indifference in his eyes. “You seem busy, focus on what you have at hand. Since both are filled.”

“Ah, I see.” Hyunjin’s tongue pokes at his lips, shrugging. “That’s new coming from you, but if you insist.” He trails to the door, steps lazy. “I’d say. I’m the greedy type though.”

Seungmin eyes squint, scoffing into you, irritation overriding him once again. His fingers rub over you, pumping inside. He clicks his tongue, landing a light slap to your clit. “You got wetter, is getting interrupted that appealing to you?” He should’ve known better, especially after that little character background of yours. “What’s the point of acting embarrassed,” it’s an annoyed mumble, his thrusts turning meaner. He’d give you a scolding, but what’s his position to? It’ll only look desperate, he can’t afford that. Instead, he sucks onto your clit. Hard. Drawing out muffled, high pitched strangles. Ripping the pillow off you, the music downstairs is loud. You can be louder, showing everyone who has you yelping like this.

“Close?” He notes, the squelches of your cunt getting sharper, thighs begging to clasp around his head. You nod, feverish. He comes down again, adding a third finger as he latches at your clit, cutting the thread. You convulse, crying out in harsh body jolts. Expected, that at least eases him the slightest. Finally, understanding his younger friend a bit. Everybody pisses him off lately. He’d claim to be close to Hyunjin, but right now he wants to punch the shit out of him. Doesn’t matter, it’ll rub off after a few days. He hopes. “Now,” he climbs upwards, planting a kiss on your lips. Undoing his belt, “I’m hella worked up right now, fix it.”

—

“What if– what if he tells people!? Rumors fly, you know–”

“For the fifth time,” Seungmin goes on, groggy with sleep and a headache. It’s seven in the morning on a Monday,” he shouldn’t have picked up your call. “Who cares? Let him, so what.”

“What do you mean!!” If he could see your current state, maybe then he’d realise the gravity of the situation. “My reputation, it’ll be ruined.”

“What reputation..?” he starts but stops himself, remembering the last incident of him being too rude. “Okay, listen. Yn,” he states, you make a pathetic sound that curls at his chest. Nevertheless, his words are quick to slice at this feeling, “Do you know how many girls come and go here? Nobody gives a shit about who you are, they don’t care about that. It’s not that serious.”

Your coffee machine pings, it resonates. “Ah,” you inhale, blinking at the seeping liquid. “You’re right.” Flat, his reasoning stings. Not by a lot, just a little. Disappointment? You can’t decipher yet.

“Stop stressing over it, kay?” He’s done, waiting for your approval before going on with his day. There’s a silence that threads through. Are you zoning out?

Something else?

“Ow–”

“What happened–?” he asks, involuntary worry settling in.

“Nothing crazy,” you reply, “I burned my tongue with hot coffee.” 

He exhales, loudly and obviously. Feeling stupid for inquiring over something this small.

“Be careful next time,” he grumbles, it doesn’t sound as concerning as it reprimands. Nothing else before hanging up, you scrunch your nose, sniffing in the beginning of a cold.

Cold, he’s been cold the entire weekend. Not like you had expectations, he just didn’t talk much after what happened. “It’s good,” you monologue. “That’s what hooking up culture is, be proud.” Exactly, stand proud. That’s what you desired for so long. You’re confident that you won’t see Hyunjin again either way, a whole semester in and this was the first time you met. So, nothing to worry about.

—

“Hello, yn-ah.”

You knew this would happen, having learned to anticipate those by now. Sixth sense top notch, you’re ready to become the next Spiderwoman. Ugh, too far. The thought sends a shiver of cringe throughout your body. Maybe in another story. In this one, the narrative decided that Hwang Hyunjin would sit next to you during this whole four hour lesson. And that this certain Hwang Hyunjin would nudge at and annoy you the whole four hour lesson, yes, emphasis on the four hour duration.

“Did you have fun Friday?”

“Surely…” you reply regardless, they still scare the shit out of you. Honestly, he’s up all in your face, it’s getting to you. Focusing is out of the frame, nothing that the lecturer said registered in your brain. It’s just Hwang Hyunjin. Hyunjin stealing your pens. Hyunjin trying to type on your laptop. You found that he’s actually stupid, or he appears to be. Who knows. You’re terrified the same way you’re annoyed. Like– it aligns, he must be trying to scare you… Exactly, this is it.

Seungmin was wrong, Hyunjin cares and he’s going to ruin your year. Your career, your degree, everything. You heard the whole campus worships him. You’re done for, he’ll threaten you soon. Saying — “Give me a chance.”

you leave the last box just inside the front door and let out a long breath as you stand there, looking at your new apartment. the boxes full with your stuff sit against every wall - some of them are stacked neatly, labelled in thick black marker, but others are piled wherever you found an empty spot during your endless trips between your old place and this one.

kitchen.

bathroom.

clothes.

bedroom.

books.

the labels start blurring together as exhaustion settles deeper into your bones. you had spent the entire day moving, because from the moment that you woke up this morning, it’s been nothing but carrying, lifting, driving, unloading and then carrying everything all over again. moving always sounds simple until you’re actually doing it.

now that everything is finally here, everything is finally in your new apartment, you have to do the next part, which is to unpack everything you had spent days, even weeks packing.

“great”, you say as a groan leaves your lips.

you rub your face with both hands before looking around again. the sight is overwhelming but you know that if you leave everything until tomorrow you’ll have yourself later so you force yourself to start, at least with the essentials, that’s the rule. 

you walk towards the kitchen and find the box labelled in large letters across the side and after wrestling with the tape for a bit, you finally get it open. inside are plates wrapped in newspaper, glasses protected by towels, utensils bundled together and various kitchen tools. 

it’s not exciting or fun, but it’s necessary. 

you begin putting things away one by one - the spoons, forks and knives go into one drawer, the plates into the cabinet above the counter, the bowls next to them and the glasses in the next one. 

every movement feels slower than it normally would. your muscles protest each time you lift your arms but slowly, the kitchen starts looking less like and empty shell and more like a place someone actually lives in.

a small victory, but you take it anyway.

after finishing the basics, you open another box which has more kitchen supplies - your coffee mugs, a frying pan, a saucepan, the electric kettle you use almost every day. you smile a bit when you find it, at least tomorrow morning won’t be a disaster. 

when you’re done with the essentials, there are still boxes against the wall but the kitchen looks functional. it’s not complete, not even close, but at least you can cook and eat here, and that’s enough for now.

you decide to focus on your clothes now so you move to your bedroom which is even more chaotic than your living room. there are boxes surrounding the bed frame you had put together earlier, suitcases sitting open near your wardrobe and clothes spilling from partially opened boxes. 

you kneel beside one of them and begin sorting through everything - your trousers, your t-shirts, your dresses… you hang some items in the wardrobe and fold others into drawers. the repetitive task is oddly calming after the day you’ve had, you focus only on simple things. fold, stack, hang and repeat. 

it takes you a bit longer than you had expected because you keep stopping to stretch your back and shake out your sore arms, and sometimes you have to stop when you find clothes that you don’t remember packing or even having in the first place. 

you unpack enough clothes to get through the week and you decide to stop there for the day, closing your wardrobe and the suitcases and boxes. your room is definitely not finished, there are still boxes everywhere, but at least you know where some of your clothes are, you won’t have to dig through cardboard tomorrow to find a clean t-shirt.

you walk towards your living room again and look at the boxes that remain untouched. you know there are hours of unpacking ahead of you, maybe days, but that sounds like a future you problem, so you move to your sofa, which is one of the few pieces of furniture already in place, and practically collapse onto it.

the cushions sink beneath your body and a relieved sigh escapes you immediately. for the first time all day, you’re not carrying anything, or lifting boxes, or unpacking, or organising. no, you’re just sitting, finally. but despite the exhaustion, despite the aching muscles and the mountain of work still waiting for you, a small sense of satisfaction settles in your chest because the hardest part is over. 

you let your head fall back against the sofa and close your eyes for a moment and then your phone suddenly beeps, cutting through the silence of the apartment. you open your eyes and reach for your phone, thinking it might be one of your friends checking whether you’ve survived moving day, but then you see the alarm and a small smile appears on your face. 

“oh”

right, that alarm, the one you never forget to set, the one you look forward to always. 

everyone has their own ways of relaxing - some people watch movies, some people read books, others play games after a long day and you? you relax watching your favourite camboy with his hands on his dick as your fingers disappear inside you.

you open his page and type your information without even looking, the process so familiar now that you barely need to think about it anymore. after some seconds, his page loads and you wait for the livestream to start. you see comments from other viewers already, all of you waiting for the same thing, waiting for him. 

you shift further into the sofa, allowing yourself to relax properly as the anticipation kicks in. the screen flickers once and then the livestream begins. 

leethighs is live.

he’s already there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his body framed from the neck down as always, you’ve never seen his face. his black boxers hug the thick outline of his cock and his chest rises and falls slowly. 

the chat explodes the second he appears.

user69: fuck yes finally 

cumslut: he is so hard already

he chuckles seeing the comments, his voice low and rough. one of his hands slides down his stomach, his fingers tracing the skin that disappears under the waistband of his boxers. he palms himself through his boxers, giving the whole length a squeeze so everyone can watch it twitch and swell even more. 

“hi everyone, did you miss me?”, he says, his voice already teasing, “i’ve been thinking about you all day. wondering how many of you are already wet just from waiting for me”

his thumb moves to drag over the head of his cock, pressing the damp spot that’s starting to form and you have to stop yourself from moaning out loud.

“look how hard i already am for you”, he says.

your thighs press together on the sofa and heat pools between your legs, your cunt growing slicker with every lazy stroke he gives himself. you still don’t touch yourself, you just watch him, your nipples tightening under your t-shirt.

edgequeen: don’t take them off yet

princessonline: stroke your dick through the boxers more

the donations keep coming and he obeys instantly, laughing as he cups his balls through the fabric while his other hand keeps stroking his cock. the boxers are so tight now that the head of his cock is clearly outline, a dark wet patch spreading at the tip.

“so you wanna tell me what to do, huh? okay, i guess we can do that today”, he purs, his hips rolling forward into his own grip.

he moves his fingers to the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down just enough so the base of his cock shows, thick and veined. then he lets it snap back up, the elastic slapping against his skin. 

you bite your lip, feeling your panties soaked through, the fabric clinging to your folds. he leans back on one hand, spreading his legs wider so the camera catches everything. his other hand traces his cock again, slower this time, circling the head with two fingers until another bead of precum soaked into the fabric.

“i can imagine all of you…”, he says, reading the comments, “so wet for me, already dripping. but stay like that for me, don’t come yet. i want us to do it together”

the chat goes feral. 

edgequeen: please take them off now

user69: pull it out now

you decide to comment too, your thoughts completely clouded by him.

littlekitten: god i wish you could just fuck me

he looks at the comments and laughs softly, the sound going straight to your clit. both of his hands move to the waistband and he pauses there, letting the tension stretch for a moment and then, he peels the boxers down in one movement.

his cock springs free, the tip already shiny with precum. it slaps up against his stomach, before settling heavy between his thighs. he wraps one hand around the base, giving it a slow pump so a fresh bead of his cum wells at the slit and drips down his cock.

“there it is”, he says, “all for you”

your hand finally slips under your shorts and panties and you move two fingers through your soaked folds, parting them, feeling how swollen and wet you already are. you circle your clit a few times and then slide your fingers lower, pressing them inside you with a loud moan.

on screen he starts stroking himself more, from base to tip, twisting his wrist there. precum keeps leaking, making everything slick and shiny, and the wet sounds of his hand moving fill your room along with his low moans and yours. 

princessonline: spit on it pls

the sound of another donation comes in again and he leans forward, letting a thick string of spit fall from his mouth onto the tip of his cock, the sight of it making you even more wet. his spit mixes with the precum, and he uses it to stroke his cock faster. you match him without thinking, your fingers moving in and out of you at the same rhythm, your thumb rubbing your clit now too. 

the chat is pure chaos now as the donations keep flying in and everyone begs him to go faster, to go harder, to let them watch him come.

“fuck-”, he gasps, “i-i’m cumming”

your fingers curl inside yourself, pressing against your spot while your thumb works your clit faster. on screen his hand becomes a blur, his cock glistening and his thighs trembling.

“now”, he says, his voice rough, “want you to come with me. right now”

thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock, painting his abs and chest, while some lands on his hand as he keeps stroking through it. the sight pushes you over and your cunt clamps down hard around your fingers, pulsing as you come with a broken cry, your juices flooding your hand and soaking your panties even more. 

he slows his strokes, letting the last few drops bead at the tip and drip down. then he leans closer to the camera, just enough for his smile to fill the frame.

“as always, it’s my pleasure. see you soon, you freaks”, he says and then the screen goes black, the livestream ending.

you pull your hand out slowly, your fingers shiny and trembling. you collapse deeper into the sofa, your body still twitching from your orgasm. you stare at the black screen, already counting down the hours until the next livestream, already wet again at the thought of watching him another day.

after some days, your apartment slowly transforms from a maze of boxes into something that actually resembles a home. there are still a few things left to do, like books waiting for their place on the shelves or pictures that are still leaning against the walls because you still haven’t decided where to hang them, but compared to the disaster that it was on moving day, the difference is incredible. 

you can finally invite people over without having to apologise for the mess that your apartment is, which is exactly why your best friend jiah is coming today.

you stand inside the lift beside her as she carries a paper bag from the bakery close to the building, the lift slowly moving up towards your floor.

“i still can’t believe you’re finally done moving”, she says.

“i’m not completely done”, you say.

“you basically are, there are always things to do”

you laugh and then the doors slide open and you both step into the hallway. you lead the way towards your door and halfway there, something catches your eye, or rather, someone. a boy is standing outside the apartment next to yours. 

your neighbour, which you haven't actually met yet. you’ve heard him a few times through the wall but that’s about it .

now he’s locking his door, a bag hanging over one of his shoulders and when he hears your footsteps, he looks up and his eyes meet yours.

“hi”, you say, offering a polite smile.

he smiles at you too, “hi”

from up close, he’s even better looking than you initially thought, a bit taller than you with dark hair and warm eyes. you have to force yourself not to stare at him for too long.

“i’m y/n, your new neighbour”, you say, “i moved in a few days ago”

“oh”, he says as his smile grows, “that was you?”

you laugh, “the boxes gave me away?”

“a little”

his voice is surprisingly gentle, it’s soft and tender, and you like it immediately. 

“i’m minho, by the way”, he says.

“nice to meet you, minho”

“you too”

a brief silence settles between you and then he adjusts the strap of his bag.

“well, i guess i’ll see you around then”

“yeah”, you smile, “see you”

he smiles again, small and a little shy, then he gives a small bow before he walks towards the lift. you watch him walk away, your eyes on him until the doors of the lift close with him inside and then a hard bump lands against your shoulder and you jump.

jiah is staring at you, grinning, “i’m still here, you know?”

you shake your head and turn to your door, typing the code.

“you were staring at him”, she says.

“i wasn’t”, you say, your cheeks red.

“sure”

the door opens and you both walk inside.

“oh my god, y/n, it looks really good”

over the next fifteen minutes, you give her a tour of the entire apartment as she inspects everything, considering if this place is enough for her best friend. after she gives you her approval, you both move to the kitchen, the coffee maker humming quietly as it finishes. 

once it finishes, you sit in one of the stools as jiah sits across from you, as you start talking about your work and your friends, just random gossip. then jiah takes a sip of her coffee and then a dangerous smile appears on her face. 

“oh no… what?”, you ask her as you take a sip of your own cup.

“are you still thinking about your cute neighbour?”, she asks you.

you nearly choke on your coffee, “what? no!”

she starts laughing, “you totally are”

“i’m not”

“you were literally watching him walk away”

you shake your head, trying to hide your smile, but you fail.

“you’re impossible, jiah”

she rests her chin in her hand, “fine, maybe you’re not thinking about your cute, definitely hot, neighbour. you’re probably thinking about you cam guy”

your face heats instantly, “jiah!”

“what?”

“you always bring him up”

“because you’re obsessed with him”, she says, laughing.

“i’m not”

“yes, you are”

“no”

“y/n, you literally set alarms for his livestreams”

you groan while she laughs into her coffee again. to be fair, she’s the entire reason you discovered that world in the first place. months ago, she sent you a random link with a message that simply said “trust me” and the rest was history. 

“you know, speaking of camboys…”, she starts saying.

“no”, you say.

“i found a new one the other day”

“no”

“this guy is-”

“jiah”

“just listen to me”

“i’m not interested”

jiah rolls her eyes, “you are so loyal to him”

“i’m not loyal, i’m just not interested”

“in anyone else but him”

you open your mouth, then pause and close it again.

her grin widens, “i knew it”

“oh, shut up”, you say which makes her laugh so hard she nearly spills her coffee, “i’m serious, jiah, i don’t need another one”

“okay…”, she says as she takes another sip, and then she leans forward, “but just so you know, this new guy does some absolutely insane things during his livestreams”

you immediately raise a hand, “no”

she leans back and sighs, “okay, fine”

but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes tells you she definitely isn’t finished with this conversation, not even close. 

“and… have you ever thought about it?”, she asks you.

“thought about what?”

she tilts her head, “being a camgirl”

you pause mid-sip, the mug stopping just before your lips.

“… what?”

she shrugs, completely unfazed, “i think it would be cool, i’ve thought about it once or twice. you’ve never thought about it? like… at all?”

you set your coffee down, “i- no. why would i?”

she leans forward, her elbows on the counter, clearly invested now, “because it’s kind of hot”, she says simply, “i mean, the idea of people watching you, paint attention to what you do and them getting off to that”

you stare at her, “you’re serious?”

“completely”, she says, no hesitation in her voice, no joke hiding behind it, “i mean… i’ve thought about it, not like in a weird way or anything. it’s just… the control and the attention, the confidence. some people really like that”

you shift slightly on your stool suddenly aware of the conversation in a different way,

“i’ve never thought about it like that to be honest”, you say.

and the thing is, you find yourself not hating the idea either.

jiah smiles, like she expected that answer, and like she already knows the internal conflict you seem to be having. she moves to another thing, something about her neighbour being a pain in the ass, but your mind doesn’t fully follow because part of you stays stuck on what she said, stuck on it like it’s a thought you didn’t know you had until someone else said it first.

eventually, she checks her phone and sighs, “i should go”

“already?”

“yeah, i’ve got things to do”

you stand up with her, walking her to the door and hugging her once you reach it.

“don’t think too hard about it”, she says laughing.

“i wasn’t thinking about it”

she smirks at you, “yeah, sure”

then she leaves with a final wave and you close the door. you walk to the kitchen to clean the cups you used and then move to the bathroom to have a quick shower. once you finish, you go to your room and get dressed into comfy clothes, nothing too tight. 

you are tidying up your room when you hear your phone, and you reach for it - the alarm. 

the livestream. 

you move to your bed, your body sinking onto the mattress and your heart already beating loud and fast against your ribs. you wait for a few seconds and then the livestream starts, a low rush of water echoing through your phone. you see him standing under the shower, the water falling over his chest and stomach. his cock is already hard, the precum already clinging to the tip before the shower rinses it away. 

princessonline: holy fuck look at that cock 

edgequeen: i think i just came from this

he laughs, reading the comments, “hi, everyone. i just came home from the gym and i couldn’t wait anymore. i knew you would all be waiting for me so i thought i could give you a show before i clean up”

his hand moves to his cock, wrapping around the base as the water moves down the length, making everything glisten.

you don’t hesitate this time. you take off your shorts and panties and then move your hand between your legs, your fingers moving to your already swollen and sensitive clit. you start circling it before you move two fingers inside your cunt, feeling how wet and ready you are. a soft moan slips out as you start moving them in time with his strokes. 

cumslut: faster please

user69: fuck look at those thighs

his free hand braces against the wall while his hips roll forward, fucking his fist under the water, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with his low groans. your thumb presses harder against your clit while your fingers move inside you. you write a comment, your breath coming faster as your orgasm grows.

littlekitten: those thighs look so fucking good, i wanna ride them until i soak them

he reads your comment out loud and laughs, “ride them, huh? maybe i could let you watch me flex while you grind on me sometime”

the chat explodes with more comments and donations. he leans his head back, the water hitting his chest as he works his cock faster. you match his pace, your fingers moving deep inside you, the wet sounds of your own pussy and the livestream filling your bedroom.

“i’m coming now”, he says, “i want you right there with me”

your orgasm crashes through you the second he groans and comes too, his cock pulsing as his cum mixes with the water and then washes away while he keeps stroking his cock. your cunt spams hard around your fingers, your fluids flooding your hand as you come with a broken cry and a loud moan. 

he slows down, giving his cock a few lazy pumps before leaning forwards just enough for that familiar smirk to fill the frame.

“i know today was short but intense, but don't worry, i’ll see you soon”, he says and then the screen turns black.

you lie there, panting on your bed, your fingers still buried inside you. you think about what jiah said earlier, whether you’d ever considered becoming a camgirl. the idea no longer feels distant, and instead, you find yourself getting wet again, your body already reacting to the fantasy of being the one on camera, being the one making others touch themselves and come while you spread your legs for them and let them watch, being the one in control.

maybe it’s because you’ve spent the entire night thinking about what jiah said yesterday or maybe it’s because every free moment since you woke up this morning somehow circles back to her words, but the idea follows you everywhere.

you being a camgirl.

it’s not that you seriously plan to do it, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself, but there is something about it that refuses to leave your mind, something thrilling and reckless. the thought of being seen, of knowing people are watching you… it’s terrifying and somehow that’s exactly why you can’t stop thinking about it.

you know yourself well enough to know that if you keep thinking about it, if you keep thinking about every possible outcome, you’ll never do it. so instead of overthinking, you decide to do the one thing you never do, which is act first.  

you will do it just once, just for tonight. if you hate it, that’s fine, you can turn your phone off and pretend it never happened. nobody has to know, nobody ever will. 

but if you don’t try, you’ll keep wondering.

so that’s how you find yourself now, sitting on your bed with a black lace bra and its matching panties sitting high on your hips, your phone propped on a stack of pillows and your heart beating so hard you can feel it in your throat. 

you stare at the screen, then at yourself in the tiny preview window and then back at the screen again. your palms are sweaty and your stomach twists nervously. this is ridiculous, you should stop and put some clothes on, you should definitely not be doing this.

no.

you wanna do this, you wanna try this.

you take a deep breath and then another one, trying to calm yourself down, trying to slow your heartbeat. your fingers tap against your thigh and you look at the button again, one simple press is all it takes to go live.

you remind yourself that nobody is forcing you to do this, that if you hate it, you can end it immediately, forget the whole thing ever happened, the world won’t end there. you repeat that thought several times until it finally starts sounding believable, then you straighten your shoulders, take one last deep breath and before you can change your mind, you press the button and then the livestream starts.

you’re live.

the frame shows only what you planned, from your neck to your thighs, no one can see your face. for the first seconds, the viewer count stays at zero and then starts growing slowly.

maknaeontop: new girl??

midnightwolf: nervous? don’t worry we’ll be gentle with you

you swallow, feeling your cheeks burning, and then you speak, your voice a bit shaky, “hi… it’s my first time”

you close your eyes and shake your head, already regretting saying that, and you wonder again if this was really a good idea, if maybe you should turn the whole thing off before you do anything else but then, the chat explodes with comments. 

strongspear: take your time baby

quokkjone: already hard just seeing the lace

aussielord: don’t be shy we wanna see you

you had seen thousands of comments like this in your camboy’s streams, but being on the receiving end is entirely different. a donation alert sounds and then you let out a shaky breath. you bring your hands up, your fingertips trembling a bit as they trace the edge of your bra. you feel your nipples tightening further under the lace and you circle them slowly, the lace rasping against them and a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

artprince69: fuck that’s hot

dirtypup: that body is insane 

aussielord: do it again

you can’t deny it, your can feel your clit throbbing under the lace, desperate for attention. you bite your lip as you slide one of your hands down your stomach until your fingers rest on the front of your panties, the lace there already damp. you press two fingers against your covered clit and rub in small circles, the sensation making your thighs part a little wider without thinking.

strongspear: push the fabric aside baby

artprince69: keep going, it’s driving us crazy

the donations keep going and you obey the second comment. instead of moving the lace aside, you slip your fingers underneath it, finding your puffy lips and your swollen clit. you bite your lip hard as you start rubbing yourself, the wet sounds barely audible but unmistakable. your other hand moves to your breast, pinching your nipple through the bra until it aches.

quokkjone: moan for us pls

you let the sound out this time, moaning loud and clear, your back arching as you keep rubbing yourself.

“i-it feels so good…”, you say, your voice huskier than you expected, “oh, f-fuck”

the chat goes feral and then you change your position, kneeling on your bed with your knees spread. the camera now catches your hand moving under the lace between your legs, the fabric shifting with every stroke of your fingers, and you rock your hips forward, grinding against your own hand.

maknaeontop: those thighs are perfect

aussielord: just like that baby, rub that pussy

midnightwolf: fuck i’m gonna come 

you push two fingers inside you and then curl them, the wet squelch much louder now. your other hand slips under your bra, squeezing your breast and rolling your nipple between your fingers.

“i’m so wet right now… can you hear how soaked i am?”, you say, your voice trembling but trying to sound sensual.

your orgasm builds fast and hard, your thighs shaking now. you press your palm flat against your clit and grind, your fingers still inside you as you keep moaning, almost screaming.

dirtypup: you naughty girl you’re this wet for us?

midnightwolf: mmm you look so good baby

artprince69: those sounds… fuck

the pressure snaps and then you cry out, your orgasm going through you in deep waves that make your whole body jerk. your legs tremble as the climax crashes through you, and it goes on and on, your juices soaking your lace and your inner thighs. when your orgasm ends, you stay kneeling on your bed, your chest heaving and your fingers still deep inside you.

aussielord: that was so fucking hot

maknaeontop: when is the next one??

strongspear: don’t make us wait 

you smile, even though they can’t see your face, “i’ll be back soon… i hope you won’t miss me too much”

you lean forward, showing the lower part of your face and you blow a kiss, feeling brave enough to do that, which seems ridiculous when you think about what you just did. then you end the stream and the screen goes dark. 

you pull your fingers out of you and look at them, completely soaked, the proof that you definitely enjoyed this and that this is not going to be a one time thing, because you’re already wondering how soon is soon enough.

what surprises you the most isn’t that you actually find yourself enjoying doing the livestreams, it’s how quickly it becomes part of your routine.

one livestream turns into two, two turns into five and then before you know it, almost a month has passed. your account has grown steadily during that time - at first only a handful of people showed up and now there are enough names in the chat that you can no longer keep track of everyone. 

it’s strange and also addictive, not because of the attention alone, but because of the confidence and the control it gives you, the knowledge that every person is there watching you because they want to, just like you do with your camboy. 

you become bolder with every stream, more comfortable and confident, teasing your viewers and talking more, but you never take your bra and panties off. that remains a line you haven’t crossed yet, but you’re not opposed to it either. 

you are walking around the city centre and you find yourself walking through a lingerie boutique, wondering which little number you should buy for today’s livestream. a month ago, you would have never entered a store like this, and now you’re looking through racks of lace and silk, getting ready to show yourself to strangers online.

the confidence still feels unfamiliar sometimes, but not unwelcome.

you end up leaving the store with a white set that caught your eye the minute you entered the shop, elegant and daring, not letting much to the imagination. you keep thinking about how it will look on you on your way home. when you reach your building, you see the lift doors closing, and you start running, trying to get in.

“hold it, please!”, you say as you get closer.

you see the doors sliding open again and you enter, finding your neighbour minho there, inside the lift. he looks up when you enter and he smiles at you the moment he sees you. you return the smile, the doors closing behind you. 

“hi, minho”

“hi”, he says, his smile growing now.

you move to stand next to him and you feel your heart speeding up. for some reason it always seems to do that when you’re around him. over the last few weeks, you’ve run into each other several times - sometimes in the hallway, others in the lift like today, sometimes when one of you was leaving and the other was coming home, and that one time he ran out of milk and asked you if you had some left that he could take. 

the conversations are always short, always friendly, but every single one leaves you smiling afterwards.

“so”, he says, looking at the shopping bag in your hand, “successful shopping trip, i guess?”

you look down at your bag and move it behind you, not wanting him to see what’s inside.

“well, i think that depends on your definition of successful”, you say, turning to smile at him.

his eyes brighten with amusement, “that’s not an answer”

“it’s the only one you’re getting”

he laughs softly and the sound makes you smile even more.

“fair enough”, he says. 

the lift continues moving upwards and he speaks again.

“how are you settling in?”, he asks you.

“pretty well, actually”, you say, nodding your head.

“no more box mountains?”

you groan and close your eyes, “oh god, don’t remind me, please”

he laughs again, “i take that as yes”

“i still find random things in weird places”, you say laughing.

“that’s part of moving”, he says, laughing as he looks at you.

the lift reaches your floor and the doors open.

“so this is us”, he says.

“this is us”

you walk into the hallway together, and as you get closer to your apartments, you wonder what he does all day, who he spends time with, whether he’s seeing someone but then you stop yourself and scold yourself internally. those are definitely the thoughts of someone developing a crush, a very obvious crush at that, and judging by the teasing texts that jiah keeps sending you every time you mention him, apparently you’re not hiding it very well.

minho stops outside his door and you stop outside yours.

“so… see you around?”, he says.

“yeah, see you around”

he smiles at you again and then you both turn to your doors, typing your codes and going inside once the doors open. despite the new lingerie sitting in your shopping bag, despite the livestream you already have later that evening, the person occupying your thoughts as you close the door behind you isn’t your audience, it’s minho. 

you groan softly, “get it together, y/n”

you make your way to your bedroom and toss your phone onto the bed and then you set the bag on the bed and carefully pull the new lingerie out, which is even prettier and bolder than you remember.  

leaving it where it is, you head to the bathroom and have a shower, but even under the warm water, your thoughts keep going back to minho, his eyes, his smile. you tell yourself to stop but your brain ignores you and by the time you step out of the shower, you’ve accepted defeat, you definitely have a crush on him.

great.

you change into comfy clothes first, nothing fancy, just something comfortable to move around in while you finish getting ready for the livestream. you dry your hair and finish your skincare, even though you won’t be showing your face.

eventually you’re satisfied and everything is ready, all that’s left is changing. you walk down the hallway towards your bedroom and then you reach for the handle and turn it.

nothing happens.

you frown and turn it again, but still, nothing.

“what?”

you pull harder but the door refuses to move. you try again and again but nothing, the door stays shut.

“no- wait, no, no”

you shove your shoulder against the door and it rattles but it doesn’t open. you try again, a bit harder this time, but still nothing. a frustrated sigh leaves you because of course this had to happen now, when you’re getting ready for a livestream and you don’t have your phone with you, because you left it in your bedroom before.

you push against the door again and the frame shakes but the door remains closed.

“fuck… seriously?”

you try a different angle, then another and another one, but nothing works. you hit the door with your shoulder again and again until you hear a knock on your door. you walk towards it and pull it open, finding minho standing just outside your apartment.

“hey”, he says.

“hi”

he gestures vaguely towards the inside of your apartment, “is everything okay? i heard… a lot of noise”

you immediately know what he means and heat creeps into your face, “oh god…”, you say as you cover your face for a second, “my bedroom door is stuck and i can’t open it”

his eyebrows rise and he nods his head, “right… you want some help?”

at this point, your pride is already beyond saving, “please”

you stand to the side and let him in, gesturing towards your bedroom. he walks there and then tries to open it but, to no one’s surprise, nothing happens.

“okay, so it’s actually stuck”, he says.

“yeah, thank you for confirming i’m not losing my mind”, you say laughing, making him laugh with you.

he tries to open it again, but it won’t open. he spends a couple of minutes like that, trying different things, but nothing, the door remains closed. then minho changes his grip, braces one foot against the frame and gives the handle a sharp pull while pushing at a different angle and the door suddenly swings open.

“oh my god”, you say as relief floods through you, “you did it!”

minho steps inside first to make sure nothing else is stuck and when he turns, his gaze lands on the bed, and your stomach immediately drops.

the lingerie, completely visible and completely impossible to miss.

panic takes over you and you move so quickly you nearly trip over your own feet. you plant yourself directly between minho and your bed, as if your body somehow became a curtain. minho blinks and then very politely looks anywhere except behind you. he looks at the ceiling, the wall, the window, the door, just anywhere. 

you’re sure your face is bright red at this point.

“it’s… i…”, you start saying but you stop because there is absolutely no explanation that doesn’t make this worse.

thankfully, minho rescues you, “i should probably go”

“yes”, the answer comes out much too fast and you clear your throat, “i mean- thank you”

his smile returns, gentle and thankfully not teasing, “no problem”

you smile at him and then walk him back to the front door, the embarrassment following you with every step you take.

“thanks again”, you say, smiling at him.

“anytime”, he says.

“so, i uh… see you around, minho”

his eyes meet yours briefly, “yeah, see you” 

he leaves and you close the door and lock it. you lean against it and exhale, you refuse to think about what just happened, you refuse to think about the fact that minho saw the lingerie, you refuse to think about what he might be thinking now.

nope, absolutely not, you have other things to focus on right now. 

you take a deep breath and then return to your bedroom. you pick the lingerie up and then change into it. you check the lighting and the camera angle, then the pillows, making sure everything is ready. when you’re happy with it, you sit on your bed, and you feel your heart beating a little faster than usual but you know this time it’s not because of the livestream.

you shake your head and exhale again, leaning forward to press the livestream button. the viewer count climbs fast and within seconds the chat fills with messages. 

strongspear: hello gorgeous

dirtypup: our baby is back

maknaeontop: oh fuck i’m already hard

you smile even though they can’t see your face and then you speak, your voice much more confident than the first time you did this. 

“hello everyone… i bought this set for you today”, you say, letting the words roll slowly off your tongue, “do you like it?”

you arch your back a bit, making sure your nipples are clearly visible.

midnightwolf: white looks so good on you

aussielord: you look like an angel

your fingers trace the edge of your bra, and then move to circle your nipples. you pinch one, rolling it between your fingers, and a moan escapes your lips.

“mmhm, i’m already so sensitive today”

the donations start rolling in immediately. you slide your hand down your stomach and press one finger against the front of your panties, the lace already wet. you rub slow circles over your clit, your hips rocking forward to meet your own touch.

“i’m wet just from thinking about all of you… watching me”, you say as you spread your thighs wider so they can see your hand against the lace, “can you see how it clings to me?

quokkjone: fuck yes

artprince69: moan again pls princess

you start rubbing yourself quicker, your moans coming out much louder now. you slip your fingers under the lace and then slide two fingers through your folds while your other hand pushes your bra aside to pinch your bare nipple.

“oh god… i’m dripping”, you say, “wanna see how soaked i am?”

you pull your fingers out and hold them up so the camera catches the shine, then you slide them back under the fabric. you push those fingers inside you, the lace stretching around your wrist as you finger yourself and your hips roll with your movements. 

the chat explodes with more donations and comments and then, one username appears that makes your stomach flip.

leethighs: you look so fucking hot in that white set

your breath catches. leethighs, the camboy whose livestreams started all of this. he’s here, he’s watching you. heat floods your face and your pussy clenches around your fingers, knowing he has his eyes on you just like you do with him. you keep your voice steady, trying to stay in character. 

“thank you, leethighs”, you say, a little smile in your tone, “i’m glad you like it”

you keep touching yourself, your fingers moving faster inside your cunt while your thumb circles your clit.

leethighs: as much as you’re driving me crazy with that outfit, it’s not fair that you get to see me naked but i can’t see you

he knows, he knows that you watch him.

leethighs: take everything off

leethighs: now

your heart pounds. he wants you to be completely naked. you’ve never done that, but the idea of it only makes you wetter, the thrill taking over. you hook your thumbs into the sides of your underwear and slide it down your thighs, letting it drop. then you reach behind you and unhook the bra, letting it fall away too.

the camera now shows everything from your neck to your thighs - your bare breasts, your hard nipples and your completely exposed pussy, already glistening. 

maknaeontop: i can see her pussy lips from here

strongspear: i’m stroking my cock so hard

artprince69: those are the most perfect cunt lips i’ve ever seen

the chat goes insane and more and more donations come in. you spread your legs wider and one of your hands returns to your cunt. you slide two fingers deep inside while you other hand moves to your clit, your fingers rubbing circles there.

“f-fuck, i’m so wet right now”, you moan, your voice shaking with pleasure, “i’m going to come so hard for you”

you keep hitting that sensitive spot, your hips bucking against your hand.

aussielord: fuck yes

dirtypup: look at her tits bouncing

quokkjone: i’m cumming

midnightwolf: don’t stop baby

your orgasm keeps building hard and fast and then, before you even realise it, your walls clench around your fingers and you come, your body jerking as you cry out. you keep rubbing your clit and moving your fingers through it, drawing it out until your legs shake and your breath comes in ragged gasps. 

when your orgasm ends, you slowly pull your fingers out of you, completely coated in your juices.

leethighs: fuck

leethighs: i wanna lick you clean

you feel yourself getting wet again at his words and then, you lean closer to the camera, letting it frame your mouth and chin and then you bring your wet fingers to you lips.

“oh? like this?”, you ask teasingly and then you drag your tongue slowly over your fingers, licking every drop of your own arousal.

you suck two fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, making sure the camera catches absolutely everything.

quokkjone: FUCK

artprince69: that was so hot i just came again 

maknaeontop: i wanna lick you too 

you pull your fingers out with a pop and then bite your lower lip, “i’ll see you soon… don’t miss me too much”

you reach forward and end the stream, the screen going black once again.

you sit at your kitchen table with a mug in one hand and your breakfast in front of you as you try to think about what happened yesterday, about who was in the livestream yesterday. 

you take a sip of your coffee as you think about him again, leethighs. the camboy you’ve been watching for months and the person who indirectly started this whole thing. he watches you, you. 

you set your mug down and stare absently at the table, you can’t stop thinking about it, about him, about you doing the livestream naked just because he told you to, about you enjoying it more than ever. 

the entire thing feels unreal.

you’re overthinking it, probably, you’re sure he watches dozens of streams, maybe hundreds, you’re probably not special. you shake your head and then stand up, taking your mug and plate to the sink, washing them before you move to wipe down the counter. and then, you hear your phone beeping. 

you dry your hands and pick it up, walking towards the living room and sitting down on your sofa. you unlock the screen and then you see the notification - leethighs is live.

“what?”

you blink and check the time, then check the notification again. that can’t be right, he always follows a schedule, that’s why you have your alarms, that’s one of the reasons why his audience likes him so much, because everyone knows when he will be live.

but today isn’t one of those days, or at least, it isn’t supposed to be.

you open the app and sure enough, the red live indicator is sitting beside his profile and curiosity immediately takes hold of you.

why is he live?

you pull your legs up onto the sofa and stare at the screen, the livestream already running, and before you can talk yourself out of it, your thumb moves over to the stream button, ready to see what could possibly make him break his schedule for the first time since you’ve started watching him. 

the stream loads and then fills your screen. he’s lying back on his sofa, wearing only a black t-shirt and tight grey boxers. the camera angle today is different, framed from his mid-thighs up to just under his nose and when his lips curve into a small, knowing smile, you think you’ve seen that smile and nose before, they look oddly familiar, but you push the thought away before you can overthink it. 

edgequeen: schedule break??

user69: show us your dick now

cumslut: this is new

he shifts his hips on the sofa, the fabric of his boxers stretching over the obvious bulge between his legs.

“hello, littlekitten”, he says, drawing out your username, “i’m glad you’re here. i’ve been thinking about you since your little number yesterday. been hard ever since i saw you”

your stomach flips and you feel yourself getting wet instantly, your panties dampening as your stare at the screen.

“littlekitten, are you there?”, he continues, “say something for me”

your fingers tremble as you type.

littlekitten: i’m here, just surprised you’re live today

he reads it out loud as a small smile plays on his lips.

“surprised? i couldn't stop thinking about how hot you looked in that white lingerie, and then how hot you looked naked,,, how you licked your fingers clean for everyone… fuck, i’ve been hard all morning because of you”

princessonline: get naked already

cumslut: littlekitten made you break schedule?

your breath comes faster and then you slide your hand down between your thighs, pressing your fingers under your panties as you watch him.

littlekitten: take everything off

you don’t waste your time. he laughs and then moves the phone just enough to take the t-shirt off, leaving it somewhere behind him. then, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pushes them down.

“feisty one, aren’t you? it’s okay, i can tame you”, he says.

you see his cock thick and fully hard, the head already glistening with the precum. the camera is much closer than ever before and it catches every detail - the heavy length, the veins running along the shaft and the way it twitches slightly as he wraps his hand around the base.

edgequeen: holy fuck

user69: look how hard he is

princessonline: i wanna suck you off 

you push your panties aside and slide one finger straight into your dripping pussy, then another one. he wraps his fist around his cock and strokes from base to tip, spreading the precum as his hips lift off the sofa with each stroke.

“you’re touching yourself now, aren’t you, littlekitten?”, he says, “i can imagine your fingers buried in that pretty pussy while you watch me”

you type with your free hand, your fingers still moving inside you.

littlekitten: yes… i’m so wet for you

he groans when he reads it and his hand moves faster, “good girl… keep going”

you spread your legs wider on your sofa, three fingers now deep inside you while your thumb circles your clit. your juices coat your fingers and drip onto the cushion beneath you.

“f-fuck, i’m… i’m close”, he says, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he jerks himself faster.

cumslut: this is so hot

user69: i’m dripping wet

edgequeen: he’s gonna come more than ever fuck

“come with me, littlekitten. i want you to come with me”, he says and that’s all it takes to break you.

your orgasm crashes over you and your thighs shake as your hips buck against your hand while you watch him come. his cock jerks in his fist and his cum shoots across his stomach and chest. he keeps stroking his cock, milking every drop while he groans your username again.

user69: this was so hot

princessonline: best livestream ever

he lies there breathing hard, his cum streaked across his skin and his cock still twitching in his hand. he brings the phone closer to his face, only showing his smile.

“as always, it’s my pleasure… and littlekitten, i’ll see you soon”, he says and then ends the livestream.

you don’t think too much of it, he probably means he’ll catch your next livestream. you close the app and then shift on the sofa, your panties completely soaked through and a bit uncomfortable now. you decide you need a shower, your thighs are sticky with your own wetness and you can still feel the aftershocks between your legs. you walk to your bedroom and get some clean underwear, some shorts and a t-shirt and then you head towards the bathroom. 

the shower washes away the lingering discomfort from earlier and the clean clothes help you feel much better. your hair is still slightly damp as you walk down the hallway towards your bedroom and when you get there, you reach for the handle and turn it but to your surprise-

it won’t open.

again.

“you have to be kidding me”

you try again and the handle moves, but the door doesn’t.

“oh, come on”

you push, pull, push again, then pull again. but nothing, the fucking door refuses to move. you can’t believe this is happening again. after another few failed attempts, you let out a frustrated groan and run your fingers through your hair. your phone is thankfully with you this time but that doesn’t solve the actual problem.

you decide to ask for help this time so you go to minho’s apartment but the minute you’re there, outside his door, you hesitate briefly, and then knock. a couple of seconds pass and then you hear movement inside, footsteps getting closer before the door opens.

your brain immediately stops working the moment you see minho standing there wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. 

your eyes widen and for one horrifying second, your brain completely short-circuits and then you spin around so quickly you nearly lose your balance.

“oh my god”, you say, the words escaping you before you can stop them, “i’m so sorry”

he laughs softly, “it’s okay”

you refuse to turn around, “ugh, no, it’s not”

“y/n, it’s fine, don’t worry”

you hear him chuckling and then you risk a glance over your shoulder and you see he looks more entertained than embarrassed. 

his hair is damp and a few droplets of water still cling to his neck. clearly, you’ve interrupted his shower.

“what happened?”, he asks you.

you immediately remember why you’re here, “my bedroom door”

“again?”, he says, a smirk growing on his face.

“yeah, again”, you say, laughing now.

minho laughs and then nods his head, “okay, just give me a minute to get dressed”

“that’s fine, i will wait for you in my apartment”

“it’s okay, you can wait here”, he says as he opens the door wider.

“minho, i don’t-”

“y/n, really, i don’t mind”

you look at him and realise he’s not gonna change his mind, so you sigh and step inside.

“okay”

the layout is almost identical to your apartment but some things are different - the colours are warmer, the lighting softer, there are books and pictures on the shelves and plants near the windows.

“make yourself at home”, he says, “i’ll be right back”

then he disappears down the hallway and a moment later, the bedroom door closes behind him.

for a few seconds, you simply stand there because you don’t want to snoop but then you start looking at the bookshelf, the pictures and books there. you do anything that can distract you from the thought that you’re standing inside your very attractive and hot neighbour’s apartment, the same neighbour who you have a crush on. your gaze drifts around the living room and then stops on the sofa.

something about it feels familiar. 

you walk closer to it and then your eyes narrow when you see a black t-shirt thrown carelessly over there, as though someone took it off and left it there without thinking. 

your stomach suddenly tightens.

no.

you take a step closer, then another one. the shape of the cushions, the colour of the sofa, you’ve seen this before. 

not in person.

you’ve seen it on your screen.

mere minutes ago. 

“no way”, you whisper, your breath catching.

your mind immediately starts connecting the pieces together and then the realisation crashes over you all at once.

minho, your neighbour, the sweet and shy guy who lives next to you, the man whose smile has been occupying far too much of your brain lately, the man currently dressed in the next room.

it’s him, he’s leethighs. your camboy, the same guy who told you to get naked the day before, the same guy you told to get naked minutes ago.

and you’ve just figured it out while standing in the middle of his living room. 

“you’ve figured it out already, haven’t you?”

you turn around and find minho in the living room too, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that same small and knowing smile you saw on the stream. he’s changed into a clean white t-shirt and black sweatpants that hang low on his hips. the fabric does nothing to hide the outline of his cock, already half-hard and pressing against his clothes. 

he starts walking towards you, each step closing the distance until he’s right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“you know… i had my doubts from the moment you went live for the first time”, he says, his voice quiet but steady, “your voice sounded familiar but then the other day when i helped you with your door and i saw the lingerie… the same one you wore later on the livestream… fuck, that’s when i knew”

he takes another step towards you, his chest nearly touching yours now.

“i’ve been losing my mind about you since the first time i saw you in the building when you first moved in”, he continues, his eyes locked on yours, “and when i found your livestreams? fuck. i couldn’t stop watching you. i couldn't stop thinking about you, thinking about you watching me, and how hot you looked the other day when i told you to get naked”

his breath ghosts over your lips and your bodies are pressed together now, the hard line of his cock nudging your stomach through his sweatpants. one of his hands comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip.

“tell me if you want me to stop”, he says, “right now. say the word and i’ll back off”

you try to speak and when you do, your words come out shaky but certain.

“don’t stop, minho”

his mouth crashes onto yours and the kiss is hard and hungry, nothing like the shy neighbour you thought you knew. his tongue slides past your lips and your hands fly to his hips, your fingers digging into his clothes as you pull him closer. he groans into your mouth, one of his hands sliding into your hair while the other grips your waist.

he walks you backwards until the back of your knees hit the sofa. you tumble down together, his body covering yours and the make-out turns frantic. your legs part for him, letting him settle down between them as he grinds his cock against your cunt. 

he breaks the kiss just long enough to look down at you, his eyes dark.

“i told you i wanted to lick you clean”, he says, his voice rough, “time to make good on that, huh?”

his hands move to your shorts and he yanks them down your legs, tossing them aside. your panties follow, as he drags them down your thighs until they’re off completely, leaving you naked from the waist down.

minho doesn’t waste time. he moves between your spread legs, his hands gripping your inner thighs and pushing them wider. his eyes drink in the sight of your glistening lips, your clit already swollen and peeking out.

“fuck, look at you”, he says, “already dripping from me”

then his mouth is on you, his tongue dragging a long and slow strip from your entrance up to your clit. he groans at the taste and his lips closer around your clit as he cocks, two of his fingers entering you with ease.

your back arches off the sofa and one of your hands flies to his hairs, your fingers threading through the strands as he eats you like a man starved. he adds a third finger, stretching you, the burn mixing with the pleasure, as his tongue keeps flicking your clit.

“minho- i… fuck-”, you moan, your hips rolling against his face.

he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with your arousal.

“that’s it, say my name while i eat you out”

then he dives back in, his tongue moving faster, his fingers moving deeper. your juices coat his chin and drip down onto the sofa beneath you. he shifts, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to open you wider.

“f-fuck… m-minho!”, you say, screaming, as you arch your back again, “i’m- i’m close”, you manage to say, your voice breaking.

he doesn’t stop, if anything, he doubles down. his fingers move faster, pressing that special spot, and his tongue starts flicking faster too. your thighs start to tremble around his head as your orgasm, keeps growing and growing.

“that’s it”, he says, “come for me. now”

your hips buck uncontrollably against his face and then your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers as you cry out. he keeps eating you out, gentler now but still insistent, drawing everything from your body until you’re shaking and spent.

he pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with you. he looks up at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark with need and hunger, and then he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. 

“good girl”, he says against your skin, “just like i imagined”

you reach for minho and pull him towards you, your fingers curling into the front of his t-shirt as you move his mouth to yours. the kiss turns messy and deep right away, your tongue sliding together while your hands roam over his chest and shoulders.

he groans into the kiss and then breaks away just enough to smirk, his breath hot on your face.

“eager, aren’t you, little kitten, huh?”, he murmurs, that knowing smile still playing on his lips as his eyes flick down to where your hands are already tugging at his t-shirt.

you don’t answer with words. instead, your hand slips down between your bodies, finding the hard outline of his cock through his sweatpants and then, you wrap your fingers around it and squeeze, feeling it twitch under your touch.

minho’s eyes flutter shut and he groans louder, the sound raw and needy against your mouth as he kisses you again.

your clothes come off in a rush after that. you yank his t-shirt up and over his head while he shovers his sweatpants and boxers off, kicking them away, his cock free now. you sit up just long enough to take your t-shirt off, leaving you both completely naked on the sofa, skin meeting skin, warm and urgent.

minho settles between your thighs again, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. he pushes in slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size, then he sinks deeper until he’s completely inside you and then you both moan at the same time.

“fuck… you feel so good”, he says against your neck, starting to move.

his hips roll in deep and steady strokes, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you as your hands grip his back.

“don’t stop… just like that, please”, you say, and he answers with a low moan, his pace picking up.

the sofa creaks under you as he fucks you harder.

“you’re so tight, f-fuck”, he says, his voice broken now.

“m-minho… i’ve… been thinking about this e-every time i watched you”, you say, your nails digging into his shoulders and he responds by grinding deeper, his pubic bone rubbing your clit with each roll of his hips.

he kisses you again, swallowing your moans while his cock drives in and out, stretching you perfectly.

“minho, i… i- i’m close”, you whimper against his lips.

he presses his forehead to yours, “me too… come with me, please, come with me”, he says, thrusting faster.

your orgasm hits first, your walls pulsing around him as you cry out, your hips meeting his. that pushes him over the edge and he comes with a groan, filling you as his body trembles with yours. you ride it out together, your bodies locked and shaking until the waves fade.

he stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath, then moves his head just enough to look at you. he brushes your damp hair from your face, his eyes soft now as he looks at you.

“you okay?, he asks you quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

you nod your head, smiling at him, “yeah… more than okay. you?”

he chuckles, pressing a slow kiss to your lips, “i’m perfect”

he leans in once more, capturing your lips again. his mouth moves slowly against yours, your tongues brushing lazily as his body remains pressed close to yours, the warmth of his skin seeping into you while his softening cock stays deep inside you, his cum leaking out with every subtle shift.

he moves back just enough to meet your gaze, a playful spark lighting his eyes now.

“you know… maybe we could do a livestream together sometime”, he says, his voice low and teasing, “you riding my thighs until you soak them like you said you wanted to do”

you laugh softly and swat his chest with your hand, the contact light and affectionate against his firm muscles and then you tug him down towards you again, pulling his mouth to yours for another deep kiss.

the library

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🌟

dividers by my darling @lariesographic 🩷

Living in a small town, far from the city bustle you once called home, was a change that required a slow and steady adjustment for most people.

You were accustomed to walking across massive city blocks with a shopping center on every corner. You were used to breezy dresses and high heels, always meticulously grooming yourself nicely before ever stepping out of your apartment.

Now, the clean, organized world you knew has been replaced by dirt, soil, and animals.

Heels have given way to cowboy boots. The apartment with the skyline view has been traded for a modest cottage, its windows looking out over the silent and empty farmhouse next door.

Surprisingly, the change in scenery didn’t take long to adjust to. Since moving here, you’ve carved out a life in a quiet corner of town, tucked away from the rest of the townsfolk. With the vast, unoccupied land stretching out beside you, you often find yourself lounging in the grass to sunbathe or wandering out with your camera to capture the blooming apricot trees in the spring. 

It is comfortable, quiet, and— much to your surprise—doesn’t feel like a downgrade from city life at all.

Until one day, you woke with a start to the sound of chickens squawking uncontrollably right outside your door.

Are Marnie’s chickens running loose again?

With a tired groan, you pushed yourself out of bed—your hair poking out in every direction and your eyes heavy with deep, dark circles. You shoved the curtains aside, letting a bright, burning ray of sunshine through the glass to hit you square in the face.

Wincing, you blinked several times to adjust, but it didn’t take long for your eyelids to fly wide open at what you saw just beyond your window.

The once empty farmhouse next door was now cluttered with boxes and crates. Animals that belonged on Marnie’s ranch were roaming freely over the fresh grass where you used to lay out a towel to sunbathe.

Now, it was likely being littered with pig shit.

And in the center of the chaos stood a man you didn’t recognize. 

Sweat dampened his dark hair, sending loose strands draping over his face. He had his back to you—his white tank top and jeans stained dark from dirt and a hard day’s work.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

Was someone actually moving in? 

Or had Marnie run out of space and decided to rent this spot out, ruining the peace and quiet you relished in this corner of town?

To make matters worse, he revved the engine of a lawnmower and got to work, polluting the air with noise.

Grabbing your slippers and hastily throwing on a cardigan to cover your nightgown, you stomped out of your cottage and marched over to the farmhouse fence.

“Hello!” you called out, pulling the cardigan tight across your chest. “What’s going on here—?”

The lawn mower’s engine roared even louder, drowning out your voice completely. The man continued to guide the machine in a slow, methodical line, his back still turned to you. The smell of freshly cut grass and gasoline filled the air, mingling with the… less pleasant scent of the roaming livestock.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

You stepped closer to the fence, cupping your hands around your mouth. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

He reached the end of a row and made a sharp turn, but he didn’t look up. His eyes stayed on the ground. From your spot by the fence, you watched the sun dance across his muscles as he maneuvered the heavy machine, sweat glistening on his forearms.

You waited until he drifted closer to the fence line before shouting again.

“Hey! Farmer boy!”

The mower sputtered and stalled, and finally, your voice pierced through the noise. 

He glanced up, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of his face. You stood just a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over your cardigan—the hem of your nightslip riding up ridiculously high on your thigh, your hair a mess of bed tangles and your face twisted grumpily. 

The breath left Bucky’s lungs—and it wasn’t because of the blistering sun burning his skin, or the morning’s hard labor.

It was because he had a beautiful woman standing right in front of him — a woman who was a total sight for sore eyes. 

Bucky let go of the mower, wiping his grimy hands on his stained jeans as he sauntered toward you. Meeting you at the fence, he flashed a charming smile, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling as he reached out a hand.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he greeted smoothly. “I’m Bucky.” 

You didn’t move. Your eyes followed his face, to the dirt caked between his fingers and underneath his nails, and then back at his face. 

“Beautiful?” you repeated, scrunching your face in what appears to be disgust. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed just slightly, but he didn’t let the rejection deter him. He slowly lowered his hand. 

Since he arrived early in the morning—well before the sun even rose—everyone in Pelican Town had been so kind and welcoming. Several of the folks had come by to help haul his luggage and boxes, even helping him get the chicken coop set up and the livestock moved in.

When Bucky inherited his parents’ old farm after they passed, he’d had his reservations about returning. But after those initial interactions with the townspeople, he started to think that maybe life out here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

His parents, Winnie and George, had always told him that the town they grew up in was filled with the most kindhearted people you would ever meet—a place where neighbors looked out for one another and never hesitated to lend a hand.

But now, here you were, and you wouldn’t even meet him halfway for a simple handshake.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky huffed with that southern drawl he inherited from his parents. “Just callin’ it how I see it. Just as you called me ‘farmer boy.’”

You returned his petty jab with a roll of your eyes. 

“What is going on here?” you motioned to the mess surrounding him. “Is there some big renovation being done? Are you turning the farmhouse into a ranch or something? This is private land, you know.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way your voice rose in anger just from his mere presence alone.

He rested both palms on his hips. “Why do you care?” He nodded his head toward you, prompting an answer.

You hiked a thumb over your shoulder. “Because I live right there, and all the noise you’re producing is going to be a problem.”

He glanced over your shoulder, letting out a soft hum. “Oh, so you’re my neighbor? How cute.” He looked back at you, a playful gleam dancing in his blue eyes. “You’re also the woman who’s been crossing the fence—snappin’ pictures of my trees and layin’ in my grass to sunbathe on my private land. Ain’t that right?”

Your shoulders tensed.

You didn’t know a thing about this man—yet he knew exactly what you had been up to before he took over the farm. You shifted on your feet awkwardly and defensively. 

“H-how do you know that—?”

“It’s a small town, darlin’. And Marnie was tellin’ me all about it while she was helpin’ me with the chickens.” Bucky crossed his arms, his grin widening once he realized he’d won this little back and forth with you. “Wasn’t too happy when I first heard about it—but after findin’ out it was a pretty girl trespassin’, well, I don’t mind it one bit.”

Bucky watched as you purposefully avoided eye contact, your face scrunching in either embarrassment or pride—he couldn’t quite tell which.

“The people who owned this farmhouse left several years ago, even before I moved here. Their names were Winnie and George—”

“My parents,” Bucky interrupted, pointing a thumb at his chest. “I’m their son.”

Your eyes widened. 

Living in a small town, you heard plenty of stories about the people who lived here now and those who had long ago. It hadn’t taken long for you to learn about Winnie and George—the married couple who once called Pelican Town home. They had a massive arrangement of animals and livestock, always hosting parties and events on their land.

When Winnie got pregnant, they had moved across the country to give their son a “better life.”

But apparently, that country charm couldn't keep them away forever, because their son was back. And based on the looks of it, he was here to stay for good. 

You blinked, the name finally clicking. “Y-you’re James?”

“Sounds pretty comin’ off your lips.”

Agitation boiled in your blood as you stared back at his handsomely smug face. You couldn’t believe this was who you had to deal with now.

“Wow,” you drawled sarcastically, glaring him down. “Are you always this charming?”

“For you? I can be.” Bucky motioned to the rest of the farm with a sweeping gesture. “And you better get used to it—because I’m goin’ to be livin’ here from now on, right next to that cute little cottage of yours.”

Your jaw hung once his words registered in your mind.

Living here? That meant you had to deal with all the animals, the loud lawn mower, and that awful stench. 

That also meant no more sunbathing in the wide, open grass. No more pictures of the trees and flowers that grew in Winnie and George’s yard—the ones you were planning on making a scrapbook of.

“Any way you can keep the noise down to a minimum?” you huffed, trying to smooth over your agitation.

Bucky saw right through you, and his grin only grew wider because of it. “What? A little noise is already ruinin’ your beauty sleep?”

And most importantly, it meant dealing with a dirty, farm boy neighbor who didn’t seem to care at all about being neighborly, or your own well being.

You were about to snap something snarky back, but he was already revving the mower's engine, not even looking your way anymore.

“Look, princess,” he shouted over the noise. “If you want to keep takin’ your silly pictures for your social media or sunbathin’ on my lawn, by all means.”

Social media? 

What kind of woman did this man think you were? 

He finally looked up at you again, flashing another one of those charming smiles.

“Just be careful not to step in pig shit.”

Since then, you and Bucky had been stuck in a constant back and forth. 

Every morning, you woke to the sound of chickens squawking at the top of their lungs, followed immediately by the pungent scent of pig shit drifting through your window.

You complained to Bucky several times, but he always just wiped the sweat from his forehead and shrugged. “Guess I’ve gotten used to the smell. Doesn’t bother me none. Just light some incense and call it a day, would ya?”

On weekends, you would hang your damp laundry to dry in the sun, only for Bucky to decide that was the perfect time to leaf blow his gravel path. He would send a cloud of dust, dried hay, and dirt straight into your damp, clean dresses.

When you stomped out of the house in a rage, Bucky would just grin, nodding toward your laundry line and the pink lace that were strung up on it.

“Cute panties.”

Then out of sheer embarrassment, you would retreat back into your cottage without uttering a single word in defeat. 

The breaking point came one evening when you were walking home from an errand run in town. One of Bucky’s goddamn cows had drifted astray and was currently munching on the sunflowers poking through your fences. You could put up with a lot of things, sure, but your precious flowers were where you drew the line.

You dropped your grocery bags on the porch and marched to the fence, your blood pressure spiking with every petal that vanished into that cow’s mouth.

“Hey, stop that! Shoo!” You flapped your arms wildly, trying to look as intimidating as possible. “Go on! Get back to your own side!”

The cow didn’t react. She simply blinked her long lashes at you, a half eaten sunflower stem hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. When you stepped closer to give her a firm nudge, she didn’t retreat. The cow let out a hum of what sounds like appreciation, leaning her massive head into your shoulder and nearly knocking you backward.

She wasn’t scared of you at all. 

She was smitten. 

“No! No cuddles! You’re a trespasser!” you hissed, trying to shove the heavy beast back toward the fence.

The cow responded by letting out a long, wet lick that started at your wrist and ended at your elbow. You shivered at the contact—you had just showered!

A low, gravelly chuckle erupted from the farmhouse porch, a sound you hadn’t heard over your own frantic shooing. 

Bucky was leaning against the railing with a half peeled orange in his hand, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. He was enjoying this.

“Well, look at that,” he called out, his grin reaching his eyes. “Seems like my Bessie’s got a taste of my neighbor. I’m jealous.”

“Bucky, get your cow!” you shouted, trying to wipe the cow slobber off your arm. “She’s eating my sunflowers! These were for the festival!”

Rather than rushing to your rescue, Bucky took a bite of the citrus, juices spilling over his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as his dirty boots stomped down the wooden steps, until he finally met you at the fence.

“Bessie ain’t doin’ any harm. She’s a good girl, ain’t she?” He smiled mid chew, his hand coming up to pet Bessie’s head as he started talking to the cow instead of you. “You got a good lick outta’ her, right? Is she as sweet as she looks?”

Your eyes went wide at the blatant comment. You scoffed, trying to ignore the sudden, drastic spike in your heartbeat.

“You need to take better care of your damn animals, Bucky.” 

Bucky exagerrated a frown, tilting his head as he played stupid. “I take plenty of care over my sweet Bessie.” 

You crossed your arms, glaring him down. “I mean keeping your animals on your property and leaving mine alone.” 

“But Bessie didn’t even cross your fence.” 

“She’s eating my sunflowers!” you reminded him, motioning dramatically toward your mangled plants.

Bucky snickered at your little outburst. He didn’t know what it was, but seeing you riled up over something as small as sunflowers was far too entertaining. Maybe it was the constant scent of soil and manure messing with his head, but his short yet frequent interactions with you had been more interesting than anything else in town since he had moved in.

“Alright, Bessie,” Bucky cooed to the cow. 

He kept one hand on her head, gently urging her away from your garden. He gestured toward the mangled stems. “What’s this festival you’re savin’ these flowers for, anyway?”

“The Flower Dance,” you said, your brows furrowed as if he already should have known the answer.

“Explain it to me, princess.”

You ignored the pet name. “Every year in the spring, the town hosts a dance in the center of the square. The whole place is decorated with colorful banners and flowers, and Gus sets up a buffet spread of homemade food.”

Bucky rubbed his chin, looking amused. “And there’s dancin’, I presume?”

“Lots of it,” you continued. “People partner up for a waltz. The girls show up in nice dresses and flower crowns.”

“And what about the men?”

Your eyes raked over Bucky—taking in the dirt caked on his boots and the fresh scuffs on his jeans. “Still average looking, at best.”

It seemed no matter how many insults you hurled at him, he remained entirely unfazed. His smile only grew wider as he stepped closer, leaning over the fence until you were nearly nose to nose.

“So,” he drawled, voice growing deeper. “Do you have a partner?”

You blinked, thrown off guard by the question. “Excuse me?”

Bucky’s posture shifted slightly. He looked down, dragging a calloused finger along the top rail of your fence, tracing the grain of the wood as he searched for the right words. From where you stood, you could tell he was trying to maintain that ‘cool guy’ exterior, but his faint, boyish smile gave him away.

He shrugged casually, though he still didn’t meet your eyes.

“Well... I was just wonderin’...” he started. “Since I’m new in town and all, maybe you could show me the ropes of this ‘flower dance’ thing. Seems like a lot for a guy to take in on his own.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

“Sounds like you already got it all figured out,” he said, finally looking up. That smug smile returned to the corners of his mouth. “And a guy like me... well, it’d be a dream to take a woman like you.”

You let out a short, scoffing laugh. 

He had been taunting and poking fun at you since the day he moved in—and now he was inviting you to be his partner for the Flower Dance?

Was he pulling your leg?

Instead of entertaining him, you just rolled your eyes and turned back toward your house. 

“Very funny.” 

As you gathered the groceries from your steps, you added without looking over your shoulder, “Control your animals, Barnes.”

It was like Bucky was trying to get back at you for rejecting his invitation to the Flower Dance—because from that day onward, he had been nothing but an aggravating pest lingering just outside your cottage.

Instead of being a slighty annoying and impractical neighbor, Bucky took your rejection with a tip of his hat and a doubled effort to be the most inconvenient man alive. 

He started a ‘fence repair’ project that involved loud hammering at six in the morning—shirtless. When you stomped out of your house in a rage, he only grinned. 

“Sorry, sweets. But the world doesn’t stop movin’ just ‘cause a pretty girl wants to get some sleep.”

You retaliated by accidentally spraying your hose at his freshly painted fence before it had a chance to dry, followed by a fake giggle and a chirpy “oops!”

This relentless back and forth went on and on, until you found yourself pinned beneath your grandmother’s heirloom vanity on an unfortunate Friday afternoon—the day right before the Flower Dance festival.

This vanity was the one piece of furniture that had survived the move to Pelican Town, and the one thing you were trying to preserve. 

While you were trying to shimmy it away from a leaky pipe in the wall, the antique wood groaned. With a suspicious sounding crack that made your heart drop, the back leg snapped, and the entire heavy structure tilted, the vanity’s ornate mirror swinging dangerously toward the floor.

You caught it just in time, wincing as your shoulder braced roughly against the heavy wood, but you were pinned. 

If you moved, the mirror would shatter and the delicate wood would splinter beyond repair.

In that moment, you didn’t know what was worse—being pinned beneath a very heavy, very important vanity, or the fact that your window was propped open and the only man in sight who could help you was none other than Bucky fucking Barnes.

“Bucky!” you shouted toward the window.

He heard you—you knew it—because as he closed the mailbox, he gave a subtle glance over his shoulder before pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. He went right back to sorting through his mail.

“Bills, bills, bills,” Bucky clicked his tongue, loud enough for you to hear. He shook his head. “More bills.”

“Bucky, get over here!” you shouted louder, trying to shift your feet, but the movement only made the vanity creak ominously. “I need your help!”

Bucky finally turned around, that stupid, smug smile tugging at his lips at the sight of your struggle.

“You sure about that?” he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know—you look pretty strong to me. I didn’t expect that kind of muscle out of a girl like you.”

“I’m being serious, Bucky—!” you gasped, the wood sliding through your sweaty palms. You tried adjusting your feet again, but your sandals gave little to no traction against the wooden floor. “It’s going to—it’s slipping!”

As you scrambled to fix your grip, the vanity slipped straight through your fingers. You shrieked, jumping to the side just in time to avoid having your feet crushed as the heavy furniture crashed to the ground.

The impact made the entire house shake. Shards of glass exploded, skidding across the floor like ice as pieces of the wood on the vanity splintered off.

Bucky, who had been taunting you just seconds ago, was already moving toward your door before you could even notice.

“Shit, shit,” he cursed under his breath. He shoved the front door open, barging through and tossing his mail aside.

“Fuck—are you okay?” Bucky rushed to your side, crouching beside you. His warm hands found your shoulders as he gently pried you away from the broken glass.

The worried tone in his voice went in one of your ears and out the other. All you could do was stare at the wreckage before you, the glass scattered everywhere a clear testament to how shattered you felt inside.

“That… that was my grandmother’s,” you said with a shaky breath. “It’s the last thing I have of hers.”

Bucky stood beside you, sensing the tension in your shoulders as his teeth caught his bottom lip. You could feel the guilt coming off him for not helping you sooner.

Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him, your eyes wide in disbelief. Bucky looked like he was bracing himself for a round of yelling—a smart move on his part.

“I asked you for help,” you started, voice trembling as the rage began to boil in your blood. “I asked you for help, Bucky! And all you did was stand there and watch me struggle!”

You stepped closer, the soles of your sandals crunching against the glass as you shoved a finger into his chest. “You’re an asshole, Bucky. You’ve been a pest and a jerk since the second you moved in, and now the one thing that’s actually important to me is broken because you wanted to play some stupid game!”

Bucky could only stare at you completely wide eyed, as the angry shakiness in your voice softened into something more broken and small. 

Your face—once scrunched in a pissed off snarl—gave way to a slight wobble in your bottom lip that Bucky caught immediately.

Maybe he should’ve retorted. He should’ve told you it wasn’t entirely his fault. But the way the tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over any second, made his heart ache in ways he didn’t want to admit.

Before you could shove him a second time, his large, calloused hands came up, gently catching your wrist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Stop. Don’t move. You’re gonna cut your feet,” he warned, looking down at your sandals.

“What—?”

“Here.” Bucky’s hands nudged your shoulders, guiding you to the edge of your bed slowly and carefully. “Just stay here, okay?” he murmured, crouching in front of you until he was at eye level. His eyes bored into yours, a small attempt to soothe your panic. “Don’t move an inch until I get the glass up. I’m goin’ to get my kit. I have the tools to fix this.”

“You can’t fix this, Bucky,” you choked out, wiping a tear away with the back of your hand. “The wood snapped. The mirror is in a million pieces.”

Bucky reached out, his thumb catching the tear that you missed to wipe. 

“I can,” he said, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of smugness in his tone. “I’ve got some aged mahogany in the barn that’ll match this grain near perfect. And I know a guy in town who can cut a new glass plate by morning.”

He stood up, looking down at the broken glass and then back at you. “I’m sorry, princess. I really am. I’ll make it right. Just stay put.”

For the first time, princess didn’t sound like a condescending, backhanded compliment. 

So, you obeyed. 

You sat on the edge of your mattress, sandals discarded on the floor and bare feet tucked safely away from the danger zone as you watched Bucky go to work. He was meticulous, sweeping your broom across the wood to make sure not a single drop of glass was left behind on the floorboards.

Once the floor was clear, he kept his focus on the broken leg and the empty, ragged frame where the mirror used to be.

“This vanity must be important to you, huh?”

You kept your eyes down, picking at the fabric of your quilt. “I’m not really in the mood for your taunts, Barnes.”

“Hey,” he huffed, glancing up at you. “I’m not tryin’ to play at you, darlin’. I promise.” He frowned, his tone softening as he took in the saddened expression on your face. 

“I know what it’s like, tryin’ to preserve an heirloom. My parents—” he swallowed hard, keeping a brave face just for you, “a lot of the stuff they gave me didn’t make the move back to Pelican Town. Which is ironic, ‘cause this was their home from the very beginning, you know? It could’ve been just fine if they kept their stuff here.”

You blinked, sniffling as you looked at him. Aside from that slight glimpse of vulnerability when he’d asked you to the festival, this was the most he had ever shared about himself.

“I’m so sorry,” you said sympathetically, not really knowing what else to offer him in a moment like this.

Bucky offered a small, weary smile. 

“Don’t be,” he groaned slightly as he knelt back down, opening the drawers of the vanity to carefully remove your belongings so he could get started on the repairs. “What’s all this?”

He started pulling out various bottles and products—makeup brushes and perfumes that looked far too expensive and meticulous for a girl to be bothered with in a town like this.

“Well, look at that,” Bucky let out a low whistle, turning a tube of designer lipstick over in his calloused palm. “What is this? Chanel? Dior?” He glanced up at you, that same spark returning to his eyes, though it was softer now—less of a bite and more of a tease. “Always wondered how a farm girl kept lookin’ like she just stepped off a runway in Zuzu City.”

“What’s wrong with a girl wanting to look her best?” you scoffed, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Bucky grinned at the sound of you finally getting your spark back.

He reached back into the vanity, pulling out a small scrapbook. As he moved it, a handful of photographs slipped from between the pages and fluttered onto the floor.

Your eyes flew wide as the photographs hit the floor—some of them landing face up, while others landed face down.

You scrambled off the bed, trying to snatch the photos, but Bucky was already sweeping them up. He stood, holding them high and well out of your reach.

“Wait—don’t!”

“Oh?” Bucky’s brow arched, as he playfully tilted his head at you. “What do we have here?”

“Bucky, stop playing around! Give them to me—!”

Bucky’s arm stayed locked high above his head, a deep chuckle vibrating in his chest as he flipped through the pages. The first few were random blurbs—bits of a poetry phase you had gone through that had lasted all of a week.

“Roses are red, violets are blue—? You write poetry?” he questioned, making your face burn with embarrassment.

“It was a phase! Just shut up and hand it over—”

He ignored you, continuing to flip through the book until his expression suddenly softened. His thumb brushed over the edge of a Polaroid taped to one of the pages with pink, polka-dotted washi tape.

“This is…” he breathed, his voice trailing off as he took in the photo of the apricot tree on his own lawn. He stared at the way the sun peaked through the branches, highlighting the orangey-pink fruit. “The tree on my lawn—my mom’s apricot tree. She grew that from a sapling.”

He continued flipping through the pages, his blue eyes trailing over each one carefully. He took in the way you arranged the different prints—candid shots of the townsfolk, the horses at Marnie’s farm, colorful cocktails from Gus’s saloon, and flowers. Lots of them. Flowers he recognized from both your lawn and his.

“You know… when the people in town mentioned you were a photographer, I just assumed you were an influencer,” he admitted. He gave you a lopsided grin, his gaze dropping back to the book. “Some… social media vermin.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and raising a brow. “A vermin?”

Bucky grinned. “Yeah—I mean, you’re a good lookin’ woman, with all your fancy designer clothes and stuff—” he waved his free hand while the other held the book aloft. “I figured you’d be into all the selfies and modelin’ crap.”

“Well,” you huffed, trying to mask your bashfulness. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappointment is the farthest thing from what I’m feelin’, little doll,” he mused. He took in the photographs and the various little doodles of flowers in the corners of the pages, tucked neatly around the polaroids. “These are beautiful.”

You boasted about plenty of things—the clothes you wore, the bags you carried, the way you styled your hair. But photography and scrapbooking were more personal. It was the hobby that had helped you during the transition from the city to the farm. Some might deem it corny, but away from the expectations of social media—where strangers were updated through sugar-coated photos on a digital screen—you had turned photography into something private. Something more you.

“I…” you started, struggling to handle the look of adoration on Bucky’s face. “Thank you, Bucky. That’s very sweet of you.”

After taking in every page, he closed the scrapbook and handed it back. His attention shifted to the glossy prints dangling from his fingers, and he began sorting through them with a boyish grin.

“And these are the photos you’re goin’ to add to the book later, I take it—?”

Bucky stopped short the second his eyes landed on the next shot. Most were the same snaps of trees and the town, but there was one that made his breath hitch and his pants suddenly tight.

“It’s a little project I’m working on,” you explained, completely clueless and still a bit bashful. “A page dedicated to the different seasons. The trees are always changing, and the town looks completely different from spring to winter.”

Bucky stayed quiet, his shoulders tensing as his eyes remained glued to the photograph. He cleared his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“I… see,” he said, his voice suddenly low and raspy.

Your brows furrowed. You couldn’t understand why he was so focused on that photo specifically. Curiosity getting the best of you, you tilted your head to peek at what he was looking at—and your heart dropped into your stomach.

Staring back at you was a selfie you had taken on your instant camera. You were sprawled across your bed, hair fanned out across the pillows. Your chest was exposed bare, one arm draped over your breasts, though if someone looked close enough, they could see the shaded curve of an areola peeking just past your forearm. Your body was angled to accentuate your curves, revealing the soft skin of your thighs and hips in nothing but a pair of lace panties.

Face burning a million degrees, you snatched the photo out of Bucky’s hands. 

“Don’t look at that!” you shrieked, spinning away from him.

All Bucky could do was stand there—frozen, bewildered, and hard as fuck. 

He could hear your frantic heartbeat from where he stood. And with your back turned, it was painfully obvious you didn’t want to talk about it.

“Right. Sorry,” he cleared his throat again, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. He turned toward the door. “I’m gonna—uh, grab my tools and start workin’ on this vanity, okay? I’ll be back!”

Before you could say a word, his boots were already rushing out the door. 

He eventually returned with his tools and set to work on the vanity. While he worked, you tried to keep yourself busy, maintaining a respectful distance at all times.

From your open bedroom door, where he was crouched on the floor, Bucky still had a clear view of you in the kitchen making lemonade. You told him it was your way of saying “thank you,” but he knew the truth. 

You were just trying to put as much space between you as possible after that photo.

But right now, the last thing he wanted was for you to be far away.

That image of you was scorched into the back of his mind, taking up permanent residence. Laid completely bare, hair fanned out, wearing nothing but those lace panties and an expression that screamed, “fuck me, Bucky!” — it was enough to drive him crazy.

As he watched you move around the kitchen in the little sundress that had made his mouth water the first day he laid eyes on you, a million thoughts raced through his mind just as fast as the blood was rushing to his dick. 

Why had you taken a picture like that? 

Who was it for? 

Was there someone you were dating—someone you were sending those prints to?

Suddenly, a bitter spike of jealousy flared in his gut. The idea of you taking photos like that just to mail them off to some soft handed city boy prick made him want to burn the whole town down. His movements grew jerky and annoyed as he worked. The wood felt awkward in his grip, and his tools kept slipping.

“Shit,” he cursed, grabbing your attention. 

You glanced over your shoulder, a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in your hand. “Everything okay? Need any help?”

“Just peachy,” Bucky mumbled.

As he heard your footsteps drawing closer, he tried to adjust himself, willing away the erection that was vulgarly pressing through his pants.

“Why don’t you take a break and have some lemonade, then?” You held the glass out to him, a small smile tugging at your glossy lips—a view that didn’t help Bucky’s situation in the slightest. “Before the ice melts.”

Bucky’s gaze traveled from your lips down to your hands. They were pretty—small and soft as they curled around the tall glass. Even your fingertips were perfectly manicured.

You were being far too kind, offering him a drink while he crouched there on your floor, his mind dark and filthy as he imagined how those fingers would look slicked with his cum instead of condensation.

“Sure,” Bucky grunted, straining as he stood up. “A lemonade sounds good.” 

The two of you stepped out onto the front porch for some fresh air, taking in the way the sun poked through the branches. Next door, the chickens were squawking and the birds chirping, but the domestic sounds did nothing to help the awkward silence between you.

You kept your gaze straight ahead on the grass and flowers, but you could feel Bucky’s stare lingering on the side of your face.

“So…” he started, and you mentally braced yourself for whatever was coming next. “That photo—”

“Oh, God,” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut out of embarrassment. “Don’t start.”

Bucky raised his glass, letting out a huff of a laugh—though it didn’t sound humorous at all. It was just filler noise to cover his nerves.

“Well—it’s, uh... it’s a good picture,” he mumbled, staring at the ice cubes melting in his glass. “You look good in it.”

You felt like you wanted to shrivel up and let the wind carry you away. You avoided his gaze, turning your head to hide your burning cheeks. “You’re such an idiot.”

“All I’m sayin’ is,” he continued, mumbling even quieter as that jealousy bled through his voice,“whoever is gettin’ those kind of photos from you is a lucky man.”

You blinked, finally glancing at him. 

“Lucky man?” You noticed the way his cheeks were flushed pink. “There is no man.”

Bucky froze with the glass halfway to his lips, his blue eyes snapping to yours. “No man?” he repeated, like he needed the reassurance.

“No,” you shrugged casually, giving him a small smile. “I just take those photos for myself. I spent years worried about how other people perceived me. When I moved here, I wanted to see myself for me. It makes me feel confident. Seeing myself like that is kind of empowering, you know? It’s for my eyes only.”

You let out a shaky breath, the embarrassment still very much there—but no longer because you were seen half naked. Now, it was because of how corny your explanation sounded out loud. 

You glanced at Bucky out of the corner of your eye, trying to gauge his reaction, but he looked so deep in thought that you couldn’t make out a single one.

“For your eyes only, huh?” Bucky hummed.

When you gave him that little nod, Bucky knew he was doomed.

The jealousy that had been sitting like a pit in his stomach was drowned out in a damned instant the minute you said ‘no man.’ That meant he was the only one who saw that photo of you—that sweet, vulnerable side where you laid bare, warm and inviting. Bucky loved the fact that there was no man, and no one else after you.

To him, that just meant you were already his.

“Go to the Flower Dance with me,” he asked suddenly.

You huffed a lighthearted laugh. “This again?”

Bucky turned to face you fully now, eyes boring into yours so intently it was like he was giving you a silent warning not to even bother looking away. 

“Let me take you to the Flower Dance. Let me be your partner. Let me dance with you.”

“Bucky, you can’t be serious—”

“I was serious the first time I asked you, and I’m even more so now,” he said, his brows furrowing as his voice deepened. “Dance with me.”

You bit your lip, hesitating.

When he noticed your silence, he stepped closer, standing over you until he was looking down at you completely.

“Consider it a thank you for fixin’ up your vanity.”

“Thank you? You made me struggle and didn’t help me the first time!” you countered, but Bucky didn’t budge. He didn’t fight back or laugh.

He was dead serious.

He wanted you to go to the Flower Dance with him as your date—and you had a very strong feeling he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Fine,” you reluctantly agreed, despite a smile tugging at your lips. “But just remember—it’s a thank you for fixing my vanity.”

Bucky grinned, finding himself very, very happy with your response.

To you, agreeing to the Flower Dance was just a fair trade—a thank you for his labor and a way to settle the score over your grandmother’s vanity.

But as Bucky watched you walk back into the house, his hand drifted to his pocket, letting his fingers brush gently against the glossy edge of the photograph—your photograph— tucked deep inside. 

Having that naked, intimate piece of you hidden away against his thigh—a secret kept just for him—was a reward far better than anything else you could have given him.

He knew he was being greedy by stealing the photo and taking you to the Flower Dance, but he didn’t care. The photo was enough to drive him crazy tonight, but dancing with you tomorrow was the cherry on top.

It was Saturday morning—the day of the Flower Dance—and Bucky had been restless since dawn, and even more so the night before.

He lost track of how many times he had jerked off since he stole that photo. One time was right after he finished fixing your vanity. He had retreated to his farmhouse, slammed the door shut, and before he even kicked off his boots, he had his pants unzipped and cock in hand.

Another time was in the shower, then again right before he fell asleep, and… once or twice more as the clock ticked closer to the start of the festival.

It was shameless, almost pathetic, but when you were dealing with animals and manual labor all day, you had to relieve the stress somehow. And nothing relieved it quite like the memory of you sprawled across those pillows with those sweet tits pressed together.

As you made your way to the town square, you found yourself walking with a pep in your step. Your heels clicked against the pavement, and your sundress swayed at your hips with every stride.

You had taken lots of care to look better than usual today. You had woken up early just to have enough time for your hair and makeup, trying on three different dresses just to see which one made you look the best. You even found yourself wondering what Bucky was wearing—hoping, subconsciously, that your dress might actually match his outfit.

Fuck.

You were actually looking forward to see him and dance with him.

Your heart was beating far too fast for your chest. You could already imagine it—Bucky, finally rid of his grimy farm clothes and wearing a proper outfit, or his heavy boots stepping all over your sandals because he didn’t have a clue how to dance.

You found yourself grinning to yourself up until you made it to the bustle of the community square. Gus had his food spread out on a table beneath a canopy, potted flowers that were grown by the townsfolk were scattered about, and colorful banners were decorated across the lightpoles.

“What’s got you smilin’ to yourself for?” a familiar, deep gravelly voice interrupted you, stopping you in your tracks.

It was Bucky, wearing a nicely ironed button up tucked into his khaki pants that were held up by a nice, brown leather belt. Your smile faltered slightly—not because he looked terrible, but because he looked good.

Too fucking good.

He tilted his head, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “Hey, where did that smile go?”

“I… nothing,” you cleared your throat, hands primly behind your back as you took him in. “You look… good.”

You suddenly felt small as you watched Bucky’s eyes trace over you—taking in the way you did your hair and your makeup, down to the short hem of your dress. You watched as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

“That might’ve been the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he joked before nodding to you. “You look beautiful.” He glanced around before taking a step closer, leaning down so only you could hear. “Kind of makes me a bit jealous knowin’ other people can see how pretty you are.”

Your face warmed, and Bucky expected you to back away from his boldness—but you stepped closer, batting your lashes at him in a way that drove him fucking crazy.

“Yeah, but they’re not the ones dancing with me, are they?”

With all the pent up frustration building inside him, that little taunt of yours felt like an open invitation to grab you and do whatever he wanted.

But instead, his tongue ran over his teeth as he grinned, amused by your comment. He extended a hand toward you.

“The dance is ’bouta start soon. Come on.”

Despite this being his first time ever experiencing a Flower Dance, he took initiative as if he had been doing this longer than you had. The live band propped up on the stage began to play, the acoustic guitars picking the same catchy tune you knew by heart from all the years you had attended before. 

Women and men gathered hand in hand to get into position. Bucky led you to the very center of the crowd, standing tall in front of you. He guided your hand to his shoulder before resting his own large palm firmly against your hip. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his sudden burst of confidence. “Wow, Bucky Barnes. Don’t tell me you actually know how to dance?”

“Course I do,” he huffed. “Just ‘cause I’m covered in dirt all day doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take a lady for a dance. Don’t sound so surprised.”

He pulled you in closer, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide and soft with a sheepish smile to match.

“You wouldn’t let me fall, right?” you teased, your voice barely sounding over the guitars.

“Never,” he promised, his grip on your waist tightening to prove it to you. “Not a single speck of dirt on that pretty little head of yours. I’ve got you.”

The music started, and as you two danced, you noticed how Bucky was pulling you closer and closer with each step. 

His hand stayed tight at your waist before moving to your lower back, then back to your hips with a small, firm squeeze. The hand that held yours gripped tighter, reeling you in even more with every move.

As he spun you back into his chest, you felt the hitch in his breathing. You leaned back slightly, looking up at him. 

“You okay, Bucky?” you teased with a smile. “You’re looking a little... stiff.”

God, those eyes and those glossy fucking lips.

Bucky let out a visible shudder before forcing a nod. “Dancin’ with a very pretty girl in my arms—it’s natural for me to be a little nervous, isn’t it?”

He spun you again, your short sundress flaring out like a ballerina—and he caught a quick glimpse of your bare thigh. Just barely. He wanted more.

He drew you in until your forehead was resting against his collarbone. He leaned his head down, his nose grazing the skin of your temple as he took a deep, shaky inhale of your scent—shampoo, vanilla, and the warmth of your skin from the sunlight. You smelled so good, and each inhale was doing serious damage to his self-control.

From his height, his gaze fell directly into the neckline of your dress. He had a direct, unobstructed view of the swell of your breasts, the fabric of your sundress moving against your curves with every breath you took. 

It was the photograph come to life, only now he could actually touch you… just not in the complete ways he wanted to. 

His hand on your back slid lower, his palms suddenly clammy as he pressed your hips tight against his. You gasped softly, your step faltering for a split second as you felt him.

A thick, heavy, warm bulge was straining against his khakis, pressing right into the notch of your thighs.

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, his eyes were somewhere over your shoulder as he tried to maintain a shred of dignity. He thought he was being subtle—that you were too caught up in the festival to notice how inappropriately turned on he was.

He was wrong.

Deciding to play a much dirtier game, you took matters into your own hands. He spun you around again, but instead of facing him, you tucked yourself right back into the curve of his body. 

Your back hit his chest, and your ass ground firmly against his cock.

Bucky let out a shuddering groan that tickled against the back of your neck as he felt the curve of your ass press harder into his bulge. 

Before he could even think about pulling away to save face, you reached over and grabbed his hands. Your fingers slid over his knuckles, guiding his large, calloused palms down until they were over your hips. You kept your hands over his, forcing him to feel the way your curves fit perfectly against his body.

“Shit,” he cursed, and you grinned.

Everyone else was too preoccupied with their own dancing to even notice Bucky’s predicament, so you continued swaying your hips against him to the music. 

Every rub of your ass against his cock was like adding oil to the flames. Bucky’s nose nuzzled the side of your head, and you could hear his breathing get more labored the more you ground against him.

“Still nervous you’re dancing with a pretty girl?” you taunted. You felt him twitch against you in response.

He groaned, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel his hot breath. “You know exactly what you’re doin’.” 

“And what exactly am I doing, Bucky?”

“You’re bein’ a goddamn tease.”

Your smile grew wider. “But you’re not exactly pushing me away, are you?”

His grip on your hips tightened enough to bunch the fabric of your dress around your waist. He hiked the skirt up higher, his hot palms gliding just beneath the hem to tickle your outer thighs — then higher, towards the sensitive skin of your inner leg.

You gasped softly when you felt his thumb graze against your clothed cunt. 

“Keep tauntin’ me,” he growled against your ear, “and I’m goin’ to flip up this tiny skirt and fuck you right here in the middle of the square—where everyone can see.”

Your eyes traced over the crowd. Everyone was all smiles, too caught up in the joy of the festival to even notice the two perverts feeling each other up in the middle of it all.

“Then do it,” you challenged.

“You goddamn slut.” Bucky huffed a laugh against the back of your neck— no humor in it at all. “No. I’m too jealous for that. I wouldn’t want anyone else seein’ my girl like that.”

Your breath hitched. His girl?

“That’s funny.” You looked up over your shoulder at him, your eyes wide as you faked your innocence. “I don’t remember ever being your girl.”

Bucky’s cock twitched hard against your ass, and you knew right then that you won.

“Not my girl?” Bucky scoffed, spinning you around so you were forced to look him in the eye.

“You’ve been my girl from the minute I stepped foot back in Pelican Town. From the moment I laid eyes on you—I’d already decided you were mine. And you agreeing to dance with me today just confirmed it all.”

He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel his heavy bulge press against your inner thigh.

“If you don’t believe you’re my girl, then I’m just gonna have to prove it to you.”

You weren’t able to get a single word in as Bucky’s hand wrapped tight around yours. 

He led you away from the crowd, pushing through with polite and gentle ‘excuse me’s that went completely against how roughly he was holding you.

He took you towards the shadows at the side of the saloon.

It was a narrow, unassuming alley, hidden from the main square by overgrown shrubbery and stacked wooden crates.

“Bucky,” you looked around breathlessly and no one was near, “what are you doing?” 

He didn’t answer.

He shoved you back against the cool brick wall. He didn’t wait, and he didn’t waste his time asking, either. 

His hands were already at the hem of your sundress, bunching the fabric in his fists and hiking it up until the cool spring air hit your hips.

Your eyes went wide, your heart fighting against your chest as you watched him fall to his knees.

You knew you should’ve stopped him.

You should’ve told him this was inappropriate—that anyone could walk in on you two right now.

But as he knelt there, his eyes boring hungrily into your thighs and his tongue darting out to lick his lips the second his fingertips found the waistband of your panties, you couldn’t find the breath to argue. 

How could you possibly deny a predator his well-earned prey?

Bucky tugged your panties down your thighs and past your legs, tossing them aside. His hand rubbed up and down your thigh before hiking your leg over his shoulder, his hot touch making you shudder and grow even wetter as he stared at you intimately.

“God, look at you,” he groaned, palming himself. “What a fucking sight. All the men you danced with before I moved back into town didn’t get to see this side of you, did they?”

You only stared at him. When you didn’t answer, he gripped your ankle, making you wince.

“Answer me.”

“No,” you shook your head, swallowing hard. “Only you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he hummed, pleased. He leaned in, trailing soft, wet kisses along your inner thigh. “Dancin’ like a saint in front of the mayor, in front of all the townsfolk, just to be drippin’ wet for me like a goddamn whore.”

He leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive folds, making you hitch a breath. 

He looked up at you from between your legs, and you swore you could’ve melted right there at the sight of him. His eyes were completely blown out, staring at you in ways that should’ve made you afraid.

“I'm gonna taste every fuckin’ drop you made for me while you were rubbin’ that pretty ass against my cock. I’m gonna eat you until you’re beggin’ me to stop, and even then, I ain’t stoppin’.”

“Bucky… —ah!” your hand flew over your mouth once Bucky buried his face between your legs.

With your short dress bunched messily around your waist, Bucky’s tongue—hot and wet—swiped upward against your cunt, making you moan against your palm. He kept flicking his tongue up and down against the sensitive skin, and your fingers tangled into his hair, giving it a firm tug that made him groan against you.

“S-someone might... walk in on us—” a whimper broke from your lips as Bucky tilted his head, his tongue moving against your weeping cunt.

His hands slid up past your thighs to grab your ass, kneading and squeezing as he ate you out behind the saloon.

The mention of someone catching you only made his cock harder in his pants. He moaned against your slit, his tongue lapping at your juices as he licked and suckled on your sensitive pussy. The tip of his tongue found your clit again, flicking at it and leaving vulgar suckling noises in the quiet alley. 

His finger poked at your wet and vulnerable entrance, sliding in easily as he fucked your clit with his tongue.

“Oh my god, Bucky—!” you cried out.

You were shaking, your back scraping against the brick as Bucky ate you out shamelessly.

As his tongue danced on your most sensitive spots and his finger fucked you in rhythm with his mouth, your hips began to buck uncontrollably against his face, and Bucky let out a muffled growl.

“S-slow down—fuck, I’m gonna cum—” you whimpered behind your hand.

He hummed in satisfaction, the vibration making your pussy tingle as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass to hold you steady while he licked every last drop of you. Your back arched off the wall and you tried to squirm away to save face, but Bucky wouldn’t let you.

One hand stayed tight on your thigh and the other squeezed your ass, all while his face was tucked deep against your pussy, soaking in everything you had to give him.

“Fu—fuck, Bucky…” you whimpered as he slowly released your leg from his shoulder.

He leaned back on his heels, looking up at you, and the sight made your breath hitch. Bucky gave you a devilish little grin, his chin and lips gleaming with the wet sheen of your juices. 

Between his legs, his bulge was straining against his khakis—a damp spot darkening his lap where his pre-cum had soaked right through.

You looked around frantically—coast still clear—before tugging your skirt down and adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “We… we should go. The rest of the town’ll be looking for us—”

Bucky pushed himself up from the ground, his large body blocking your path as his hands went to his waist. He began to tug at the fastenings of his belt.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he rasped in a low growl. “I’m not even close to done with you.”

You swallowed hard, staring up at him as you caught your breath from your release. “Bucky, we can’t. Someone will catch us—”

“No,” Bucky hissed, unzipping his pants and tugging them down. “Not until I get to cum—you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

He stepped closer, nudging his leg between your thighs as his hands found the hem of your skirt again. His hand trailed up, dragging the fabric up around your waist as he pinned you back against the wall. 

Bucky’s hand wrapped around his shaft, and as your eyes trailed down—you let out a soft gasp.

He was big, thick, and pulsing in his hand. His tip caressed your clit, and he began jerking himself off against your warmth. He let out jagged breaths, his hand trailing down your thigh before hiking it up and over his hip.

“Ah—Bucky!” you cried out, holding onto his shoulders for support.

“Stay right here,” he commanded, his hands gripping your ass to hoist you higher against the wall. “Wrap those legs tighter.”

His cock dragged across your slit, his tip catching your entrance and making you gasp. He nudged his tip against your opening, testing the tension, and let out a shaky, ragged breath.

“So tight...” he rasped, the words sounding almost painful. “But you’re so wet for me, sweetheart. I could just slip right in.”

“Bucky, wait—you’re too big,” you whispered, your hands bracing against his shoulders.

You could already feel him stretching you, even just at the entrance. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit—and we can’t do this in public, someone is going to—”

Before you could finish, Bucky’s palm clamped firmly over your mouth to silence you. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on where your pussy hugged his tip.

“Shut up,” he hissed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I can’t wait. The sooner I fuck you, the sooner we can get outta here.”

With a slow tilt of his hips, he began sinking himself inside you. 

You let out a muffled, pitchy moan against his palm, your eyes rolling back as the sensation of him filling you made you see stars.

He was stretching you apart, claiming every inch of your body as he pushed deeper and deeper, until his hips finally pressed against yours.

He stayed there for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to rest against the crook of your neck as he let out a groan. “Fuuck, shit—”

He was so deep, his cock stretching your walls as his body pinned you so firmly to the brick that you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

“There,” he growled against your skin, his hand still tight over your mouth as he watched the pleasure wash over your face. “Fits perfectly.”

Despite his words, his face was twisted and his jaw was clenched from how tightly your body was squeezing him.

As he started rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt, it took everything in him not to fuck you hard against the wall right then and there.

He knew you were still trying to adjust to his size, watching the way your face twisted as you tried to be a good girl for him.

He couldn’t believe it—the girl of his dreams, the girl from the very photograph he’d jerked off to from the night before until now—you were actually right here, taking his big cock inside your tight little pussy.

“A-are you okay?” he managed to muster, his voice rough as he stared at you with lustful, hazy eyes.

You whimpered before giving him a small, frantic nod. 

He took that as his invitation to fuck you harder.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight—can barely move.”

He started to move faster, his cock sinking deep into your pussy and pulling out before slamming back in. His grip on your thigh was tight as he held you up.

“So goddamn wet too, sweetheart.”

“B-bucky… ahh—we can’t.”

“Can’t?”

He kept folding your leg over, trying to adjust you so he could sink even deeper, but the tension in your body wouldn’t let him. The angle was awkward. The wall was too cold, and he couldn’t get deep enough to satisfy the ache in his balls.

He wanted more. 

He wanted to break you.

With a frustrated snarl, he pulled out of you roughly—the sudden loss of him making you cry out.

Before you could even catch your breath, Bucky grabbed your hips and spun you around, slamming your chest and face back against the cool brick.

“Hands on the wall,” he commanded cruely.

He bunched your sundress up around your waist, baring your ass to the cool air of the alley. He stepped back into you, his cock heavy and sprung, and grabbed your hair, tugging your head back so he could whisper against your skin.

“Since you’re so worried about someone walkin’ in,” he hissed, his hands gripping your hips so hard his fingers left marks, “I’m gonna make sure they get a real good view if they do.”

He lined himself up with your entrance again—his hot tip making you gasp.

Your cunt was still gaping from his fucking earlier, allowing him to slide in easily without much resistance this time.

As he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, you let out a muffled cry, your fingers scraping against the wall to hold yourself up while he began to fuck you hard from behind.

“Fuck—love it when you’re screamin’ for me,” he groaned in pleasure.

Every wet slap of his balls against your ass echoed in the narrow alley. 

He reached around, one hand squeezing your breast through your dress while the other stayed buried in your hair, keeping you pinned in place.

His eyes took in the way your ass bounced against his cock, the soft flesh jiggling with every move. He lifted the hem of your skirt higher to get a better view of your smooth skin rocking against his hips.

“You know, maybe you should just come live with me,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he slammed into you again.

The thought seemed to fuel him, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. “It’d be so damn cute seein’ you walk around the house all barefoot and bred.”

What was he saying?

His filthy words felt more intense than the rough movements of his cock. He groaned, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“That old farmhouse is big and lonely, sweetheart. Way too quiet,” he whispered. “It was my parents’ dream for me to start a family there. To have a house full of kids runnin’ around the farm, tendin’ to the animals.”

He pulled back nearly all the way out before thrusting back all the way in, making your knees buckle. 

“I think you’d look real good carryin’ the Barnes name. Real good with a belly full of my babies while I work the fields. What do you think? Think you could handle being a farm wife?”

“B-Bucky,” you huffed a nervous laugh as his cock filled you completely. “What are you saying? Don’t be—hmpf—ridiculous...”

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy now,” he teased. “You can sunbathe on my lawn and take all the pretty pictures of the trees and animals for your scrapbook.”

His tongue darted out to lick the shell of your ear, his heavy balls continuing to slap against you as his cock hit your sweet spot over and over.

“And I’ll buy you all the lingerie so you can pose all cute in front of your little camera again,” he delivered a hard thrust that made you whimper and cry. “Take those sexy photographs that I can keep—maybe you can make a scrapbook out of those, too. Just for me.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

Here you were, being treated like a total slut by Bucky Barnes out in the open, and yet the thing that made you too flustered to even form a sentence was him bringing up your photograph.

“G-god...” you stammered. “Don’t bring that up!” you hissed, overcome with embarrassment.

Bucky just chuckled. “I have that picture, you know?”

Your pussy fluttered and clenched around his cock at his words—the tightness making him groan. You snapped your head around, face flustered. 

“W-what!” you choked out. “You stole it?”

He could feel how much the idea turned you on, your body betraying your embarrassment by becoming even wetter and tighter as you realized he’d liked that photo enough to steal it for himself.

“Don’t exaggerate, doll,” he rasped, his hand tightening in your hair to pull your head back so he could see the shame written on your face. “I’ve spent all night staring at it. Staring at the way you were lookin’ at the camera, imaginin’ you were looking at me instead.”

His hips pushed against yours, forcing you to take another deep inch of his cock.

“I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve sat on the edge of my bed, jerkin’ myself off until I was shaking, just thinkin’ about what it would feel like to have the real thing under me.” 

He groaned, his pace becoming more uneven and frantic as the dirty confessions spilled from his lips.

“Every time I closed my eyes, I was picturin’ you—my own fucking neighbor—just like this. Bent over, taking every inch of me while you cried my name.”

The way you were whimpering and fluttering around his cock meant that you were enjoying every sinful confession he was blurting out.

You had already came, your body sensitive and weak, but Bucky was fucking you right through it. 

“B-Buck… I can’t—I’m sensitive—” you whined, knees wobbly. 

He tossed his head back, feeling his balls drawing tight as your pussy milked him.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, kneading your hips. “I want to cum inside. Wanna make my ma and pa proud—”

Bucky leaned down until his breath was tickling your ear again. “Please? Will you let me cum inside, sweetheart?” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I promise you—I’ll give you the good life, I’ll give it to you reaally good.”

You felt your breath get stuck in your throat. 

He was asking for permission?

Your body tightened beneath him.

You were so close from cumming beneath him a second time, and the way his hips stuttered against yours was a sign that he was just mere seconds away from filling you up.

“Been dreamin’ of fillin’ you up with my seed since I saw that dirty little picture of you. Please, sweetheart. Just give me what I want.” 

Footsteps crunching the grass sounded near you—too close—and the thrill of getting caught despite yourself made you finally let go. 

“Bucky, fuck—I’m cumming—!” you cried out, but Bucky’s hand clamped over your mouth, stifling your moans as you rocked your hips back against his cock.

You rode the orgasm out while Bucky’s face twisted in a pleasure so intense—it was damn near painful.

“Fuck. Fuck. Please, baby, I can’t—” he gasped, stilling his hips to keep from breeding you. “Please—let me cum inside—”

You couldn’t believe that for all the filthy words he was spouting earlier, how in control and dominant he was, he was still asking for permission.

“Please, fuck—can’t hold it in. You feel too good—”

“Just cum inside, Bucky!”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Bucky cried out a broken moan against the side of your neck, his hips twitching as he buried himself so deep it made your eyes roll back.

The first hot jet of his seed hit your womb, filling you so deep it made your toes curl in your heels. He gripped you tight, his whole body turning stiff as he pumped himself empty inside you.

He groaned, a long, broken sound that tickled your spine as he fought for his breath.

“God… like that—just like that… every last drop ‘til I’m empty, sweetheart.”

The footsteps outside the alley grew louder, then faded as the stranger passed by, oblivious to the vulgar scene unfolding just a few feet away.

Bucky stayed exactly where he was for a moment, his chest rising and falling against your back as he breathed your scent in. He was still twitching inside you, his cock heavy and pulsing as it leaked into your womb.

“There we go” he soothed, pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your temples to look at you. “Lookin’ every bit of my girl.”

He kissed the temple of your forehead before slowly pulling out, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving you feeling cold and empty.

“Keep your legs together,” he murmured possessively, bringing the hem of your skirt back down to cover your slick thighs. “Not a single drop goes to waste. Keep it there ‘til it takes.”

He reached out gently, smoothing your hair and straightening the strap of your sundress until you looked at least somewhat presentable again. 

He brushed the dust from the brick off your shoulders, his eyes softening at the sight of your debaunched face. The makeup you spent so much time working on this morning was now a smeared mess of his doing. 

And somehow, to him, you looked even prettier. 

“There,” he said, wiping the stray lipstick on your chin. “Let’s get back and enjoy the rest of the festival.”

He turned to fix himself, tucking himself back in as he adjusted his jeans and buckled his belt. 

You watched him, still a little dazed and shaky legged, until he bent down to pick up your lace panties from the dirty floor of the alley. You reached out, expecting him to hand them back to you, but he didn’t.

“Lace?” he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You were askin’ for it.” 

He folded them neatly and tucked them into his back pocket. He caught your confused look and flashed a boyish, almost innocent looking grin that looked far different from how he looked at you earlier. 

“Bucky?” 

“Right next to that precious photo I ‘stole,’” he intertwined your fingers with his, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as he led you out of the alleyway. 

“For my growing collection.”

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them! again, please be sure to check out the stardew valley inspired masterlist if you haven't already!

"You're fucking kidding me." You stare at the text message. Three sentences that might as well be a bomb dropped in the middle of your living room.

Hey, sorry for the short notice, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend at the end of the week.

I know rent’s due soon, but I kinda already spent my half on the security deposit for our new place.

Good luck finding someone else!

shit

Rent is due in nine days, and your bank account isn’t exactly overflowing.

You’ve never lived alone before. Couldn’t afford it even if you wanted to. And the thought of scrambling to find a new roommate in a week makes your stomach twist.

You're halfway through drafting a frantic "roommate needed ASAP" text to your groupchat when your phone buzzes.

it's one of your few friends who actually bothers to check in.

Heard about your roomie bailing. Absolute bullshit.

Anyway I know a guy. Chill as hell, works freelance, needs a place.

You'd vibe.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last thing you want is some rando bringing chaos into your already crumbling life.

But then your landlord's terse "rent due on the 1st, no exceptions" text flashes in your mind.

Fine. Give him my number.

Chan texts you thirty minutes later. His messages are polite. Full sentences, proper punctuation, none of that monosyllabic grunting.

He suggests meeting at the apartment tomorrow afternoon to check the place out, and you agree.

The next day, you're scrubbing the bathroom sink when the doorbell rings. Chan stands in the hallway holding a paper bag that smells like garlic and herbs. "Figured we could talk over lunch," he says, smiling like this isn't weird at all.

Up close, he's so much cuter than you expected, blond hair, unfairly big broad shoulders, dressed in a blank tanktop that showed them off perfectly.

You blink at the take out bag, then at Chan’s easy grin.

There’s no nervous energy radiating off him, no awkward shuffling — just this unsettling calm, like he’s already decided he belongs here. “Uh,” you say, wiping your damp hands on your pants, “you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupts, already toeing off his sneakers without waiting for an invite. The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary spills into the apartment as he breezes past you toward the kitchen. “But food makes everything less weird, right?”

You trail after him, you don't know whether to be annoyed or charmed.

Chan unpacks the food containers, grilled chicken, some kind of herby rice, roasted vegetables that don’t look like the sad microwave steam bags you usually survive on.

He slides a plate toward you. “Eat first, then interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” You stab a piece of chicken, watching him warily.

Chan shrugs, mouth already full. “Standard roommate shit. ‘Do you snore?’ ‘Are you a serial killer?’ ‘Will you steal my leftovers?’” He swallows, grinning.

“The answer’s no, no, and only if you leave them unlabelled.”

The food is homemade stupidly good, and Chan’s presence is… unsettlingly comfortable.

By the time you’re scraping the last of the rice off your plate, you’ve learned he does something vague with digital marketing (“Basically, I convince people to buy shit they don’t need”), he actually enjoys doing laundry, and he likes to cook.

“So,” Chan says, stacking the empty containers, “you wanna show me around, or should I just start claiming drawers?”

The tour is quick — your apartment isn’t exactly sprawling — but Chan makes appreciative noises at the closet space and tests how sturdy the bed frame is (#whatdatmean).

When you hesitantly mention rent, he waves a hand. “Half’s fine. I’ll pay first and last upfront if you want.”

You stare. “You don’t even know the amount.”

Chan shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and, before you can protest, your own phone buzzes with a notification.

It’s a Venmo payment for double what you were about to say rent costs.

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You—what? That’s too much.”

“Nah.” He pockets his phone, grinning at your baffled expression. “Consider it a ‘sorry for being weirdly pushy’. ”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue — not when your bank account is currently breathing its first sigh of relief in months.

A girls got priorities, and he doesn't really seem to mind. it's a win win scenario.

~

The first month was… strange. Not bad, just strange. he was genuinely nice, easy to talk to. it wasn't long till the initial awkwardness — if there was any — wore off. you'd become something sort of friends, and both of you settled into a quiet rhythm.

he'd left cash for rent in a neat stack on the kitchen counter on first of the month, slightly more than his half again.

When you tried to give him the extra back, he just waved you off.

You caught glimpses of his routine. disappearing into his room at odd hours, the low murmur of his voice through the walls late at night.

And then there was the day you came home early.

You weren’t supposed to be back until ten, but your shift ended early, and the bus was miraculously on time for once.

The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, just the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.

You’d barely set your bag down when you heard it — a low noise from Chan’s room.

Your fingers froze on the zipper of your jacket. The sound came again, breathier this time, followed by the slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.

you thought it was a girlfriend he never told you about.

The idea punched a weird, hollow ache into your ribs — which was stupid, because it’s not like you had any claim on him.

Still, you stood there frozen in the hallway, his door slightly ajar, listening to the sounds of his pleasure like some kind of creep.

You backed out of the apartment, easing the door shut with just the softest whisper of the latch catching. Your pulse hammered in your throat as you ducked into the stairwell, pressing your back against the cool concrete wall.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop being weird, to just walk back in like a normal person. But the irrational part — the part currently in charge — was too busy replaying the sounds spilling from Chan’s room to listen.

You get out of the building and circle the block twice, three times, counting cracks in the sidewalk. The air smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet, and you bask in that atmosphere till roughly an hour has passed.

When you finally drag yourself back inside, the apartment is quiet. Chan’s door is shut tight, the shower running, and no girlfriend in sight.

she must've left early.

You freeze halfway to your room when the shower shuts off. your feet are planted still go to your room, go to your room

but you weren't quick enough, and a few seconds later, Chan emerges with only a towel slung low on his hips.

He's startled when he sees you, droplets flicking off his hair as he jerks his head up. “oh hey—” His voice is casual before you cut him off, "shit—sorry!" your face heats up at the sight, your eyes wander, trailing down his toned chest that still had water droplets running down, before snapping your head in the other direction.

was he always this muscular?

and you can't help but notice that there are no hickeys on his neck, no marks on his arms, and surprisingly put together for someone who just had his girlfriend over less than an hour ago.

"no no— you're good." he reassures with a smile, "you're back early."

You swallow hard. “Yeah. Shift got cut."

Chan leans against the doorframe, his damp hair curling at the ends. You try not to stare at the way his towel clings precariously to his hips, but your gaze keeps flicking downward anyway, betraying you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

"Y-yeah," you stammer, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. "Just—uh. Busy day."

Chan hums, nodding. His eyes flick over your face, lingering a second too long on your flushed cheeks before he grins. "Cool. I was just gonna make some food if you’re hungry."

The casual offer throws you off. You were expecting — what? Awkward silence? Averted eyes? Not this easy warmth.

but you just nod dumbly. "Yeah. Food sounds good."

he pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the kitchen. The towel rides up slightly with each step, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones, and you have to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise.

“You good?” he calls over his shoulder, like he can feel your stare burning into his back.

“Fine,” you squeak, following at a safe distance, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The kitchen tile is cool under your socked feet, a welcome distraction from the heat crawling up your neck.

Chan hums again, rummaging through the fridge with one hand while the other keeps his towel secured. The muscles in his back flex as he leans forward, and you’re suddenly very interested in the color of your sponge bob socks.

“Leftover pasta okay?” he asks, pulling out a container with a rattle of plastic. You nod mutely, watching as he moves around the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles.

The stove clicks to life, the hiss of gas filling the silence between you. Chan leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, “So,” he starts, “how was work?”

You blink. “Uh. Fine. Boring.” The words tumble out too fast, your pulse jumping when Chan chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every inch of space between you.

he scrapes the leftover pasta into the pan, the sizzle of garlic and butter filling the silence between you. His towel shifts dangerously low with each stir, but he doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does.

The corner of his mouth twitches when he catches you staring, and you snap your gaze to the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating.

"You know," he says, voice light, "most roommates don’t freak out when they see each other half dressed." The wooden spoon clinks against the pan as he scrapes the edges.

"I wasn’t freaking out."

Chan laughs, "You literally yelped like I pulled a knife on you." He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging down your body in a way that makes your knees weak. "Unless you’re into that."

The pasta sizzles loudly in the pan, drowning out the choked sound that escapes your throat at Chan’s words. "I—that’s not—"

Chan turns fully now, abandoning the stove, and the towel dips dangerously low. His smirk is infuriating, "Relax," he murmurs, stepping closer, "Just teasing."

You laugh nervously, the sound too high pitched, too obvious. "I'm just gonna—" You jerk your thumb toward your room, already backing away. "Change into something more... home-y."

Chan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Home-y,"

"yea—!" your voice cracks "y'know comfortable....home clothes"

Then you gesture vaguely at his towel, your voice cracking slightly. "Are you— uh, gonna put on actual clothes before we eat? Because I'm pretty sure health code violations apply to apartments too."

Chan glances down at himself, then back up at you, "Why?" He grins, tilting his head. "Distracted?"

"Yes—no," you sputter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest like armor. "I just don’t want your—" You wave a hand wildly in the general direction of his hips. "That—near my dinner."

Chan laughs, a full blown laugh, and you take that chance to bolt for your room, shoulders hunched as if that’ll make you smaller, less noticeable.

The door clicks shut behind you with a click, and you press your forehead against the cool wood, exhaling sharply.

"And turn the heat down!" you call out, voice too high,"Unless you want to burn the house down!"

Another laugh, muffled through the door. "Yes, mom," Chan drawls, the playful lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn hotter.

The stove clicks as he adjusts the flame, the sound followed by the soft thud of his footsteps padding down the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to the creak of his bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as he presumably — finally — changes.

You peel yourself off the door, fingers fumbling at the jacket of your shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with nervous sweat, and you wrestle it off.

Home-y. Right. who even says that?

Stupid stupid stupid.

Your dresser drawer sticks halfway open, You grab the first shirt your fingers brush against, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants with the elastic stretched out.

'He has a girlfriend,' you think, shimmying out of your jeans. The denim catches around your ankles, nearly causing you to trip.

'Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck knows.'

You yank the shirt over your head so hard the neckline stretches. The mirror across the room reflects your flushed face, your hair mussed from the fabric dragging through it.

You look and feel ridiculous.

You pull up your pants, then pause, fingers hovering at the waistband. Avoid him. Simple. Logical. You can do that.

but it wasn't that easy. after all there is only so much avoiding one could do to someone they live with.

The apartment isn’t big enough for elaborate evasion tactics, and Chan seems to have a sixth sense for popping up exactly where you don’t want him.

Leaning against the fridge when you’re raiding it at 2 am, or lounging on the couch just as you’re about to claim it for a late night tv binge.

So you just ended up being cooped in your room for most of the day.

But Chan isn’t stupid. eventually after days passed by, he’s leaning against your bedroom doorframe when you crack it open after what you thought was a safe half hour of silence.

“So,” he says, arms crossed, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re avoiding me.”

You freeze, one socked foot hovering mid step like a cartoon character caught mid sneak. “No,” you lie too quickly.

Chan raises an eyebrow. “You literally just ducked into the bathroom because you heard me coming down the hall.”

“I had to pee.”

“For the fourth time today?” His grin lopsided, “Either you’ve got a UTI, or you’re full of shit.”

You grit your teeth, fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Maybe both.”

he sighs out laugh, then steps closer, “Listen,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a serious tone, “if this is about the whole towel thing—”

“It’s not,” you answer quickly, too loud, too fast.

“So it is about the towel thing.”

“I’m not—” You exhale sharply through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you just—” You gesture vaguely at the space between you. “Give me, like, a three foot radius?”

Chan tilts his head, considering. His gaze drags down your body, before settling back on your face. “Nah,” he says finally, “I like you flustered.”

You bite your lip, eyes darting around, then settle on his, before darting around again.

The silence stretches, until you finally crack under the weight of it. “you—don’t you have a girlfriend?” you blurt, the words stumbling out in a rushed, stuttering mess.

Chan blinks, his smirk faltering for half a second before dissolving into genuine confusion. “A what?” His laugh sounds startled, almost disbelieving.

You press your lips together, suddenly regretting every life choice that led you to this moment.

Chan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline, "A girlfriend?" He repeats, "What, like, some theoretical girl who sneaks in when you're not looking?"

You gesture vaguely at him — the tousled hair, the unfairly sculpted shoulders, the effortless charm that clings to him like a second skin.

"You just—seem like the type." The words tumble out half mumbled, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.

Chan’s laughter echoes through the hallway, loud enough that you flinch—not just from the sound, but from the way it makes your stomach flip.

"Oh my god," he wheezes, leaning against the doorframe like he needs the support. "You thought I had some secret girlfriend sneaking in here to—what, fuck me while you're at work?"

You cross your arms tightly, "It's not that ridiculous," you mutter, but even you hear how weak it sounds.

"First of all, if I had a girlfriend, you'd know. I'm not subtle." His smirk tilts into something teasing. "Second, I'm very single. And third—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Wait. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was getting laid in there and didn't invite you?"

Your face burns. "No—that's not—"

His grin softens slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "So," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "what is it, then?"

You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of your shirt so tightly the fabric threatens to tear. "Nothing," you lie. "Just—roommate stuff. Boundaries."

Chan hums, "Boundaries," he echoes, Then, "You know you can just tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, right?"

You swallow hard, "Yeah," you mutter, gaze trailing to his eyes and holding his stare for the first time throughout this conversation "I know."

Chan pushes off the doorframe with a shrug, "Alright then," he says, clapping his hands together like he's wiping the whole conversation away. "Takeout time. You in?"

it's like all this man does is think about food...and make you weak in the knees.

You blink, "Uh. Yeah. Sure."

Chan pulls out his phone, already scrolling through delivery apps, "Thai? Or that new Italian place that opened down the street?" He glances up, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Unless you're feeling sushi again, but last time you complained about the wasbi being too strong."

The normalcy of it — the way he remembers your stupid, offhand complaints about condiments — makes something in your chest tighten.

You clear your throat. "Thai’s good."

~

The weirdness fades slowly, chan doesn’t mention the girlfriend comment again, and you stop bolting like a startled deer every time he walks into a room.

He starts leaving his door open when he’s working, the rhythmic tap of his keyboard drifting into the hallway. You catch yourself lingering in the doorway sometimes, watching the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way he bites his tongue when he’s stuck on something.

once, he catches you staring and pats the space beside him on the bed without looking up from his laptop. “Help me brainstorm this dumb tagline,”

You perch awkwardly at first, careful not to touch him, but Chan sprawls like he owns every inch of the mattress, his thigh pressing warm against yours. and before you know it, you’re leaning into him, pointing at the screen. “That one’s terrible,”

~

Movie nights become a thing.

The first movie night starts by accident — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, scrolling through your phone while Chan sprawls across the other end, his laptop balanced precariously on his thighs.

Then the Wi-Fi cuts out.

Chan groans, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Fucking landlord,” he mutters, jabbing at his keyboard like it’ll magically fix the connection.

You snort, watching him glare at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “Guess we’re gonna have to talk to each other,”

“Horrifying,” he deadpans, then grabs the remote off the coffee table. “a movie it is.”

You end up with some terrible action movie Chan insists is a “classic,” but neither of you pay much attention. Halfway through, you catch him watching you instead of the screen, his head turning back to the movie when you caught him.

You brush it off, focusing on the screen, but your pulse jumps when Chan shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours.

The credits roll, and he stretches. The couch creaks as he shifts, stretching his arms overhead with a groan that does things to your already frayed nerves.

"Well," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "that was a cinematic masterpiece."

You snort, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, if you consider explosions and zero plot development masterful storytelling."

Chan’s chuckles “Plot is overrated,” he says, “Sometimes you just wanna watch things blow up.”

Chan then exhales heavily and stands. “Alright, I’m hitting the shower,” he says, stretching until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. You look away — too late — and Chan’s smirk is audible in his voice. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“In your dreams,” you mutter, but your pulse jumps when he pauses by the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Exactly.”

You sit there, frozen, until the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running. The sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment, and you press your palms to your overheated cheeks, exhaling sharply.

Stupid. You’re being stupid. That probably didn't mean anything.

But then your phone buzzes on the couch beside you, and Chan’s name lights up the screen.

forgot my towel. mind grabbing it?

You stare at the message, then at the hallway, Trap, your brain supplies helpfully.

type back,

Seriously?

he answers immediately

dead serious. i’m vulnerable here.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re already standing. His towel hangs on the back of his bedroom door, You grab it, then walk out to the bathroom.

You knock once, then freeze when Chan calls out, “Just come in.”

Your throat goes dry. “Absolutely not.”

Chan’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “Relax, I’m decent.” A pause. “Mostly.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, then shove the towel through the gap in the door, arm outstretched as far as possible. “Here.”

Chan’s fingers brush yours as he takes the towel. His skin is warm, damp, and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice closer than you expected. You can *feel* his smile through the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You bolt back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.

too much for your first movie night.

~

just when things were getting normal, It happens again on a monday.

You’re home early again, the apartment is silent. You toe off your shoes, and you were about to shout a "I'm back" when you heard it again.

Low, breathy moans slipping through the crack in Chan’s door.

Your feet root to the floor, ears straining as the noise curls around you.

His voice, thick with pleasure, murmurs something you can’t quite catch — then a wet, rhythmic sound that sends heat flooding your cheeks.

apparently, this man takes his....alone time very seriously.

that's what it had to be right? you can't blame him — you've been there once or twice.

Your breath sticks in your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The sound— god, the sound — wraps around you, thick and heady, Chan's voice breaking on a moan that scrapes down your spine.

You should move. should bolt to your room, slam the door, drown it out with headphones. but your feet refuse to cooperate.

You tiptoe into the hallway, his door is cracked just enough, and your pulse hammers so loud its drowning out any other coherent thought in your brain.

A peak wouldn't hurt...

The door creaks faintly as it opens another inch, just enough for you to see.

Chan sits on the edge of his bed, but not like you thought. Not hidden, not private. No, this is something else entirely.

A ring light casts a glow over his bare skin, the camera propped on his desk angled perfectly to capture every inch of him. His laptop screen is open with a reflection of him and a rapid stream of comments too fast to read.

Oh.

Oh god.

Your stomach drops, then tightens all at once.

Chan’s head is tipped back, his throat working around a groan as his hand moves lazily between his thighs.

You press yourself against the hallway wall, pulse hammering, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.

you did not expect this.

His breath hitches, a sharp, punched out sound, and your nails dig into your palms.

Chan’s fingers twist at the base of his cock, his thumb smearing precum in slow circles. The camera catches the way his abs flex as he arches into his own touch, his voice ragged when he murmurs, "Wish you were here." before he bites down on his lower lip. "Could use a mouth right now."

You watch, frozen in place, as his thighs tremble, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The comments on his screen blur into a frenzy of emojis and a bunch of pinging donations. His breath stutters, his jaw clenching as his strokes turn erratic, desperate. “Yeah,” he gasps, voice breaking, “yeah, just like that—”

Then he comes with a choked moan, stripes of white painting his stomach as his back arches off the bed.

Gosh, he’s gorgeous — and you barely register the dampness between your own thighs until Chan slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving.

Chan exhales sharply, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he leans forward, just enough to tap something on his laptop.

he ends the stream with a wink and a low, raspy comment that you didn't quite catch. The screen goes black, and you barely have half a second to process the situation before your body kicks into motion.

You bolt down the hallway, socked feet silent against the hardwood.

Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you just as Chan gets up. You press your back against the door, lungs burning from holding your breath, and listen.

Water runs in the sink. A towel rustles. Then you hear footsteps.

They pause outside your door.

You purse your lips and hold your breath. Then Chan hums, before his footsteps retreat down the hall.

You slump against the door, exhaling shakily.

Holy shit.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fumble to pull it out.

you home early?

You stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the screen. Lie, your brain screams. Tell him no. but then how would you fake going into the apartment if you're already inside the apartment?

Just got back

You hit send before you can second guess it.

Cool. Dinner soon?

Your fingers hover over the screen, the weight of his question pressing against your ribs like a stone. The air in your room feels — too thick — and suddenly the idea of sitting across from Chan at the kitchen table, pretending you didn’t just watch him get off on camera, makes your stomach twist.

Gonna shower first.

Your phone buzzes again before you can even set it down,

Can I join?

You nearly drop it, blood roaring in your ears. Then—

jk. don’t use up all the hot water.

You toss your phone onto your bed and drag a hand down your face with a sigh.

You're deeply fucked.

~

That night, you stayed up aggressively googling him till his page came up.

Onlychans? really?

you'd laugh at the username if it wasn't for the videos that popped up when you clicked on his profile.

Chan, shirtless, sprawled across what is unmistakably your living room couch, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweatpants.

Chan, biting his lip as he slicks lube down his cock, the camera angled to capture every twitch of his abs.

Chan, moaning, his head thrown back against the pillows of his bed —your apartment, your shared space — while his other hand works something thick and glistening into his—

You slam the laptop shut.

Your face burns. Your pulse thrums in your ears. The apartment is silent — Chan’s out for a run, or so he’d claimed when he’d left an hour ago.

You open the laptop again.

It’s Curiosity. That’s all.

It starts innocently enough — just checking his schedule, really. A quick glance at his calendar pinned to the fridge.

"For productivity purposes," Chan had joked when you asked.

Then, sure enough, it spiraled.

You memorize the time of his streams, monday nights, Friday nights, he'd timed them perfectly in sync with times he knew you wouldn't be home. that's why you've been blissfully unaware of him filming in different locations around your shared apartment for the past two and a half months.

And the occasional late night surprise session that leaves you fumbling for your earbuds at 1 am. You'd literally be home, but he'd go live anyway. was he into that?

you were into it too, admittedly, because you turned out to be just as shameful as him.

The notification pops up at 1:47 am on a Wednesday 'Chan is live!' (yes, you turned his notifs on) and your fingers freeze mid doom scroll through Instagram.

your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen, you're supposed to be asleep.

You tap the notification.

Chan’s face fills the screen, his grin already in place as he adjusts the camera. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard of his bed, one arm draped lazily over his bent knee. The ring light casts shadows along his abs, highlighting every dip and curve.

"Late night surprise," he murmurs, "*Miss me?*" aaaand heat is already pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers work on hinseld, slow and teasing at first, thumb smearing precum in lazy circles while he talks— god, he sure does talk, filthy praises and half formed fantasies spilling from his lips like he’s whispering them directly into your ear. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, your other hand slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Chan arches his back on screen, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him. "Fuck, you guys are greedy tonight," he rasps, stroking himself slowly. His thumb presses against the head on every upstroke, just how you’ve learned he likes it — learned from watching, from nights spent with your phone hidden under your pillow, screen dimmed to its lowest setting.

"Fuck, m'close," Chan groans, your fingers moving between your thighs in time with his rhythm, matching the pace, hips shifting under the sheets, your breath coming shallow.

It’s not the first time you’ve watched him like this, but it’s the first time you’ve done it live, with the shaky thrill of knowing he has no idea you’re here.

A whimper almost escapes you when he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath hitching. You press your palm over your mouth, stifling the sound.

The last thing you need is him hearing you through the thin walls.

The thought alone, him catching you, realizing, sends a sharp jolt between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together, chasing the feeling before it slips away.

His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his skin moving over his cock muffled only slightly by the mic's noise suppression. "God, fuck—gonna come so hard for you," he grits out, his voice cracking on the last word.

You press your free hand harder against your mouth, fingers digging into your own cheek as you watch his stomach tense, the muscles there flexing under the sheen of sweat. Your own movements stutter when he lets out a low, punched out moan, his hips jerking up into his fist.

You’re so close you can’t think straight. The coil in your stomach winds tighter with every stroke of his hand, every filthy sound he makes, matching his rhythm like you’re desperate to prove something— like if you can just finish at the same time, it’ll mean something. Stupid. It’s stupid. But your hips jerk anyway, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts against your palm.

"Fuck, fuck—" His hand stills suddenly, fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he tips his head back, you watch as his body locks up for one second — and then he’s coming, stripes of white painting his stomach, his chest.

Your own climax crashes over you at the same time, so violently you nearly choke on the gasp you swallow down, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burns through you in hot, dizzying waves.

He’s still catching his breath, his free hand dragging lazily through the mess on his stomach, fingers tracing the lines of cum with a slow, absentminded swipe.

His lips curl into that stupid, effortless smirk you’ve seen a hundred times,

"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, still a little breathless. "You all got me good tonight."

He reaches for a towel off screen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wipes himself clean. You watch, transfixed, as he tosses the towel aside and leans closer to the camera, cheeks are still flushed, his lashes low.

"Hope that was worth the wait," he says, eyes flickering to the chat before he grins. "gosh you guys are generous with the tips tonight." and you catch a few of the comments.

slave4u: how bout you come and give me that tip

sweetheartonline: gone broke just for you </3

Chan just chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re all insatiable." He stretches his arms above his head, his torso arching beautifully, "Next stream’s friday. Be good for me til then, yeah?"

With one last wink, he reaches forward, and the screen goes black.

You yank your earbuds out, Your chest heaves, your skin still buzzing, your thighs still sticky, and you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids until colors bloom behind them.

you find it ridiculous that you're actually enjoying this, perverted thoughts. Stupid. So stupid.

~

Two weeks pass after that. You're hyperaware of Chan’s presence in a way that makes your skin itch. Every casual touch sends sparks skittering up your spine.

You try to act normal, you really do.

But you catch yourself staring at his hands when he cooks, remembering the way they moved over himself on screen, and have to physically shake your head to clear the image.

Chan, for his part, seems to thrive on your discomfort. He leaves his bedroom door cracked just a little wider than necessary, and infuriatingly, he's rarely not shirtless.

it's okay. you're okay. at least you tell yourself that.

till it's Friday morning, marking the beginning of your third month.

the apartment is quiet, still bathed in the soft gold of early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. you hum under your breath as you flip pancakes.

then Chan emerges, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair still messy from sleep.

He leans against the doorway, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “Morning,” he rasps, voice still thick with sleep.

this feels too domestic for your liking.

“Morning,” you mumble, not turning around.

Chan pads closer, bare feet silent against the hardwood, until he’s right behind you. His warmth radiates against your back, “Smells good,” he murmurs, and you swear his lips brush the shell of your ear.

The spatula clatters against the pan. too domestic.

Chan chuckles, as he reaches around you to steal a piece of pancake from the prepared stack. His chest presses against your shoulder, his skin searing where it touches yours. “Careful,” he teases, popping the bite into his mouth. “You’ll burn them.”

The pancake batter sizzles violently as you stand there, frozen, Chan’s body heat scorching against your back.

His fingers brush your hip as he reaches for the syrup, and you nearly drop the spatula again.

"You’re jumpy this morning," Chan muses, leaning against the counter beside you. "Bad dreams?"

sure, if 'bad' and 'wet' are the same thing. "something like that."

Chan hums, tilting his head as he studies you. "Got plans today?"

You flip another pancake onto the growing stack. "Just groceries later." The words come out steadier than you feel.

His grin grows. "Mind if I tag along?"

You shrug, "It’s just errands."

Chan snags another pancake, leaning into your space until his bare shoulder presses against yours. "Exactly. Sounds thrilling." His fingers brush yours as he steals the spatula, flipping the last pancake with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. I’ll even push the cart."

You huff a laugh despite yourself. "You’ll get bored in five minutes."

"Bet?" He bumps your hip with his, "Loser buys ice cream."

~

The grocery store is exactly as mundane as you predicted, but Chan makes it unbearable in ways you didn’t anticipate — his fingers lingering when he passes you items, his chest pressing against your back in crowded aisles like it’s accidental. By the time you hit the freezer section, your nerves are frayed.

"Pick a flavor," Chan murmurs, chin hooked over your shoulder as he reaches past you to open the glass door. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "I’m feeling generous."

The freezer air hits your face, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. Chan’s arm brushes yours as he leans in, his fingers tracing the edge of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "This one," he decides, plucking it from the shelf. "tastes like toothpaste sometimes, but eh" he said with a shrug.

You snort, grabbing a classic vanilla, but he plucks it from your hands and replaces it with something absurdly decadent, something with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.

"Live a little," he grins, tossing it into the cart.

The checkout line is agony. Chan stands close enough that his knuckles keep brushing the small of your back, each touch sending sparks up your spine.

the cashier — an exhausted looking college student — scans everything, he pushed your hand aside when you tried to pay, and handed the cashier his card.

he caried all the groceries too, and swatted your hand away when you try to carry any.

it feels like he's your boyfriend.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you both, grocery bags rustling as Chan kicks off his shoes. You’re still fumbling with the laces of your sneakers when he brushes past you with the plastic bags.

You follow, already going to pull things out and putting them in their designated cupboards, Chan’s already rummaging through to find the ice cream, His grin is wide as he holds it up. "Scoops or straight from the tub?"

"freezer" you deadpan, "it's probably melted by now"

his shoulders slump a little, turning around to place the tubs in the freezer.

"and, scoops," you mutter, "We’re not animals."

he snickers, "Debatable."

Chan nudges the freezer door shut with his hip, the ice cream safely stowed away for later. "Movie night?" he suddenly asks, casual as anything, "Haven't done one in a while."

You nod, "Yeah. Okay."

You retreat to your room to change, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt before you even reach the door. The fabric sticks to your skin, too warm and you peel it off with a relieved sigh the second you’re alone.

The dresser drawer squeaks as you rummage for shorts and a tank top since its getting too hot, but your hands freeze mid reach when you hear Chan’s door creak open down the hall.

The unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor — jeans, probably — makes your throat go dry. You strain to listen, pulse hammering in your ears, as Chan hums under his breath. Something clatters, a belt buckle, and then the soft rustle of fresh clothes being pulled on.

You yank your own shorts up so fast you nearly trip, ears burning. Pathetic.

When you emerge, Chan’s already sprawled across the couch in loose joggers and that stupidly thin white tank top.

"You took forever," Chan drawls from the couch, already eating his way through a popcorn bucket.

"You're picking?" he scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "After the garbage you called 'cinema' last time?"

You snatch the remote before he can lunge for it. "You picked Twilight unironically last time."

Chan clutches his chest like you've wounded him. "Bella Swan is a cultural icon."

You scoff, scrolling through the options, ignoring Chan's dramatic sigh as he flops back against the cushions. His knee bumps yours, but you don't pull away.

"Fine," he huffs. "But if it's another pretentious indie film where people whisper for two hours, I'm revoking your movie privileges."

"Fine," you grumble back, scrolling past a dozen of said pretentious indie films with moody black and white thumbnails. "But only because I pity your attention span."

Chan's grin is immediate as he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.

"pick something with action," then wiggles his eyebrows, "Or nudity."

You elbow him hard in the ribs.

"Ow—," Chan wheezes, but he's laughing, catching your wrist before you can retreat. His fingers are warm and rough against your pulse point, thumb pressing into the flutter there. "Violent and kinky," he muses, tugging you closer until your shoulders press together. "I like it."

You yank your wrist free and snatch up the remote again, scrolling through titles.

Chan's laughter vibrates through the couch cushions as you land on something, anything, just to shut him up. The movie starts with a car chase, tires screeching, glass shattering. Perfect. Loud enough to distract whenever Chan shifts beside you.

"Action and nudity," Chan murmurs, nodding approvingly at the screen where some actor's shirt rips open during a fight scene. "You do know me."

You sink lower into the couch, arms crossed. "Shut up and watch."

The first ten minutes of the movie blur into a haze of gunfire and badly timed one-liners, the volume turned up just loud enough to drown out the way Chan’s fingers keep tracing idle patterns against your shoulder.

You focus resolutely on the screen, but Chan’s warmth beside you is impossible to ignore. His knee presses into yours, his bare arm brushing against yours every time he reaches for more popcorn, and each touch sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

Then, during a lull in the action, Chan shifts beside you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His fingers curl gently into your hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"You’re not even watching," he mmurmur.

You swallow hard, refusing to look at him. "Am too."

Chan hums, unconvinced, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. "Liar."

His accusation hangs between you, thick and charged, and suddenly the movie feels like background noise.

His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tipping your head back just enough that you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

His eyes are dark, there’s no teasing smirk now, no playful glint — just hunger.

Your breath hitches audibly.

Chan’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me to stop."

You don’t.

His lips crash into yours before you can form a coherent thought, the remote clattering to the floor as your hands fist in his shirt.

Chan groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with so much desperation.

The movie drones on, but all you can feel is the way his hips jerk forward against yours as you press closer. His hands slide down to grip your waist, hauling you halfway into his lap without breaking the kissl.

"You’ve been driving me insane," Chan pants against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the dip of your spine. "Watching me, pretending you weren’t—fuck—" His words dissolve into a groan when you grind down against him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

He knows you know. he has all this time. The realization makes your eyes widen slightly—but it doesn’t surprise you. Not really.

Not when Chan’s fingers tighten possessively around your hips, his teeth scraping your lower lip like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

His palm slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin tank top, and your breath stutters against his mouth.

Of course he knew. The cracked doors, the late night streams he timed too perfectly with your schedule. Those weren't just coincidences.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your eyes wide with the realization that just dawned on you.

his lips are swollen from your kisses, panting, “Surprise,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Chan’s grip shifts, hauling you fully into his lap, and you gasp when his hardness presses against you. His chuckle vibrates through your chest as he rolls his hips up, slow and filthy. “Thought you’d never crack,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.

Your hands fist in his tank top, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to his chest. “You—asshole” you pant, hips jerking against his involuntarily. “All that teasing—”

Chan's grin widens "All what teasing?" he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kisses to your neck. "You mean leaving my door open just a little too wide?"

His teeth scrape your skin, "Or maybe streaming at exactly the times I knew you'd be home?" His palm cups your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple.

You gasp when he pinches lightly, hips jerking against his. "You're insane," you manage, though the words come out more breathless than angry.

Chan laughs against your throat, before his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hands slide down to grip your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him. The friction is dizzying, the thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the heat of him pressed against you.

"Insane?" His breath is hot against your damp skin. "Baby, aren't the one who watched my streams every other night?" His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with maddening slowness.

You whine, the sound high and desperate in your throat, and nod before you can think better of it. The admission burns your cheeks, but the way Chan groans against your skin makes it worth it.

"yeah?" he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

Chan’s fingers flex against your waist, his breath hot against your lips. “Every fucking time,” he admits, voice rough “I’d pretend it was your hand on me,” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, “Your mouth.” His gaze drops to your parted lips, then back up, heavy lidded. “You have no idea how many times I came thinking about you watching me.”

Chan exhales sharply, his nose brushing yours. “cancelled tonight’s stream,” he murmurs, lips grazing yours with every word. “would rather beg you to fuck me instead.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers tracing the edge of your bra through your tank top.

“You don’t have to beg,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you swing your leg off his lap. Chan exhales sharply, hands gripping your waist tighter like he’s afraid you’ll pull away entirely, but then you’re sliding to your knees between his legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his joggers.

His breath catches when you tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking against his stomach.

gosh he's even bigger than he looks on camera.

Chan's breath stutters when your fingers wrap around him, his hips jerking into your grip before he can stop himself. "Fuck—" His voice cracks, a hand flying to fist in your hair as you stroke him slow, watching the way his eyelids flutter.

He's hot and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip, and the way his thighs tense when you swipe your thumb over the head is obscene.

Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair when your lips brush the head of his cock, his breath stuttering out in a ragged groan. “Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerk up instinctively, but you pull back just enough to tease, swirling your tongue over the tip without taking him deeper, and you can’t resist glancing up through your lashes to watch his face twist with pleasure.

“So loud,” you giggle, blowing a slow breath over the wetness you’ve left behind. Chan’s thighs tense under your palms. “All those streams,” you continue, stroking him lazily with one hand while the other traces the vein running along his length, “and you never moaned like this.”

Chan’s laugh comes out strained, his chest heaving. “it wasn't you,” he grits out, hips rolling up into your touch. His fingers tug at your hair, guiding you back to him with a quiet desperation that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “Now stop teasing—”

You swallow him down before he can finish, humming around him just to feel the way his whole body jerks. His moan is filthy, unfiltered, his hips canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can’t help it.

You take him deeper, throat working around him, and Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.

“god—” His voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. His other hand fists the couch cushion beside his thigh, knuckles going white. “So good—shit—you take me so fucking good—”

You pull off with a slick pop, lips brushing the flushed tip as you peer up at him, teasing, thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathered there.

Chan’s chest heaves, his abs flexing as he stares down at you, His grip in your hair tightens just enough to sting — a silent warning — but you just grin and duck back down, sucking him deep until his thighs tremble.

Chan curses, his hips lifting off the couch as you bob your head, the wet sounds obscenely loud even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.

“Gonna—” He's cut off by his own gasp, “Gonna come if you keep—”

You pull off with a wet sound, lips slick and swollen, and replace your mouth with both hands, jerking him so fast his hips stutter off the couch, his breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.

“Wait—fuck—” Chan chokes out, fingers scrambling at your shoulders, but it’s too late — his back arches off the cushions, muscles locking tight as he spills hot over your fingers and his own stomach.

His thighs shake under your palms, his cock twitching in your grip as you stroke him through it, slower now, milking every last drop until he’s whimpering and oversensitive, his hands weakly pushing at your wrists.

“Turn around,” Chan rasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers slide from your hair to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your spit slick bottom lip. “Want you riding me.”

Your stomach flips at the command, but before you can move, Chan’s hands are gripping your waist, hauling you up onto the couch with surprising strength. He settles you over his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips, and the sudden press of his bare skin against yours makes you gasp.

Chan groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he leans back to look at you, really look at you, his gaze dragging down your body with a hunger that makes your skin prickle.

he hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and tugs, sliding them off, his breath hitching when he finds you already soaked through your panties.

"Fuck," he exhales, dragging the damp fabric aside with one finger, his touch featherlight as he traces your slit. His other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touch, his breath mingling with yours. "You're so wet," he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. "Just from sucking me off?"

You nod, hips canting into his touch shamelessly, his finger circles your clit —once, twice, before dipping lower, sliding into you, crooking just right to make your back arch. His free hand fists in your tank top, dragging you closer until your chest presses against his, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden against him.

His thumb pressing firm circles against your clit, and your vision whites out for a second — just long enough to miss the way his free hand fists in your tank top, yanking it up until the fabric bunches just above your chest. His mouth replaces his fingers, teeth scraping over your nipple through the lace of your bra, and you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.

“Thought about this,” he pants against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wet spot he’s left behind. “Every goddamn stream—imagined you like this, wet and desperate for me.” His finger curls again, dragging a broken moan from your throat, and his grin is all teeth when he leans back to watch you unravel. “Knew you’d be prettier than I imagined.”

You grab his wrist, stilling his movements, and his brows furrow — confused, frustrated — until you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap properly this time. His cock, half hard again, twitches against your thigh as you grind down, the friction drawing a ragged groan from both of you.

Chan’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him, his breath hot against your collarbone.

“Wanna feel you,” you murmur, fingers fumbling between you to grip him, slicking him up with your own arousal. Chan’s head falls back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you line him up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

You sink down onto him with a choked gasp, thighs trembling as he stretches you open inch by agonizing inch. Chan’s hands clamp around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t rush you —just watches as you take him deeper.

"Fuck," you whimper, nails scraping his shoulders when he bottoms out, your body shuddering at the unfamiliar stretch. "You’re—god—you’re so big—"

Chan groans, hips twitching beneath you, fighting not to thrust up. "Yeah?" His voice is wrecked, breath hitching as you clench around him. "Feel good, baby? Stuffed full of me?" His fingers trail up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts while you adjust. "taking me so good."

You roll your hips experimentally, and Chan’s head thuds back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "That’s it," he rasps, hands sliding to grip your ass. "Use me—ride me just like you imagined."

The words send heat flaring up your neck, but you can’t deny them, can’t stop the way your body responds, hips rolling in slow circles. Chan hisses between his teeth when you clench around him, his fingers flexing against your skin.

"Christ—fuck—you’re so tight," he grits out, eyes locked on where you’re joined. "Bet you thought about this every night, hmm? Watching me stroke my cock on cam while you fucked yourself on your fingers?"

You whimper, thighs quivering as you lift yourself halfway up before sinking back down, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his breath stutters, his hips jerking up to meet you halfway, and the sudden shift punches a ragged moan from your throat. "Oh fuck—Chan—"

"Say it," he demands, thumb brushing your clit as you bounce in his lap. His voice is rough, wrecked, his pupils blown wide, "Tell me how much you thought about this, how many times you came imagining me inside you."

You gasp when he pinches your clit lightly, your rhythm faltering, "Every—ah—every night," you admit, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down harder. "Watched you—touched myself—god, wanted you—"

Chan groans, fingers tightening on your hips as he guides your movements, thrusting up to meet you. "Knew it," he pants, lips brushing yours with every ragged breath.

"Knew you were getting off to me—fuck—your little gasps when I’d look at the camera—" His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. "Bet you came so pretty for me, huh? All quiet so I wouldn’t hear?"

You nod frantically, hips stuttering as his cock hits that spot inside you, the pleasure building dangerously fast. "Y-yes—*fuck*—Chan, please—"

"Please what?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk even as his own breathing falters. He slows your movements deliberately, dragging you through each excruciatingly slow roll of your hips. "Need me to fuck you harder, baby?"

You whine, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to chase your own rhythm, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting. "Yes—god, yes—"

he flips you onto your stomach before you can finish begging, his hands rough and sure as he shoves your knees apart against the couch cushions. The fabric burns against your bare thighs when he yanks your hips back, his cock sliding out of you with a slick sound that makes your face burn.

You barely have time to whimper before his fingers dig into your waist, lifting you on all fours with a sharp tug — his chest presses hot against your back, his breath ragged in your ear as he lines himself up again.

he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He slams into you with one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your elbows buckle against the cushions. His cock stretches you open deeper than before, the angle hitting deeper, and you choke on a scream when his hips snap forward again, setting a punishing pace before you can catch your breath.

Hands clamp around your hips, fingers bruising as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound drowned out by chan’s ragged groans and the slick slap of skin on skin. His rhythm is merciless, no teasing now, just pure, desperate need as he fucks into you like he’s been starving for it.

Chan's grip on your hips shifts — one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bows beautifully beneath him. "Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with something between awe and hunger as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.

His fingers tighten, pulling just enough to make your scalp prickle, before his palm cracks down against your ass, the sound echoing through the room louder than the forgotten movie still playing in the background.

You gasp, thighs trembling as the heat blooms across your skin, but Chan doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that has your nails scrabbling against the couch cushions for purchase. "Take it," he orders, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "God, you feel so good—clenching around me like—" His words dissolve into a groan as he picks up the pace, each thrust punching a ragged sound from your throat.

His free hand slides around your waist, pressing firm circles against your clit, and the dual sensation has your vision blurring at the edges. "That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his rhythm falters for just a second, "Gonna make you come just like this—spread out, taking me so well—"

His thumb presses harder against your clit, and your back arches involuntarily, a broken moan tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.

Chan curses, his grip tightening as you clench around him, your body shuddering through the waves of it. "Yeah, there you go, gonna cum for me?"

You nod vigorously, your fingers twisting into the couch cushions as Chan’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against your ear. "Cum with me," he rasps, and it’s all you need.

Your body clenches around him like a vice, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision whites out for a second. Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken gasp, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Chan pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth when you clench around him reflexively, oversensitive.

The couch cushions are damp beneath your trembling thighs, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat as you collapse onto your stomach, chest heaving. Chan exhales sharply, running a hand down your spine, before flipping you onto your back, more gently this time.

The shift makes you wince, your body still thrumming with aftershocks, he slides off the couch onto his knees between your legs. His palms skate up your inner thighs, spreading them apart with slowly despite your weak protest. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just wanna taste you."

You squirm when his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, but Chan’s grip tightens, holding you open. "Chan—" His name comes out hoarse, your voice wrecked. "I’m—ah—too sensitive—"

Chan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open despite your squirming. His tongue flicks over your clit, just enough to make your hips jerk, oversensitive and trembling.

“You can take it,” he murmurs against your skin, “You’re a big girl, yeah?” His teeth graze your inner thigh, before his mouth closes over you again, and your back arches off the couch with a choked gasp.

You can take it. You do.

Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks shooting up your spine, your fingers twisting into his hair — not to pull him away, but to keep him right there, his mouth working you through the dizzying aftershocks of your orgasm.

Chan hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his grip on your thighs tightens when you try to press them together instinctively. “None of that,” he chides, nipping at your skin before dragging his tongue up your slit again, “Just let me have you.”

You whine, hips caving into his mouth despite the oversensitivity, the pleasure tipping into something almost painful, but you don’t tell him to stop. Couldn’t if you wanted to.

"so sweet," he groans against you, the words vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His fingers dig into your hips, pinning you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity. "No— stay still."

You whimper, but obey, letting him spread you wider as his tongue delves deeper, circling your entrance before dragging back up in one long, torturous lick.

"Chan—please—" you gasp, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for — him to stop or never, ever stop.

His response is to hook your leg over his shoulder, angling you deeper into his mouth, and then he’s sucking you in, his tongue working you with precision. You sob his name, your hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, too soon, too much—

You choke out his name, fingers scrambbling at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, before your hips jerk violently against his mouth.

“Chan, gonna—oh god—” The warning spills out brokenly, your thighs clamp around his head as you come with a shuddering gasp, your back bowing off the couch as pleasure rips through you.

he groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat, he doesn’t pull away, just laps at you greedily, his tongue dragging through the mess you’ve made of him with slow strokes.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re perfect like this.” His thumb brushes your clit once, testing, and you jerk with a gasp, your body still thrumming with aftershocks.

Chan grins up at you, all dark eyes and swollen lips, before dragging his tongue up your slit one last time.

Chan rises from between your thighs with a groan, his lips slick and glistening with you, you realize with a jolt — before his mouth crashes into yours, the kiss filthy and possessive, his tongue licking into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, sticky with sweat, and he moans into your mouth when you tug — sharp, just to feel him shudder.

You pull away eventually, both of you panting, sticky with sweat and other things, and collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Chan drags you half on top of him, your head resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin.

His fingers trace idle patterns along your back, the movie’s credits roll, forgotten, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.

You nuzzle into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. His skin is warm and slightly sticky, and you press a kiss to it without thinking, smiling when his fingers pause for a second before resuming their path along your spine.

"Quit staring," you murmur, tilting your head up just enough to catch him watching you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. soft, almost awed, Chan huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d gripped hard enough to leave marks earlier.

"Can’t help it," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion "You’re kinda fucking gorgeous like this."

You snort, but your cheeks heat anyway, and Chan’s grin widens when he notices. He shifts beneath you, rolling just enough to tuck you more firmly against his side, his arm a solid weight across your waist.

The movement makes you wince, your thighs ache in a way that’s equal parts delicious and punishing, and Chan’s fingers tighten reflexively, his smirk turning smug.

"Sorry," he lies, and you bite on his shoulder just to hear him yelp.

his yelp dissolves into laughter, his fingers digging into your sides as he squirms away from your teeth. “Fuck, ow,” he complains, but his grin ruins the effect, “You bite hard—should’ve known you’d be a menace.”

You grin against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the reddening mark you left behind. “Payback,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your tongue just to feel him shiver. Chan groans, his hips jerking reflexively beneath you, and you freeze when you feel him stirring against your thigh—already half hard again.

“Seriously?” you ask, incredulous, and Chan has the audacity to look proud, his smirk widening as he rolls his hips up against you.

“What?” he teases, voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t help it—you’re right there, all warm and fucked out—” His hand slides down your back, fingers skimming the curve of your ass before squeezing lightly. “And you bit me. That’s basically foreplay.”

You press a hand to Chan’s chest when he tries to roll you beneath him again, your thighs still trembling from the last round. “Shower,” you mumble, and Chan makes a wounded noise against your collarbone in protest.

“Five more minutes,” he tries, lips trailing up your neck like he’s trying to convince you with his mouth.

You laugh, breathless, and squirm out of his grip before he can distract you properly. “No—shower,” you insist, swatting at his hands when they try to drag you back. “We’re disgusting.”

Chan pouts — actually pouts, like this big hunk of a man didn't just fuck the daylights out of you — and flops back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, but his eyes track your every movement as you stand, snickering when you wobble slightly on unsteady legs.

You stumble towards the bathroom, then you glance back at Chan, sprawled across the couch with his arms behind his head, watching you with that stupid, smug grin, and ask, "When’s your next stream again?"

his grin falters into confusion when your question registers. "Monday," he says automatically, his brows furrowing, "Why?"

You hum, "Just thinking," then you shrug, "maybe I’ll join you next time."

he's caught off guard when you leave him hanging and close the bathroom door behind you, "don't start something you can't finish!"

"It's a good chance to socialize," they said. "You need to get out more. College isn't just about books."

Then your friends burst into your room like a storm, refusing to hear the word "no."

They raided your closet and forced you into this dress. A tiny, off-the-shoulder black piece you'd bought on a wild impulse months ago but never dared to wear. The soft, stretchy fabric hugged every curve of your body like a second skin. The neckline plunged low, barely covering the tops of your breasts and showing off your delicate collarbones. The hem was dangerously short, stopping just three inches below your ass, making you painfully aware of every little movement of your thighs. Worst of all, the back was completely open, only two thin straps crisscrossing between your shoulder blades, leaving almost your entire back naked to the cool air and wandering eyes.

You felt completely exposed. Naked.

Every few seconds, you nervously tugged at the short hem, trying to make it longer, while your other arm stayed wrapped tightly around your red cup filled with cocktail you haven't took even a sip. The makeup your friends had done made your eyes look bigger and your lips shiny and plump. You kept shifting your weight from one foot to the other, your cheeks burning with embarrassment every time someone brushed past you.

That's when you felt it.

A slow, burning stare cutting straight through the noisy chaos, right at you.

Han Jisung.

He was leaning against the wall across the room, looking relaxed and dangerous at the same time. His dark eyes were locked on you with raw hunger. Like a wolf that had just spotted a soft, trembling lamb. His gaze slowly dragged down your body, taking in the way the tight dress clung to your tits, your waist, and your hips. He stared openly at your bare shoulders, your exposed back, and the way your thighs pressed together under that tiny hem. A slow, predatory smirk tugged at his lips. He tilted his head, his tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip, as if he was already imagining how sweet you would taste on his tongue.

Your stomach flipped hard. Heat rushed through your body. You quickly looked away, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, but you could still feel his heavy, hungry stare crawling all over your skin.

You barely had time to think about running toward the exit before he started moving.

Jisung pushed through the crowd like he owned every person in it. People moved out of his way without thinking, he was the campus' most famous fuckboy, after all. In just a few seconds, he was standing right in front of you, his tall frame blocking out the rest of the party.

Up close, he smelled intoxicating expensive cologne mixed with whiskey and something darker, something dangerously addictive.

Han Jisung had been watching you for years.

Even though he had fucked his way through half the campus, none of those girls ever truly satisfied the hunger he felt for you. You were his favorite fantasy, the quiet, innocent girl with soft eyes and those cute glasses, always hiding behind books and oversized hoodies. He had spent countless nights stroking his cock to the thought of you, imagining how pretty you would look with your glasses completely fogged up, mouth open in a broken moan while he rammed into you from behind, hard and deep.

And now, here you were. Finally dressed like sin in that tiny black dress that barely covered your ass. All that soft skin on display. All that untouched innocence just waiting to be ruined. He stepped closer, his tall frame crowding you against the wall until there was almost no space left between your bodies.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little nerd," Jisung drawled, his voice low and dripping with teasing amusement.

You gulped hard, letting out a shaky breath as you squeezed your eyes shut. Of all the people at this party, he was the last one you wanted to see right now. He had been invading your thoughts constantly ever since that day your professor forced you to tutor him. All he did back then was tease you relentlessly, leaning in too close, whispering dirty comments, and looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

"I almost didn't recognize you without your glasses," he added, his tone playful but laced with something much darker.

You slowly opened your eyes and found him staring straight at you with that hungry gaze. He took his time looking you up and down, eyes lingering on your plunging neckline, the curve of your breasts, and the short hem that barely covered your ass.

"What do you want?" you huffed, trying to sound firm, but your voice came out soft and shaky, the nervousness clear in every word.

Jisung chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. Instead of answering directly, he tilted his head and gave you a slow, knowing smile.

"What are you doing here, baby?" he asked, voice smooth and teasing. "This isn't exactly your scene, is it? Loud music, drunk people grinding everywhere... I thought you'd rather be curled up somewhere quiet with your books and those cute glasses."

As he spoke, his hand casually slid from your waist to your hip, fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh there. His touch was warm and bold, like he had every right to it. When you didn't pull away, his other hand came up, lightly tracing the bare skin of your lower back with his fingertips, sending little sparks up your spine.

You took a deep breath and tried to push his hand away, but Jisung didn't budge. His fingers stayed stubbornly on your hip.

"It's not exactly my decision why I'm here," you muttered. "My friends dragged me."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. His other hand stayed on your lower back, slowly tracing lazy circles on your bare skin.

"And where exactly are those friends now?" he asked, voice low.

You glanced around the crowded room for a second. Right... where were they? Probably somewhere in the dark corners, making out with whoever they found tonight. It wasn't your problem anymore.

"I don't know," you admitted softly, your cheeks burning. "They disappeared as soon as we got here."

Jisung let out a soft, dark chuckle. Instead of pulling his hands away, he grew bolder. One hand slid higher up your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your breast, while the other hand gently squeezed your hip, pulling you a little closer to him.

"Is that so?" He asked. "So you plan on standing here in the corner all night, just watching everyone like a lost little kitten?"

As he spoke, his hand slowly traced up your exposed back, fingers gliding over your bare skin with deliberate slowness. The touch was warm and confident, sending shivers racing down your spine.

"Ji—" you gasped, the nickname slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Jisung's smirk widened instantly, dark and satisfied. He loved how naturally it fell from your mouth. His fingers continued their lazy journey up your back, tracing every inch of exposed skin until they reached the thin straps crossing between your shoulder blades.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You don't have anything to do here anyway, right? Your friends are gone..."

His hand on your back slid lower, resting dangerously close to the curve of your ass.

"Why don't you come upstairs with me?" he suggested, voice dropping into a husky murmur. "We can spend some time together... just the two of us. Away from all this noise." He paused, letting the words sink in before adding with a wicked smile, "If you know what I mean."

Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you, made your head spin.

Without thinking, you lifted the red cup to your lips and drank the entire contents in one go. You had completely forgotten it was alcohol. The sweet, fruity cocktail burned slightly as it slid down your throat.

It hit you faster than you expected.

Within seconds, a warm, hazy feeling spread through your body. Your cheeks grew hotter, and the room started to feel a little blurrier around the edges. You weren't used to drinking, this was actually your first drink ever, and you had no idea your tolerance was this low. Your head felt light and fuzzy, your limbs strangely warm and heavy at the same time.

Jisung noticed the change immediately. His eyes darkened with amusement and something much more dangerous.

"Easy there," he chuckled softly, steadying you with a firm hand on your waist. "Did you just down the whole cup?"

He tilted your chin up gently with two fingers, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were already getting a little glassy.

"You okay, y/n?" he asked, though the smirk on his lips told you he was enjoying every second of your sudden tipsiness. "Or do you need me to take care of you upstairs even more now?"

You could only nod weakly, a soft, unintelligent little sound escaping your lips instead of actual words. Your head felt too fuzzy to form a proper sentence.

When you tried to push yourself off the wall to create some distance, your legs wobbled dangerously. The room tilted slightly and you almost stumbled forward. One cup. Just one stupid cup of alcohol and you already felt this dizzy and ditzy? Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Jisung reacted instantly. His strong hands grabbed your waist, steadying you before you could fall. He pulled you gently against his chest, holding you upright with surprising gentleness.

"Woah, careful there," he chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his body into yours. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your soft curves as he kept you close.

“Come on, pretty girl. Let me take you somewhere quieter.”

Before you could protest, Jisung easily scooped you up into his arms, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. You let out a small surprised gasp and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck as the world spun a little.

He carried you upstairs like you weighed nothing, pushing through the crowd with ease. The loud bass and voices faded behind you as he brought you into a quieter room at the end of the hallway. The moment the door clicked shut, the noise from the party became nothing but a distant hum.

Jisung walked over to the large bed in the center of the room and gently set you down on the edge of it. Your body felt heavy and warm from the alcohol, your head pleasantly fuzzy.

He took a step back and just… watched you.

You were sitting there with heavy, sleepy eyes, your head lolling slightly to the side. The tiny black dress had ridden up dangerously high on your thighs from being carried, exposing even more of your soft skin. Your cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, and your breathing was a little uneven.

Jisung’s gaze darkened with raw hunger as he stared at you. He looked like a wolf finally cornered its prey.

He couldn't hold back anymore.

He stepped closer until he was standing between your legs, his hands finally giving in to the hunger he'd been fighting all night. His palms slid slowly up your bare thighs, pushing the tiny hem of your dress even higher until it bunched up around your hips.

"Fuck, baby..." he breathed, voice thick with lust. "You're so soft."

His fingers traced teasing circles on your inner thighs, getting dangerously close to your panties but never quite touching you there yet. He watched your face closely, enjoying every sleepy, hazy reaction you gave him.

You blinked slowly, head still lolling a little, your breathing shallow and uneven. The alcohol made everything feel warmer, slower, and more intense. Every touch from him sent sparks straight to your core.

Jisung leaned down, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other continued stroking your thighs. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered.

"I've waited years to touch you like this... to have my hands on a good girl like you." His hand on your thigh slid higher, finally brushing over the thin fabric of your panties. He pressed two fingers against your clothed pussy and let out a low groan when he felt how warm and slightly damp you already were.

"See? Your body's already getting wet for me," he murmured, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit through the fabric. "Even if your pretty little head is too hazy to admit it."

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your thighs trembling around his hand. Jisung smiled darkly, clearly loving how easily you were falling apart.

"Come on, baby... " he coaxed, his voice low and seductive as he kept rubbing you. "You've been thinking about me too, haven't you? Thinking about letting me ruin you... letting me fuck you until you can't even remember your own name."

He kissed the side of your neck, then gently sucked on your skin while his fingers pressed harder against your aching clit.

"Give in to me," he whispered hotly against your throat. "Just say yes... and I'll make you feel so fucking good tonight." His free hand moved up to squeeze your breast through the thin dress, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple.

If you were sober, you probably would've snapped back at him with some sharp reply. But right now, with your head all fuzzy and warm, all you could do was bite your lower lip and slowly shake your head.

Jisung let out a low, amused chuckle. His fingers never stopped moving, still rubbing slow, teasing circles against your soaked panties.

"No?" he asked, voice dripping with fake innocence. "You haven't thought of me touching you like this? Not even once after those tutoring sessions, hm?"

He pressed his fingers harder against your clit, watching your hips twitch involuntarily at the pressure. Your breathing grew heavier, and a tiny, needy whimper slipped past your lips. Jisung leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his sweet corruption.

"Liar," he whispered, voice dark and husky. "I saw the way you used to squeeze your thighs together whenever I leaned too close to you. I bet you went back to your dorm after every session and touched this pretty little pussy while thinking about me."

His hand slid up from your breast to gently grip your jaw, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him with your sleepy, hazy eyes.

"Tell me the truth, baby," he coaxed, still rubbing your clit in torturously slow circles. "Did you ever finger yourself at night imagining it was my cock instead?"

He leaned down and placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your neck, then gently sucked on your skin, leaving a faint mark.

"Don't lie to me... I can feel how wet you are. Your body's already betraying you."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth.

But even through your hazy, alcohol-soaked mind, Jisung could tell how stubborn you still were. He sighed and slowly pulled back, removing his hands from your body. The second his touch disappeared, something in you panicked.

Your hand shot out instinctively, fingers grabbing the hem of his shirt tightly, stopping him from stepping away. You looked up at him with wide, glassy bambi eyes, your breath coming out in short, shaky little gasps. Your head was still lolling slightly from the alcohol, but your grip on his shirt was desperate.

You tugged weakly at the fabric, pulling him back toward you.

"Ji... please..." you whispered, voice soft, needy, and trembling.

Jisung froze. The sound of you begging, even that small, broken please, hit him hard. His eyes darkened instantly, a hungry smirk slowly spreading across his lips. He stepped back between your legs, crowding you again. One of his hands came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he tilted your face higher.

"Please what, baby?" he asked, voice low and rough, dripping with satisfaction. "Use your words. Tell me what you want." 

You whimpered softly, still tugging at his shirt like you were afraid he'd pull away again. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, the ache between your legs growing unbearable in your hazy state. Jisung leaned down closer, his forehead almost resting against yours. His free hand slid back onto your bare thigh, squeezing the soft flesh possessively.

You licked your glossy lips slowly, your hazy eyes locked onto his with pure desperation. Your voice came out small, shaky, and embarrassingly needy.

"T-touch me please..." you whispered. "It hurts... It's so itchy down there, Ji... Please..."

The moment the words left your mouth, Jisung's eyes flared with raw hunger. A low, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest.

"Fuck..." he breathed, voice thick with lust. "Begging so sweetly already. Does your pretty little pussy ache that badly, baby?"

He didn't make you wait any longer.

Jisung immediately pushed your thighs wider apart and stepped fully between them. One of his hands slid up under your bunched-up dress without hesitation, cupping your soaked pussy over your panties. His fingers pressed firmly against your aching clit and started rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

"Poor baby," he cooed mockingly, eyes never leaving your face. "It's itchy and hurting because you're so fucking wet for me, huh?"

You let out a broken whimper, hips twitching forward into his touch. The relief was instant, but it only made the heat inside you burn hotter. Jisung leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as his fingers kept stroking you through the thin, drenched fabric.

"Such a naughty girl... telling me your pussy hurts and itches," he whispered darkly. "You want me to make it better? Want me to rub this swollen little clit until you cum all over my fingers?"

He slipped his hand inside your panties, finally touching your bare, dripping folds. Two fingers glided easily over your slickness, teasing your entrance before focusing back on your sensitive clit.

"Tell me again," he demanded softly, voice dripping with corruption. "Tell Ji exactly where it hurts... and how you want me to fix it."

You pressed your lips together tightly, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure clouded your hazy mind. Both of your hands flew down to grab Jisung's wrist, desperately guiding his fingers exactly where you needed him.

"Here..." you whispered breathlessly, voice small and needy. "Here... Ji, please..."

Your hips started moving on their own, shyly rolling against his hand as you rode his fingers, chasing the friction your aching pussy craved. Jisung let out a deep, sinful groan at the sight. His dark eyes were glued to where your hips were grinding against his palm like a desperate little slut.

"Fuck, baby..." he rasped, voice thick with lust. Two thick fingers slid between your slick folds, rubbing firm, slow circles directly on your swollen clit. The wet sounds of his fingers playing with your pussy filled the quiet room.

"That's it," he praised softly, watching your face intently. "Use my hand, pretty girl. Show me exactly where it hurts."

Your breath came out in short, whimpering gasps. Your head lolled back slightly, lips parted as you kept grinding against his fingers, your grip on his wrist tightening. Jisung leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

"You're soaking my fingers, baby," he murmured, voice low and filthy. "Such a messy little thing... Can I kiss you, hm? Tell me I can." He pressed harder against your clit, rubbing faster as he watched you fall apart.

You could barely think straight. The alcohol made everything feel too intense, too good. Your lips parted, letting out soft, needy whimpers while your hands still gripped his wrist tightly, guiding him.With heavy, glassy eyes, you looked up at him and whispered breathlessly.

"Yes... Kiss..."

The words had barely left your mouth before Jisung crashed his lips against yours. He kissed you hungrily, deep and possessive, swallowing every little moan that escaped you. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting the sweet cocktail still lingering on your tongue as he devoured you. At the same time, his fingers never slowed down, rubbing your dripping pussy faster, harder, making wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet room.

He groaned into the kiss, the vibration traveling straight through your body. When he finally pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his lips were shiny and his eyes were dark with lust.

"Fuck... you taste so sweet," he rasped against your mouth, still rubbing your clit relentlessly. His fingers suddenly slid lower and teased your entrance, circling it teasingly before slowly pushing one thick finger inside your tight, wet heat.

He swallowed your gasp with another deep kiss, then murmured hotly against your lips.

Your grip on his wrist slowly softened as your whole body began to shake. Jisung could feel it, the way your stomach was tightening, the way your thighs trembled around his hand. Your orgasm was building fast.

Your hips stuttered helplessly against him, losing rhythm as the pleasure became too much.

Without hesitation, Jisung plunged two thick fingers deep inside your soaked pussy, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you.

A loud, broken moan spilled from your lips. “Ah—! Fuck… Jisung!”

A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The sudden intense pleasure made your head spin even more. In your haze, you unintentionally bit down hard on Jisung’s lower lip, breaking the skin just enough to draw a tiny bead of blood.

Jisung hissed at the sting, but the sound quickly turned into a deep, filthy groan. His eyes darkened with pure lust as he tasted the metallic tang on his tongue.

“Yes—! Right there!” you cried out, voice shaky and needy. “Please don’t stop… I’m— I’m gonna cum!”

Jisung curled his fingers faster, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust while his thumb rubbed tight, relentless circles on your swollen clit.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me,” he growled against your lips.

Your whole body tensed up. Your hips jerked wildly as the orgasm crashed over you hard.

Your pussy clenched tightly around his fingers, pulsing and gushing as waves of pleasure ripped through you. Your head fell back, eyes rolling slightly while soft, broken whimpers and moans kept spilling from your lips. Your thighs shook violently around his hand as you rode out every last second of your orgasm.

Jisung watched you with dark, hungry eyes, groaning at how beautifully you fell apart for him.

“Good girl… such a good fucking girl,” he praised, slowly pulling his soaked fingers out of you.

Before you could even catch your breath, Jisung sat down on the bed and pulled you onto his lap, making you straddle him. Your tiny dress was now completely bunched up around your waist.

“Come here, baby,” he rasped, gripping your hips tightly.

He guided your dripping pussy right over his cock, rubbing the swollen head between your slick folds teasingly.

“Dizzy…” you whispered weakly against Jisung’s neck, your voice soft and breathy. You managed to wrap both arms around his shoulders, clinging to him tightly as the room continued to spin.

Jisung cooed at you softly, his tone dripping with fake sweetness and lust.

“Aww, my poor baby’s so dizzy,” he murmured, one hand gently caressing up and down your bare back while the other gripped your hip. “It’s okay… I’ve got you.”

He slowly guided you down onto his cock, the thick head pressing against your soaked entrance. Inch by inch, he eased you lower, stretching your tight walls around him.A shaky, high-pitched moan slipped from your lips as he filled you up. “Ahh… 's so big…”

Jisung groaned deeply, his fingers digging into your soft hips. “Fuck… so tight. You’re squeezing me so well, baby.”

He kept going until he bottomed out inside you, your ass flush against his thighs. He held you there for a moment, letting you adjust to his size while his hand continued stroking your back soothingly.

You murmured and babbled something on his neck that he doesn't understand. “It's okay, baby. I got you. I'll take care of you, yeah?”

Jisung took full control. His hands slid down to your waist, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slowly lifted you up until only the swollen tip of his cock remained inside your tight pussy.

Then, with one smooth, powerful motion, he slammed you back down hard, burying his entire length deep inside you.

“Ahh—!” you cried out loudly, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as a sharp moan tore from your throat.Jisung groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your chest. “Fuck… so tight.”

He didn’t rush. He kept the pace slow but devastatingly deep, lifting you up almost all the way off his cock, then slamming you back down onto him with controlled strength. Every thrust made sure you felt every single inch stretching you open.

“Ji—! Ahh…” you moaned breathlessly, your voice shaky and broken with every slam. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your body bounced on his lap.

He continued the slow, heavy rhythm — lifting you up, repeating the action over and over while your walls flutter around his length, slammjng you down on his lap from time to time, making your ass slap against his thighs with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of your soaked pussy taking his cock filled the room.

Each thrust punched a broken moan out of you.

“Jisung—! Ahh… fuck…” you whimpered loudly, your head buried in his neck, arms shaking around his shoulders.

He gripped your waist tighter, controlling every movement as he fucked you deep and steady. His lips brushed against your ear, voice low, dark, and dangerously sweet.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” he murmured, slamming you down particularly hard. “Tell me. Say ‘It feels so good, Ji.’”

You only moaned in response, too hazy and overwhelmed to speak properly.

Jisung suddenly stopped moving, holding you still with his cock buried deep inside you. The lack of friction made you whine desperately.

“No… no, please—” you begged, trying to move your hips. He chuckled darkly against your ear, and gripped your hips tight, stopping you from moving.

“Uh-uh. Use your words, y/n.” His voice turned firmer, more commanding. “Tell me it feels good. Say ‘Your cock feels so good inside me, Ji.’ If you don’t… I’ll stop right now and leave you empty and aching.”

You shook your head frantically, panic mixing with the overwhelming need.

“I-it… It feels so good…” you whispered shakily, voice trembling. “Your cock feels so good inside me, Ji… Please don’t stop…”

Jisung smirked and rewarded you by lifting you up again and slamming you back down, but this time he's fucking into you faster.

“Good girl,” he praised, groaning at how tightly you clenched around him. “Now tell me… whose pussy is this?”

Your eyes rolled at the back of your head, hand gripping his hair. You whimpered pathetically, hips twitching.

“Yours…” you moaned loudly, embarrassment burning your cheeks even through the alcohol. “It’s your pussy, Ji… Please—”

Jisung’s eyes darkened as he watched you fall apart on his cock, desperately agreeing to every filthy thing he said. He finally decided he was done holding back.

“Fuck this,” he growled under his breath.In one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around you and flipped you onto your back on the bed. You let out a surprised gasp as your back hit the soft mattress. Before you could even catch your breath, Jisung hovered over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.

He looked down at you with pure hunger, his chain dangling above your face.

“I'm done playing nice for now. I fucking need you wrapped around my cock,” he muttered, voice rough.

He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his waist, then pushed his thick cock back inside you in one deep thrust.

“Ahh—!” you moaned loudly, your back arching off the bed.

Jisung didn’t waste any time. He immediately picked up the pace, fucking you harder and faster than before. The slow, controlled thrusts were gone. Now he was pounding into you with deep, relentless strokes, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

You cried out, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He leaned down closer, his hips snapping against yours relentlessly. Every thrust pushed you further up the bed.

“You like that?” he taunted, breathing heavily. “You like when I fuck you like this? Tell me.”

He slammed into you particularly hard, making your eyes roll back.

“Say it,” he demanded, not slowing down even for a second. “Tell me you love getting fucked like a whore.”

His pace was brutal now, fast, deep, unforgoving. The bed creaked loudly beneath you as he fucked you into the mattress, completely unrestrained.

Jisung kept pounding into you relentlessly, his hips snapping against yours with deep, powerful thrusts. The sound of skin slapping wetly filled the room, mixed with your loud, broken moans.But he was losing control fast.

“Fuck… baby,” he groaned, voice strained. His rhythm started to falter as pleasure coiled tight at the base of his spine. “You feel too fucking good… so tight and wet around me.”

He tried to hold back, but it was useless. Every time he buried his cock deep inside you, your warm, slick walls hugged him perfectly. The way your pussy clenched and fluttered around him was driving him insane.

“I’m not gonna last…” he rasped, breathing heavily against your neck. “Your little pussy is squeezing me so hard—shit, I’m gonna cum inside you.”

You were right there with him, trembling violently beneath his body.

“Ji—! Jisung!” you cried out loudly, your voice cracking. “I’m cumming—! Ahh!”

Your walls suddenly clenched tight around his cock as your second orgasm hit you hard. Your back arched sharply off the bed, a loud, shameless moan tearing from your throat while your pussy pulsed and gushed around him.

That was all it took.

“Fuck—!” Jisung groaned deeply, his hips stuttering.

With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard inside you. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy, filling you up as he kept grinding into you, riding out his orgasm with shaky breaths and low groans.

He stayed buried deep inside you even after he finished, both of you panting heavily. His body trembled slightly as he pressed his forehead against yours, still twitching inside your cum-filled pussy.

“Shit…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Jisung stayed buried deep inside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his head and stared down at your face, his dark eyes drinking in every detail.

Your eyes were closed, lashes resting against your flushed cheeks. Your lips were slightly parted, still swollen from his kisses. Soft, uneven breaths left you as your body slowly relaxed underneath him.

He watched you intently, waiting for your eyes to flutter open… but they didn’t.

Instead, your face slowly softened even more—all the tension melting away as your head lolled slightly to the side. Your body went completely limp in his arms.

Jisung blinked.

“…Baby?” he murmured, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

No response.

A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips as realization hit him. You had passed out. The combination of alcohol, overwhelming pleasure, and your low tolerance had finally knocked you out cold.

He stayed still for a moment, before slowly pulling out, and laying beside you so he could stare at your peaceful sleeping face properly.

“Fuck…” he whispered, a slow, hungry smirk spreading across his lips. “You really passed out on me?”

He gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb, his gaze darkening with a new wave of desire .Instead of feeling disappointed, something twisted and possessive bloomed in his chest. Having you like this, flushed, marked, filled with his cum, and completely unconscious beneath him, only made him crave you more.

He had finally tasted you… and now he was addicted.

Jisung leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss on your forehead, then whispered against your skin.

“Sleep well, my pretty girl.” His lips found the curve on your neck and sniff against your scent there. “Because when you wake up… I’m nowhere near done with you.”

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His gaze drifts over you then, slowly, completely unapologetic. Starting at your face, sliding down the line of your shoulders, lingering along the curves of your body.

He takes his time checking you out, letting the silence between you gradually turn into tension.

By the time his eyes meet yours again, you're done laughing, and there’s a small, confident smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Wanna bet?"

Before you can say another word, his arm (singular) sweeps under your legs in one quick motion. A surprised, high-pitched gasp leaves your lips as the world tilts, and you instinctively throw your arms around his neck to hang on tight. Suddenly you’re in the air, balanced bridal-style in the crook of his right arm. He’s holding you easily, as if you weigh nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"You were saying?"

Your breath quickens as you stare up at him.

God, he’s handsome. And smart. And tall. And perfectly proportionate.

Strong, warm, the perfect amount of cocky but never in a way that makes you feel small. If anything, the way he looks at you makes you feel like the most important person in his life. Like he’s proud to be holding you.

Your fingers brush lightly against the back of his neck, absentminded and affectionate.

“Wow,” you breathe, the word slipping out in a shaky exhale. “I guess I was wrong this whole time.”

“About what?”

“About you,” you say, voice gentler now, “and about me.” Your arms tighten a little around his neck as you bring yourself closer to him, a content and happy sigh when his nose nuzzles yours. When you smile, it feels like fireworks going off inside his stomach.

“I’m perfect just the way I am. No matter my weight.”

“Exactly,” Changbin murmurs, leaning a little closer.

“I finally see myself the way you see me.”

“Exactly.” His nose crosses yours, eyes closing and lips tingling with anticipation.

“And now that I do, we should have sex.”

“Exact—” His eyes pop open, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

“We should have sex.” You smile at him like this is the most obvious conclusion in the world. “Because you've been secretly in love with me since the day we met, haven't you?”

“I have, but…hold on, how do you know that?”

You just hum softly in response, a fond little sound that makes it very clear you’re not going to explain. Instead, you press your palm to his shoulder and give him a gentle shove.

Suddenly, he’s falling back onto your living room couch, a surprised grunt leaving him as the cushions—

Hold on, since when was he in your apartment?

Before he can finish his thought, you’re climbing over him, settling across his lap just like you did before. Same black lingerie, same stockings, same mini skirt riding up your thighs.

“What are you…?”

“Shh,” you whisper into his ear, “just let it happen.”

He doesn't have time to question when your mouth finds his neck, and whatever protest he might have had dies instantly.

His hands react before his mind can catch up, sliding to your waist and tightening there as your lips brush along his skin, impossibly warm and soft. The touch sends tremors down his spine.

Your fingers drift lower, gliding slowly down the center of his chest, each inch of movement leaving his nerves buzzing. By the time they reach the button of his jeans, his sanity is all but gone, his whole body tense with anticipation.

Your hand slips beneath his waistband, the heat of your palm making his breath hitch. Changbin’s head falls back against the couch, a low groan spilling from his throat as your fingers curl around him.

His eyes squeeze shut, every goosebump on his body coming to life as your grip tightens just enough to make his hips twitch beneath you and—

Your name tears from his throat in a startled gasp as he bolts awake.

A dark ceiling. A fan circling above his head. A gentle hum coming from his mini fridge in the corner.

He's in bed – alone. As to be expected at 4am on a week night.

Changbin just stares at nothing for a long second while reality settles back into place.

“Damn it…”

He drags a hand down his face, but then freezes. Because his other hand is currently inside his sweatpants.

He sighs heavily and pulls it out, flopping it against his mattress in defeat.

This isn’t even surprising anymore, honestly. He's been waking up in similar situations for the last three nights now. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are again. In his dreams. On his lap. In his head. And apparently his subconscious has decided to stop being subtle about it.

Actually, this last dream felt so real, Changbin legitimately believed it for a second.

It’s been three days. Three whole days since you gave him a lap dance in your living room. Three whole days since he asked if he could kiss you. Three whole days since you scrambled off his lap and ran away like the apartment was on fire.

And he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for a single second.

Which is great. Fantastic, really. Because clearly you’re upset, and he isn't able to do anything about it.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits up in bed.

Of course, you’re upset! He crossed a line that obviously wasn't supposed to be crossed.

You were just trying to prove a point, and he was supposed to be helping boost your confidence, making you feel comfortable in your own skin. That was the whole deal. A friend helping a friend. Nothing complicated, nothing more.

Grinding on his lap? Totally fine.

Pulling his hair? Doesn't bother him one bit.

Kissing you? Apparently way too much.

He groans again, dropping back and accidentally slamming his head against his headboard like the unlucky idiot he is.

Everything is ruined.

His friendship with you is ruined because he can’t possibly pretend he doesn’t want you. And your friendship with him is ruined because he made you so unbelievably uncomfortable that apparently you can't even be bothered to text him anymore.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s been unbearably wound up since that night. Like…painfully so.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you. Exactly the way you looked that night.

Black lace hugging your waist. Those ridiculous little buckles circling your thighs. The sway of your mini skirt every time you took a step toward him. The slow, shy way you climbed onto his lap, and then when you finally, finally settled on top of him.

Your fingers twisting in his hair. Your chest against his chest. Your hips dragging over his lap. Your little sounds every time he pulled you down harder.

But the best part by far was the way you seemed to know exactly what you were doing to him. There was this confidence in you that he'd never seen before. Not demeaning or uncertain, but bold and sexy. You moved against him like you were perfectly pleased with the kind of mess you were making of him.

And fuck, he wanted to be a mess for you.

The memory keeps going, each detail sharper than the last, until his body reacts before he can stop it.

Changbin groans and rolls over, shoving his face into his pillow like it might smother the images out of his head.

It doesn’t work. If anything, closing his eyes just makes you clearer.

It's not like he hasn't tried to deal with his problem. He has! Multiple times.

But apparently his brain is determined to sabotage him, because every attempt at taking care of himself just turns into another vivid replay of you grinding against him, but nothing he does accurately mimics what that felt like.

So now he’s stuck in this miserable limbo where he feels like the worst friend alive and also desperately, hopelessly wants to see you again.

He reaches for his phone.

This is a terrible idea. A truly horrible idea. But the thought of allowing this awkward era of silence between the two of you to stretch on and on and on, potentially never talking to you again?

Definitely worse.

He opens your text thread and stares at the message box for a long moment.

[binnie] Hey

He thinks for a second. Then adds…

[binnie] Hey…are we okay?

His thumb hovers over the send button. It's not the best of texts, he knows that. But his 4am horny and alone brain can't think of anything else right now. He exhales slowly and sends it.

The message shows as read, but nothing from you immediately comes up.

No typing bubble. No reply. Just the quiet hum of his apartment and the dull thud of his heart somewhere in his throat.

He tosses his phone onto the mattress beside him and presses the heels of his hands into his tired eyes.

“Good job, dumbass,” he mutters to himself.

Five seconds later, his phone buzzes.

Changbin practically dives for it. Your name lights up the screen, and his stomach drops.

[y/n] we're ok

That’s it? No emoji. No reassurance. No details. Just a vague, anxiety-inducing two word text that does little to convince him you're being truthful.

He watches the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less ominous if he reads them enough times.

They don’t.

[binnie] Can we talk?

[y/n] sure

Good. That’s what he wanted, isn’t it? To talk. To clear the air. That’s what he's supposed to do in this situation, right?

So why does his stomach suddenly feel sick?

Probably because he knows what you're going to say.

You’re going to tell him you felt uncomfortable. That you value your friendship with him and want to keep boundaries normal. You’re going to say it would be better if he didn’t blur lines like that again.

And it's not that he doesn't want to hear how you're feeling. He does. He wants to get everything out in the open. But he can’t force you to feel the way he feels. He can’t insist you should have let him kiss you. He can’t pour his heart out when it’s clear you don't feel the same way. If he wants to keep you in his life at all, he has to tread carefully.

He types a reply…

[binnie] When should I come over?

[y/n] whenever. im not sleeping tonight.

His stomach twists again.

Not sleeping? Are you sick? Did he really cause you so much discomfort that you can't even sleep?

Great. Now he feels like real shit.

[binnie] Okay. Be there in a bit.

But first, a shower.

::

The drive over feels shorter than usual, which is unfortunate because it gives Changbin almost no time to figure out what he’s actually going to say when he sees you.

Part of him wants to address it head-on, rip the bandaid off even if it burns for a moment afterwards, so things can start healing sooner than later.

But if he knows you at all, he knows that’s not how you handle things. You’ll take the long way around, circle the topic a dozen different ways before you ever land on it. Confrontation has never really been your thing, and he respects that because he respects you.

But he also knows himself. And he knows it's gonna be a struggle to hold himself back.

Outside your door, Changbin stops short. Normally, he would’ve just walked right in. He’s done it a hundred times before without thinking twice. But tonight he hesitates, hovering near the handle before slowly pulling back. He lifts his knuckles and knocks.

He braces himself for the inevitable. Awkwardness. Distance. Maybe a little bitterness. Or even worse, that polite smile you give people after you've already internally decided to cut them off.

Instead, you answer the door wearing pajamas. Which, logically, makes sense. It’s almost 5am. Of course you’re in pajamas.

The problem is your pajamas are silk shorts that barely reach the tops of your thighs and a loose T-shirt that looks suspiciously familiar.

Because he’s about ninety-nine percent sure that’s his shirt. The faded black one with the tiny cracked logo on the front that disappeared from his closet like two years ago. The one you swore you didn't take.

“That's my shirt.”

“Huh?” You glance down like you forgot what you were wearing, casually pulling at the material. “No, this is mine.”

No apology. No embarrassment. Just a small shrug before you step aside to let him in.

Changbin walks past you, trying very hard not to notice the way your silk shorts shift when you move. Or the way the hem of your his shirt brushes against the top of them.

Great. You're about to friend zone him while wearing his clothes. That feels unnecessarily cruel.

“Umm,” you say softly behind him as he toes off his shoes, “was the drive okay?”

He turns and gives you a small nod.

For a moment neither of you say anything.

Changbin can't help but study you, searching for any usual cues. Your smile, a teasing glint in your eyes, the little things that always give away what you’ve been feeling.

But for the first time, he can’t read you.

He wants to step closer, to wrap his arms around you or even just brush your hand, but your body language isn’t very inviting. So he holds back, letting the quiet sit between you both, desperate to know how you’ve been, but unsure if he's allowed to ask at this point.

Then you gesture vaguely toward the living room.

“Have a…seat…” Your voice dies the moment you realize exactly where you’re pointing.

The couch.

That goddamn couch.

Your hand freezes midair before closing and dropping awkwardly to your side.

You’re both just standing there. Staring at it. The silence stretches on for several moments, thick and painfully aware of itself.

Changbin can barely stand it. The bandaid is right there, just waiting to be ripped off. But you don't say anything, so he doesn't say anything.

Instead, he slips his hands into his pockets, pressing his lips together to keep from commenting. Whether you mean to or not, your thighs rub together when you catch him glancing at you.

And, yes, Changbin notices.

“Thirsty?”

His eyes dart away from your thighs, just a beat too late to be subtle. “What?”

“I mean, did you want something to drink?” you correct quickly, stumbling over your words as you realize how that first question probably sounded.

“Oh. Uh, sure.”

You turn away immediately, suddenly very focused on your mission to get him a beverage, ears burning as the embarrassment settles in.

Behind you, Changbin hangs his head to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s endearing, honestly, how flustered you get when your brain moves faster than your mouth.

You swing open the fridge and lean forward to peer inside, low-key hiding your face behind the door. Changbin leans against the counter, hands still in his pockets, watching you search the tiny fridge for an unconvincing amount of time.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it. You are masterfully avoiding the elephant in the room.

Following your lead is fine, he tells himself. But the urge to cut through the friendly avoidance and say what's actually on his mind keeps getting stronger.

“All I have is water. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You grab a bottle and toss it to him, not even willing to risk the chance of brushing fingers.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet of your kitchen, the only sound being the soft crack of the water bottle lid when Changbin opens it.

He tips it back, lifting his chin as he takes a long drink. Across the kitchen, he can feel your eyes on him when you think he’s not paying attention. It’s the most directly you’ve looked at him since he arrived.

So he keeps drinking.

Just to see how long you’ll keep staring. Just to see how many times your eyelids will flutter and your lips will part while watching his throat bob with each drink.

Then his eyes shift – and land on you mid-sip.

Your gaze snaps away instantly, your whole body reacting like you’ve just been caught committing a crime. Suddenly, the countertop is super fascinating. Truly groundbreaking stuff that requires your complete and total attention.

Changbin lowers the bottle slowly, fighting the urge to smile.

Ah, yes. Finally. He can read you again.

The way you shift your weight like you’re trying to decide where to stand. The brief glances that never quite last long enough to count as eye contact. The tight set of your shoulders.

It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable, just as expected. But not for the reason he anticipated.

You’re nervous around him in a way you’ve never been before. There's a faint flush creeping up your neck. Your thighs press together when you think he’s not looking. And that little hitch in your breath when your eyes meet for more than a second? Both adorable and very telling.

You’re trying to hide it. And doing a decent job, honestly.

But Changbin knows you too well. Right now? You’re flustered as hell.

But it's not just that. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, but he could almost swear…you’re a little turned on.

He can see it. Not in a mocking way, but rather he can sense the air around your body change. He can feel the effect he has on you, the way your body betrays any and every attempt at appearing normal.

Oh fuck, it's true. You’re all hot and bothered, and there’s no way to fully hide it. Every nervous shift, every stolen glance, every subtle shiver gives your true feelings away and ignites something in him he can’t ignore.

It's in his chest, twisting and pulling, insisting that he can’t just stand here anymore. He can’t keep letting the tension sit like some invisible wall between you two.

He’s done waiting. The bandaid is coming off one way or another. If he doesn’t act now, he might never get the chance to.

“Listen, about the other night—”

“Okay, you got me. I lied. It is your shirt. I know what you’re about to say, but it’s not my fault. Stealing runs in my family. Remember my Uncle Lee? Forty years and that was on good behavior.”

“Stop.”

“Just be grateful it was only your shirt.”

“Stop.”

“Fiiine, your Supreme hoodie is also in my closet. But I'm not giving it back! Anyway, I got soy sauce on it and the stain won't come out, so—”

“___, stop.”

Your shoulders jerk, heart flipping, guilt prickling across your chest and written all over your face. You know he sees right through you and your antics. This time, he won't let your deflecting humor cover this one up or push him away.

“We need to talk about what happened that night.”

You look away. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” His voice is soft and patient, but the edge of insistence is definitely there.

You say nothing, just watch the opposite wall with your lip caught between your teeth.

It’s subtle at first. The way he stands a little closer than necessary, like he’s giving you space but also closing in on your defenses, kindly tearing down your walls.

The walls you keep so carefully in place, built with deflection, humor, and avoidance. They start to splinter under the quiet weight of his presence. Not forced. Not rushed. Just persistent. Willing to stand there for as long as it takes, waiting for you to let him in.

It’s unsettling. Because no one does this to you. No one gets this far.

But Changbin does.

And lately, that thought has been sitting heavier on your heart than you know what to do with. Because ever since that night, there’s been this quiet, gnawing fear you can’t shake. This feeling that maybe you’ve been holding back too much. That maybe you haven't been honest enough.

That eventually he’s going to decide you’re not worth the effort after all.

That he’ll get tired.

That he’ll leave.

The thought tightens something deep in your chest, sharper than you expected.

“Because,” you admit, “I’m scared it’ll change things between us.”

Changbin’s fingers hold your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. “Why does that have to be a bad thing?”

You gaze up at him, heart thudding in your ears. “Run as fast as you can,” it tells you, “before he leaves you first.”

But you don’t want to leave. You don’t want to go back to being someone people only ever get halfway to. You don’t want to be alone.

He’s looking at you like you’re something special. Something beautiful. And that’s the problem. You’ve never really seen yourself that way. So accepting the way he looks at you feels almost impossible, like trying to step into a version of yourself you’ve never believed in.

“I'm sorry.” A small, ashamed apology that makes his heart clench.

“For what?” he asks gently.

“I don’t know. I just feel like I should be.”

“If you’re apologizing for being sexy, please don't.” His hand pulls away from your chin to instead rub the back of his neck. “I’m the one who crossed the line when I asked for a…you know.”

“A kiss?” you finish for him, easing out of his space as you fall back against the counter, palms braced behind you, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “You didn’t cross a line.”

“I didn't?”

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head. “I was the one grinding on you and pulling your hair anyway,” you add quietly, gesturing between the two of you. “When two people are doing stuff like that, it’s natural to want to kiss.”

“Did you want to?”

You swallow, feigning ignorance. “Did I want to what?”

“Kiss me.”

“I don't know.”

“I think you did.” He takes his time closing the distance, giving you the chance to move or stop him. But you don't. So his hands settle on the counter behind you, one on either side of your hips, leaning into you. “Do you want to now?”

Your body reacts first – chest dipping and rising with deeper breaths, knees drawing closer together, lips parting slightly as you stare up at him, fingers twisting nervously into the fabric of your shirt.

It would be so easy to call you out right now, and you know it. The way you’re breathing, the way you keep looking at his mouth, the way your whole body starts instinctively leaning in too, until there's barely an inch of space left between you.

But then you back away again. “Sorry.”

“You know, you keep apologizing, but you're not actually apologizing for what happened,” he says. “I don’t regret it. And if I had to guess…neither do you."

Without answering, your eyes quietly drop to his lips. And this time, they stay there.

Almost immediately, as if on command, Changbin leans in, the movement so subtle you might have missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely. His chin edging forward, his head tilting just enough to line up with yours, his eyes beginning to flutter closed.

But he stops just short, a quiet, eager breath slipping past his lips as he waits, giving you space and time to meet him halfway.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Are you going to friend zone me?”

“We’re friends,” you say automatically. “Aren’t I supposed to?”

“No.”

“Then what should I do?”

His hands settle lightly on your waist, barely more than a brush, but enough to draw you a small, pleading inch closer.

“You should kiss me.”

You don’t even know what happened in those next fleeting moments. Only that one second he’s looking at you like his world has stopped, and the next your lips are crashing into his.

Changbin melts. Instantaneously.

The moment you collide, his mouth opens to yours without hesitation, pulling you closer, deeper with every hungry motion. He doesn’t pause to wait for you to catch up or adjust; he just kisses you like he’s always wanted to, letting every craving and desire he’s held back spill into the press of your lips.

Sparks explode behind his closed eyes, fireworks in his chest, traveling through his body and popping in his stomach. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and up the back of his neck, wherever your hands roam. A shiver runs through his body that makes his bones vibrate. His skin feels electric, like glitter dusted over every nerve ending.

But his mind…his mind goes completely blank.

In this moment, nothing else exists but you, him, and the way every fiber of his body is alive with you.

His hands slide around to your waist, catching in the fabric of your shirt as it rides up along your ribs with each pass of his hands. He pulls you flush against him, guiding you without a word until your legs part naturally around his thigh, your hips settling against it like your body already knows where it wants to be.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tightening on instinct every time his thigh flexes beneath you. The movement sends sharp, electric pulses through you, little flashes of heat that leave your hips chasing the feeling, wanting more of him in every way he’ll give it.

He acts on instinct, in response to every inch of you. The sensation of your hips rolling against his thigh, your tongue drawing past his lips, your fingers in his hair. It’s enough to make something restless unfurl inside him, tension winding tighter with every second.

Because as much as he’s unraveling for you, there’s a strong pull to see you unravel too. To be the one who does that to you.

And then your legs clamp shut around his thigh — hard. And the sound that leaves your throat nearly drops Changbin to his knees.

He stills for a moment when you jerk in his arms, body stiffening but also clinging to him. You don’t pull away, but your breath is uneven, lips hovering where they’re already searching to be kissed again.

And then he looks at you.

Holy shit, he’s never seen you like this before.

There’s a softness to you that you've never shown, something fragile in the way you hold onto him. But beneath that, something else flickers. Something stronger. Bolder. You’re stepping into something you’ve never let yourself be before.

It undoes him completely.

Maybe this is what it feels like to watch someone you already thought was everything…become even more.

He grips your waist and lifts you like it’s nothing, setting you on the counter with an ease that makes your breath catch. Before you can even steady yourself, he guides you to the edge, his hands sliding up your thighs, gently parting them so he can step in between.

You immediately grab his collar and pull him back into you. But he doesn't go for another kiss. No. Instead, he drops.

Down to his knees, sparkling eyes fixed on you the whole time, wordless but asking.

Your breath hitches as his hands settle on your knees. Not forceful. Just certain. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your knee first, and then looks up at you again.

Your fingers move to his hair without thinking, threading through it as you watch him.

Another kiss, higher this time. His lips linger at the center of your thigh. The faint press of his teeth follows, just enough to make you inhale sharply, leaving behind a mark that is quietly, unmistakably his.

He moves again, closer, your legs opening a little more under his touch. His hand spreads along your inner thigh, warm and grounding, holding you there as his mouth follows.

Each kiss is unhurried. Intentional. Dare you believe…even loving.

He’s mapping you out. Learning you. Savoring you.

There’s a low hum against your skin, almost absentminded, like he’s completely lost in it, like every inch of you is something worth pausing for.

And the way he looks at you from there — on his knees, between your legs, careful but sure.

It feels reverent. And absolutely terrifying.

Your hand tightens in his hair, body going tense as he moves in slowly, the warmth of his breath and faint brush of his lips slipping through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.

A gentle kiss…

“Changbin…” you breathe, fingers tightening just a little more. “Wait.”

He stops instantly.

Looks up at you, and what he sees has him on his feet in the next second.

There are tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. No.” Shyly, you pull your shirt down between your legs, covering the inside of your thighs as your gaze lands anywhere but on him. “I’m just…”

You’re overwhelmed.

How can he look at you like that? How can he worship your body like that? What’s there that's even worth worshipping? No one has ever treated you like this. Not even you.

So to have someone like Changbin kneel for you, the combination of it all sends your heart and body into a frenzy of gnawing self-criticism you don't know how to control.

Years of doubting yourself, of quietly believing you weren’t enough, keep threading through your mind, stopping you from fully sinking into this moment.

You don’t want to hover halfway, caught between fear and desire. You want to let yourself fall completely into his hands, into his lips, into everything he’s giving you.

But you're not quite sure how to do that. And you're not quite sure how to tell him that.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need you to. Understanding softens his expression, and Changbin’s hand moves to stroke your hair. No questions. No blame. He already knows.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Your shoulders loosen just a fraction. Your hands drift up his chest, settling around him, and you press your face into him for a moment, breathing in his warmth that seems to steady you.

“I'm sorry.”

“I told you,” he murmurs, “you don’t need to apologize for anything.”

He pulls back just enough to capture your lips again, hand cupping your jaw gently.

But this kiss isn’t like the last one. It’s slow but firm, and laced with a yearning that feels deeper. He presses you into his chest, aligning every inch of you to him, inhaling like he’s trying to draw your very essence into himself.

When he finally releases you, it's almost like his whole body sighs in relief, while you’re genuinely sad that his lips have left yours.

He rests his forehead against you, lingering there just long enough for your pulse to spike and your mind to start turning to mush.

“I…”

Your heart starts hammering. Somewhere deep inside, you realize you’ve started holding your breath, wondering how he’ll finish that sentence. And, more dangerously, wishing he would end it a certain way.

“I…I’m okay with waiting. So don’t worry about me,” he says softly.

“Oh,” you whisper, caught between a rush of relief and the sting of disappointment. “Thank you.”

“Wanna watch a movie but get distracted and start making out halfway through?” Changbin adds with a sly, almost comical wink.

You giggle, a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds fun.”

He lets go to set up the movie, leaving you perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging in an attempt to appear casual when he glances back at you.

Your gaze follows him, heart twisting as you wonder how you never noticed this side of him before – this mix of tenderness, patience, and heat.

But that tight clench in your chest? It aches from years of carrying so much self-doubt, and also the thought that you could really fall for him…if only your insecurities would let you.

As you jump off the counter and head for the living room, your eyes land on him – sitting on that goddamn couch, remote in one hand, the other invitingly tapping his lap.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel your insecurities start to give way to something more.

::

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pathetic, yes, but what else could he do? it's not like he had a nerdy girlfriend to study all day with, or one he could take out on dates, until he did. you. the prettiest girl on campus, permanently glossed lips, loved by all, and wanted by frat guys and hell—even some girls, for some reason dating him. the epitome of a nerd, han jisung, whos version of fun was studying for hours on end, or maybe some gaming here and there.

and yet, despite what everyone would think, he would still stay in the library studying for hours as if it were his humble abode. you'd think he would try to spend more time with you, get his nose out of whatever book he's reading and stay over at your dorm instead of his spot in the library—or at least study with you. but that specifically he insisted not to, stating his studies are a 'him' thing, hoping you wouldnt be offended.

because he was bullshitting.

the actual reason he's so adamant on not letting you study with him, or around him, is because your presence is enough to turn him on. he'd say he couldn't explain it, the reason your existence made his body go hot in all the right places and suddenly be unable to speak a coherent sentence when around you.

but when you begged to spend time with your boyfriend during his precious study time, he mentally sighed because he knew that with you and your nature, you wouldnt be sitting still for even 30 minutes before your attention strayed to how cute he looked writing notes with his tongue bitten between his teeth in concentration. and he wouldnt be able to shake off your sudden stares.

he tried his best, he'd have his noise cancelling headphones in. then, he'd look up at you and catch you already staring. smiling and batting your eyelashes at him. he'd turn away, trying to keep his eyes glued to his paper and read the words over and over again of his textbook to avoid your gaze so he didn't act like a virgin and catch a boner immediately.

that was until you had taken off one of his earplugs and he heard you purr his name. "sungiee, i'm bored." and the nickname did it for him, a tent slowly setteled uncomfortably in his pants. who could blame him, you'd speak in a sultry tone just to mess with him, and he'd fold.

internally cursing himself, jisung can't help but respond. "yes yes i know, but i need to finish this-," he'd not-so-quietly mutter, his tone coming off more aggressive than it should because he's becoming sexually frustrated by the second at the fact that this is happening. he looks at you immediately, realising how he sounded as he watched a pout form on your face.

"i'm so sorry baby, i didn't mean it, i promise," he'd apologise profusely, his expression now worried. but you weren't annoyed. you instead leaned in closer to him, placing a manicured hand dangerously close to the aching tent in his pants.

"i just wanted to talk to you, s'all," you'd smile sweetly, lying between your teeth as your hands fumbled with the waistband of his pants, clearly wanting to do something other than just 'talk to him'. "but we're in a library," he would protest, worried about getting caught, so you did the right thing and removed your hand. "you're right, you can keep studying."

he'd feel relived for just a second, before a twitch in his pants reminded him how much he desperately needed to get off, "no! i want to—just...please be quick"

for a second, he didnt even believe that he just uttered those words, though you were in the corner of the library, you could easily get caught, but right now the strain in his boxers mattered more, causing his voice to turn almost pitiful as he whines for you to touch him, and how could you not?

and here he was, proving his original protests not to bring you to study with him right, but that nerd would still put in the effort to continue studying with his cock getting jerked off. he would be writing on paper with a shaky hand, using the other to muffle his own whimpers. he couldn't help himself, the way that your hands wrapped itself around him so delicately, stroking him up and down just right caused him to let out a whine. "f-fuckkk", he'd mewl, his mind beginning to grow hazy, completely fixated on the sensation that made his tip flush.

truly, the way he found himself in this situation is pitiful. he couldn't read the words on his page if he tried, his glasses now fogging up, almost falling off his face due his heavy breathing, the rise and fall of his chest growing more fast paced with every pump each heartbeat matching the throbbing of his cock against your fingers.

"shh, we're in a library, you wouldn't want us to get caught, would you?" you would playfully tease him, adjusting his glasses back onto the top of his nose bridge reminding him of his previous statement before he consented to this mess. he frantically shook his head, babbling, "n-no, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, please keep going—"

you would oblige with a giggle, jerking him off faster with both your hands, lewd sounds of your hands slapping against his abdomen would reach his ears and he'd lose it, your thumb swiping over his drooling tip making him buck his hips into you, chasing his high desperately. "mhmm, please, pleasepleaseplease mommy, i'm gonna-"

his back arched as hot, thick streams of white fluid coated your fingers, some shooting up to the corners of his textbook. "mhm, there you go," you'd sweet talk him through his orgasm, his head thrown back in bliss as he tried to catch his breath.

you wiped the fog off of his glasses as you planted a sweet kiss onto his cheek. making him smile at the contact, still recovering, until his eyes widened when they landed onto his textbook, now decorated with white spurts of his cum. and you'd just snicker as he whined about his ruined work. what a nerd.

but you'd have a bigger problem on your hands, which would be the library's camera glaring down at you, one that caught a perfect angle of what you were doing just seconds ago.

a/n: me and my nerdsung agenda against the world fr

with a sigh he gets out of the bed carefully, he took a pill container that was on the night stand without thinking about it–it's practically a reflex by now, minho can't remember why he is taking them in the first place anymore all he know is that his members told him that he needs them. he went down stairs to the kitchen filling a glass of water to take his pills, as he was busy watching the glass be filled he heard the water running from the sink and you were standing by it washing your face, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he looked at you “weren't you sleeping just now?” he asked looking at the stairs, the sound of the sink water stopped suddenly, making him look back at you quickly, you turned around to him with a smile “i came down behind you, didn't you see me?” he titled his head “..no?” before you could answer his glass was pouring down shifting his attention again, he took the glass away cursing under his breath at the spilled water.

he took his pill and walked beside you “i don't know what's happening today, i feel so confused by everything” he said looking down at his hands in confusion, “maybe you're just tired, you need to rest minho.” he looked at you with the same confused expressions as you said that–for a few minutes he just stood like this looking at you “...i missed you.” he said suddenly and as if realizing what he said his eyes widened and he looked around like he was uncertain of something “why did i say that?” he muttered to himself. “it's your turn to make breakfast today.” he snapped out of his dazed state when he heard your voice ring in the apartment “yeah, coming.”

at the practice room minho felt much better, he didn't feel any weird feelings there but instead his members were the weird ones. he was sitting down after a long hours of dance practicing, all of the practice stress and frustration melted away whenever he was talking to you, which he is doing now. bangchan walked in the room to get a bottle of water and saw minho smiling softly at his phone “hey there leeknow-ah, what are you doing?” bangchan asked him with the same smile, “talking to y/n.” minho replied without taking his eyes away from the screen “oh..” at the sound that came out of his friend minho looked up to see chan looking at him with some kind of pity “what's up with this look?” he asked suspiciously. suddenly seungmin, who was sitting quietly in the room, got up and looked at chan in frustration before walking out and slamming the door behind him loudly, “um nothing,” chan said nervously “I'll go check on seungminie, yeah? you take care.” he said quickly and then walked out leaving a very confused minho behind, with a frown he returned to his screen only to see you were no longer online, how did you disappear so fast?

even after a few hours, that they finished the dance practice and now were recording their new song, you still didn't reply back to him, and when he went to check up your chat suddenly all of your replies of the past hour have been deleted, why would you delete them? he grew more worried as the minutes ticks by, he made more mistakes than usual because he couldn't focus. “let's try again.” changbin said as he got ready for minho to do another take, but as minho put his headphones on he caught a glimpse of someone walking by the recording room–someone that looks exactly like you–and without hesitation he ran out of the room to catch up to you. when he went out the door the hallway was empty, no one was walking left or right, bangchan and changbin looked back at minho who stood frozen by the door, concern was evident on their faces “minho?” bangchan called out to him softly, “hm?” minho kept looking around as he hummed in response, “is everything okay?” he didn't answer right away, taking a last look around before turning back to them “i thought i saw y/n…” he mumbled, bangchan and changbin exchanged a concerned look “i think we worked really hard today, how about we wrap up at this?” changbin suggested with a smile that looked too forced. so they all wrapped up and went to their dorms–before bangchan exited he patted on minho's shoulder with the same pity look he had earlier and this moment stuck with minho the entire way to your shared house, he couldn't figure out what was wrong about today, everything seemed like a fever dream and nothing made sense to him at all, his brain was all foggy the entire time, and you…what was going on with you?

the house was all dark when he entered–tunring the lights on he started searching for you around the house but you were nowhere to be found “y/n?” he called out, stepping into the bedroom that was empty as well. he took his phone–you still hadn't replied to his messages, and when he called you it went straight to voicemail..strange. with a sigh he sat down on the bed, maybe you were out with your friends, you always get carried away when you're with them, he lied down and decided to wait for you, without realizing it he fell asleep because of exhaustion.

minho woke up in the middle of the night when he felt someone caressing his head, with eyes half open he looked up to see you smiling softly down at him “you're back..?” his mind still feels heavy with sleepiness as he mumbled groggily “minho..” he heard your voice ring softly “mm” his eyes closing on their own at the feeling of you playing with his hair “you have to snap out of it” your voice still held the same warmth and softness in it despite the weird things you're saying, his eyebrows furrowing as he turns on his side, taking your hand in his “what are you even saying,” he yawned “just come to sleep already.” he tugged at your hand for you lie down beside him, “no minho, look at me,” he felt your hand under his chin and he opened his eyes to look up at you “you have to move on.” “huh?” he felt anxiety and fear raising up in him but before he can say anything else he jolted awake, his breath ragged and chest tight. he found himself back alone in the dark empty bedroom, his vision getting blurry and his whole body felt like it was shaking, he lifted himself up with difficulty–at the same time reaching for the glass water jar on the nightstand but because he wasn't looking at where his hand is going he accidently knocked it off causing it to shatter on the ground, the water in it made a puddle on the ground that the longer minho starred into it the more he felt like he was going to throw up.

he remembers it vaguely.

the sound of laughter filling the space before a loud brakes sound broke it, he remembers being cold to the point of not feeling the pain in his body, it was hard to breath–what was surrendering him? he remembers a glimpse of a shadow beside him, who was it? he reached for his phone frantically, looking through the contacts names with shaking hands and calling the first familiar name he saw that wasn't yours, he didn't wait for the person to talk when his call was answered “i don't feel good, can you come?” his voice came out choked, he couldn't even hear himself and he doesn't know if the other person heard what he said or just realized something was wrong from how weak his voice sounds right now, alas he felt a little better when the person said he'd be here.

“no minho i don't like it” you giggled as you changed the song on the radio again, you two were driving home from a date and for the past fifteen minutes you've been fighting over what song to play in this rainy weather, “well, it's perfect for this kind of weather.” he changed it back to his choice, “it's a sad song!” you whined, reaching again for the radio but he caught your hand mid air and intertwined your fingers together so you can't pull away, “exactly. it's perfect” he said it like it was a fact, “rain isn't sad” you pointed at the drops of water on the windows “it's beautiful.” you said in a mesmerizing tone, he glanced at you and a small smile crept on his face as he saw the admiring look in your eyes “fine, play what you want.” he let go of your hand and you happily went to the radio changing the song to a slow romanticised one. for a few minutes you two sat in a comfortable silence listening to the song.

today is perfect

it was a day off for minho and you two spent most of it together, at the early morning you made breakfast together, then when you went to your work he had an alone time with his cats–perfectly uninterrupted, after that he took you on a simple date for dinner and everything went smoothly, now you were going back together to your home, maybe he'll make you sit for cuddling and watch a silly movie that you'd make fun on most of it. he couldn't ask for anything else, it's the most perfect, flawless life he has, something he didn't even dream about.

“minho!” he snapped out of his thoughts when he felt you grabbing his arm tightly, and he saw himself driving into an opposite driving car, he quickly turned to the side–stepping on the brakes as the car started to spin, “shit” he cursed under his breath when the car went out of control, and then everything went black.

today was perfect

he couldn't feel anything when he woke up, his body was numbingly cold, water surrounding him making it hard to breath, he jolted when he realized that the car was sinking down, he looked at the side to see you out cold–blood coming out of you. with panic he hurried to open his seat belt, as soon as it was off he turned to you and opened yours, grabbing your arm as he swam up but he didn't make it out the window before you slipped out of his hands, he quickly turned back to you, this time wrapping his arms around you and pulled you again only to realize that your foot was stuck somewhere between the broken passenger door, he kicked at it, pulled you harder but it was in vain, and he started to feel himself losing his breath, his eyes growing heavy and his body losing strength, he felt his grip loosening and his legs starting to float, he was losing consciousness, his vision darkening, the last thing he remembers is reaching out for your hand one last time but his hand didn't reach you, and you were lost. leaving him in a loop of hallucinations because he simply couldn't comprehend the fact that you were gone out of his life forever.

“What about this one?”, you asked after pulling back the curtain.

Jisung looked at you for a second before his smile grew bigger.

“You look very pretty”.

Your shoulders slumped as you pouted. Of course, the compliment made you happy, but it wasn’t necessarily helping you with choosing an outfit.

“That like the fifth time you’ve said that”, you huffed but grinned when he pouted as well.

“Not my fault my girlfriend looks good in everything she’s wearing”, he cooed, leaning down a bit to press a quick kiss on your lips.

You shook your head at his stupid love struck words, but kissed him back. He was your stupid love struck boyfriend after all.

He had agreed to accompanying you to the mall and help you search for a new summer dress, but it turned out that he wasn’t helpful at all. Every time you showed him another one he would look at you with heart eyes and compliment you, not the outfit choice.

Maybe you just hadn’t found the right one yet, it had to be a dress that would make him swoon even more.

The next one had a floral print and a slit on the side, maybe that one would do the trick? But coming out of the stall, Jisung wasn’t standing in front of you. He wasn’t even looking at you. He was standing a few feet away, talking to one of the employees. She was obviously attracted to him, laughing at everything he was saying, even resting a hand on his arm.

It wasn’t his fault, it was his damn natural charm and cuteness, but you were still not having it. That was your man and yours only.

Without even wanting to get that agitated, you felt your anger bubble up. It was literally making your blood boil. A low growl was forming in your throat.

And with that, you stepped back into the changing cabin, getting out of that stupidly cute dress.

At this point, this was about revenge, you thought as you were looking into the mirror. You would show her that he was yours.

Mind blank because of raging jealousy, you took off your underwear as well.

“Jisung?”, you called out with a raised voice, “Can you help me with the zipper?”.

“Of course, my love”.

You snorted at the nickname he chose. Yeah, you would show him who he was in love with.

He pulled the curtain back just a bit to slip inside and when he looked at you, there wasn’t only love in those boba eyes. They were big with a lot of surprise in them, he was too stunned to speak. Jisung just stared at you in silence, lips parted.

You pulled him close before his body reacted any further or he realized that you were presenting yourself in your bare form while the only thing shielding you from literally everyone in this store was a layer of fabric.

With a swift motion you shoved him against the wall beside it. A little yelp was pushed out of his lungs, he held his breath.

“What are you doing?”, he whispered.

“Proving that you’re mine”, your fingers grabbed his hoodie, he whined.

“Huh?”.

His hands didn’t move, as if he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you like this in public.

“I saw you, you know”, your lips grazed his jaw, “With that woman. Do I need to put a leash on you so you’ll stay?”.

He shivered, literally trembling as he let his head fall back against the wall out of instinct to give you more room to kiss him there.

“Oh god”, another whimper.

“Was that a ‘yes’, baby?”, you cooed, “Want me to put a collar on you to show everyone who you’re belonging to?”.

His hands finally found your waist, holding onto you for dear life.

“Please stop”, he said softly, voice broken, but instead of pushing you away, he was squeezing you in his hold and urging you to get even closer.

One hand of yours got hold of his jaw, holding him in place while the other one sneaked under his hoodie. With a featherlight touch, you let your fingers dance over his abs, relishing in how much he was squirming against the wall because of it.

You bit into the skin right below his ear, pulling another whine out of him.

“That woman seemed to like you”.

“I- hahh- I didn’t do anything”, he replied immediately.

You grinned against his skin, placing another kiss to his throat before stepping back a bit. Jisungs eyes were glassy and big, the devotion in it basically screaming at you. God, you wanted to eat him whole if you could.

“I know baby”.

Jisung would never, he loved you dearly. And you were fully reciprocating these feelings, you just liked to tease him and he enjoyed it - you knew he liked to be handled a bit rougher.

So you palmed him through his pants, massaging him with a slow pace. The grunt he let out and the fact he already was involuntarily humping your hand encouraged you to grow bolder, to go even further and unbuckle his belt.

“No wait-!”, he stopped you mid motion, talking frantically, “You wanna do this here? But- I can’t, I-“.

You cupped his cheek, gently stroking it and he really fucking leaned into the touch. God.

“Can’t stay silent?”.

He shook his head, already breathing quicker.

You tongued your cheek, but then grinned widely.

“No problem”, you said, picking up your panties, “Open”.

The little moan he gifted you went straight to your pussy, watching him obeying you without words and opening his mouth so willingly made you throb. You shoved the fabric between his teeth, he bit down on the lace, his eyes fluttering shut.

“What a good boy you are”, you praised him, earning a muffled gasp.

You got back to your previous task, opening his pants and moving your hand past the waistband of his underwear to pull his dick out. Your hand wrapped around his shaft, feeling how he twitched immediately.

Jisungs hands were stroking you absentmindedly, as if they moved on their own - hovering over your spine and going down to your ass. His breath was ragged and came in quick huffs through his nose, face scrunched up in pleasure.

He was already leaking, you used your thumb to spread his precum over the head, he grunted.

“Does that feel good, baby?”, you smiled, giving him a few slow pumps.

The dark haired nodded weakly, too caught up in his bliss. You yanked him towards you by the collar of his hoodie, your lips met his throat again, biting the sensitive skin, sucking on it.

His taste was as sweet as ever, your tongue swiped over the angry red color. You grinned at the mark, satisfied how prominent it was, everyone would see it and know that he was taken. You didn’t care about the fact that fans could see it, they were all already suspecting that he was in a relationship.

You pulled him away from the wall some more, moving to his neck. He rested his head on your shoulder, slumping against you as he whimpered when you sunk your teeth in there too.

You felt his fluttering heartbeat and you were sure you both were synchronized. He clawed at you, holding onto you as if you could vanish any second.

“You’re doing so good, Ji. Want a reward?”.

Jisung sighed as soon as your hand was jerking him off a bit faster, nodding again.

You let go off him, guiding him to sit on the stool in the cabin. The glasses he chose to wear today were a bit wonky, all fogged up. You took them off, setting them aside so you could properly look at him. His face was reddened, jaw and throat littered with faint remnants of your lipstick, hickeys on the right sight of his neck. You grinned.

He reached out for you, eyes hazy like he was drunk. Spit was running down from the side of his mouth to his chin. He already looked so perfectly ruined, it turned you on so much you couldn’t wait anymore. Holding back now was not an alternative.

So you climbed onto his lap, straddling him and taking his face into your hands.

“Baby, when I remove your gag, will you be able to stay quiet?”.

He shook his head quickly, already trembling out of pleasure and a grunt coming up when the head of his cock got trapped against your clit.

You pouted, pressing a kiss against his sweaty temple. You decided to let things be like they were, scooting closer and guiding his dick to your entrance.

Jisungs whole body tensed up with the attempt to be quiet as he was sliding in so easily because of your arousal. You had to additionally press your hand over his gagged mouth to smother as much sound as possible. He was moaning so loudly, you were sure someone must’ve heard him. His eyes were silently begging, and it was not the kind of plea of asking you to stop.

When he looked at you like that, he wanted you to ruin him completely, he wanted to come apart and he wanted you to use him for your pleasure.

It sparked a fire inside you. As if this situation wasn’t already risky enough, he was also looking at you like that.

He bottomed out, his hands pushing your hips down as much as possible, letting you grind on him like this.

“Thaaats it, baby”, you praised him, your hand sliding down from his mouth to wrap your fingers around his throat, “Give me a sign when I can move, yeah?”.

Jisung huffed, closing his eyes for a second and letting his head fall back into his neck. He was twitching and pulsing heavily inside of you, his sensitive cock being stimulated so good by your fluttering walls.

He reached impossibly deep like this and you felt so damn full. The sensation made you sigh in satisfaction, the fingers of your hand that wasn’t currently holding him in place entangled in his soft hair. You combed them back, scratching his scalp gently because he was doing such a good job.

A hum rumbled in his chest, soft but deep and he pulled you closer, encouraging you to rock your hips back and forth.

You began slowly, rolling your body to test the waters and how well he actually would be able to keep his voice down. When you were sure he had accommodated to the intense feeling at least a bit, you decided to go quicker.

You squeezed the sides of his throat to enhance his pleasure and he actually whined so loud at this, for a second you thought that he had just reached his release. His body was jolting, he actively squirmed underneath you to meet your movements halfway, needily fucking up into you.

His saliva reached your hand. He made a mess out of you probably as much as you did to him, your arousal constantly present as your juices oozed out. It was messy, the wet sounds so sinful, it made you deaf to everything else around you. You kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck - you weren’t able to keep your lips off of him anymore.

You yanked your panties out of his mouth, a string of saliva connected him to it but you ignored it. You pulled him into a searing kiss, asserting more pressure on his windpipe as you hungrily swallowed whine after choked whine he let out.

You were drunk, high on adrenaline and serotonin and his lips seemingly being the source of your addiction. Jisung moaned into your mouth, your rough treatment giving him no other choice but to surrender. Not that he would ever complain though, but when his desperate sounds drove you into your orgasm and your walls clenched around him violently, he joined you.

Another squeeze on his throat made him choke on his grunt while he painted the insides of your pussy, filling you up so deliciously and throughoutly, it left you breathless.

You finally let him inhale, catching his breath shakily.

“You okay?”, you whispered, swiping over his chin to get rid of his spit there.

“Yes- yes, my love”, his voice was so broken, it made your heart jump, “Haahh, I-“.

He didn’t finish his sentence, he wrapped his arms around you and clung to you with all his strength left. The embrace grounded both of you, made you come down from whatever all of this was.

“Sorry, baby. This probably was a bit much, huh?”, you mused, stroking his back.

He shook his head.

“That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed”, he chuckled, still a bit hoarse, “Just don’t do that in public again, maybe? I mean, I would do it again, though. But I don’t think we’re allowed to come back here”.

You felt hot, the back of your head tingling with guilt but at the same time, you were still basking in your post orgasm afterglow, so you could only giggle at his answer.

Jisung watched you get dressed and you helped him to look like he hadn’t just been wrecked in a changing room, but you didn’t let him cover up those hickeys.

These were your pride and as you walked out with him, holding his hand while his face was red out of embarrassment, you couldn’t help but grin and wink at the employee he previously had talked to. She looked at you with a mixture of irritation and anger, obviously knowing what just had happened in there. But you didn’t care, you had won after all.

@isa-mi-aldini @rianzysworld @illsiren @simpdemon1 @babybutterballl @deaddcrow @burntbang @rory-cakes @straystar-8 @honeyyyy21 @karlee10261990 @aiyanotfound @alex-rabbit @angelstarsthings @pineapple-burgah @a2dkive @smuttaburger @st4rprincess @bangingchanxx @kloversung @staarflowerr @emmalabo @minniebitesfr @vernorica123 @imoosgnaj @ye0lkkot @aziaraei @geni-627 @alexeclipse18 @rafesbunniebby @ghost-cas @vxyselectric @spicypeppers143

in this world, no one ever truly celebrates their twenty-fifth birthday. they prepare for it, they fear it. they count down to it the way sailors counted the seconds between lighting and thunder - knowing something immense was already on its way, written long before they ever learnt how to speak their own names. 

from the time you were a child, you understood this. not because anyone explained it to you, but because the entire city moved around that truth like planets around the sun. 

fate is not romance here, it is law, and law does not care how your heart beats. 

the sky is everything. not the sky you glance at between classes or through your windows, not that thin and forgettable blue sky, no. the sky is scripture. the high observatory sits at the highest point of the city, carved into pale stone cliffs like a cathedral grown directly from the mountain. silver domes crown its towers, each engraved with constellations inlaid with gold dust. at night, the metal glows faintly, as though the heavens themselves are breathing against it. 

children are taught to bow their heads when passing the hill, and some even pray. because inside those domes live the high astrologers - men and women whose eyes are permanently stained silver from decades of staring into star maps and eclipses, and only them can read the sky, and the great atlas.

the great atlas. people never say its name casually. it isn’t truly a book, not in any ordinary sense. it is said to be enormous, older than the country itself. its pages are incredibly thin and they’re written in silver ink that shimmers faintly even in the darkness.

no one knows how many pages it has, no one has ever reached the end. every life is recorded there - every birth, meeting, love, and most importantly, every soulmate. because the atlas doesn’t predict, it declares and states. 

you remember the first time you saw a star reading ceremony. you had been eight and your cousin had just turned twenty-five, old enough to stop being just a person and start being a part of her prophecy. 

the whole family had dressed in white, because you are meant to arrive unmarked and unclaimed, as a blank page ready to be written upon. they brought offerings as petitions, as though sweetness and wealth might persuade the sky to be kind. 

the high observatory gates opened with a sound like stone grinding against bone and inside, the incense burnt constantly, sweet and suffocating. the ceiling of the main hall wasn’t a ceiling at all, it was open to the day and night. a perfect circular window cut into the roof so the stars could look directly down, because nothing could stand between heaven and the prophecy. 

your cousin had knelt in the centre, with her hands folded and her head bowed. you remember how small she looked, how frightened she was.

one of the astrologers had stepped forward, “state your name”

your cousin said her name and then, the astrologer looked at the constellation mark she had on her wrist, the one all of you get when you are born. the astrologer turned around and let his footsteps stitch him back into the astrologers circle, as all of them charted the sky as it was when your cousin was born and how it was that day.

they traced invisible lines between stars, whispering things under their breath, consulting the atlas, until the interpretation was complete, because the verdict had already been written before, it was her prophecy. your cousin would get married, your cousin’s future husband’s name and their marriage date were already written on the atlas.

no one asked her if she loved him, no one asked her if she even knew who he was. because wanting had nothing to do with it. 

soulmates are not chosen, they are assigned. 

people say it is a blessing, that divorce is nearly nonexistent and loneliness is rare. no one has to wander through life searching, because the sky has already done the searching for you.

but there are whispers too, quiet ones, dangerous. stories of people who met someone else before their ceremony, someone who made their heart beat fast and grow inside their chests, only to be matched with a stranger instead. there are stories of marriages that look perfect on paper but feel like winter inside. stories of people who tried to refuse. 

those stories always ended the same - disappearance, exile. those people are erased, because questioning the atlas isn’t rebellion, it is blasphemy. 

if the heavens wrote your love story, who were you to change it?

so everyone waited to turn twenty-five like it was the edge of a cliff. and you were getting closer, every birthday heavier than the last.

twenty-two.

twenty-three.

twenty-four.

your friends joked about it one night over drinks.

“maybe my soulmate is a billionaire”, one of them said laughing.

“mine better be tall”, said another.

you laughed too, but it sounded thin. because late at night, alone in your room, you sometimes thought about something you weren’t supposed to. 

what if the stars are wrong?

what if love is something you can’t calculate with the stars?

what if-?

you always stopped yourself there, because even thinking about that felt like treason. the sky was listening, it always was, and somewhere, inside that book, your name already existed beside your prophecy. 

written, permanent and inevitable.

your twenty-fifth birthday begins before the sun rises.

the house wakes in pieces around you, slow and careful, as floorboards creak in the hallway and water runs softly in the kitchen sink. a cupboard closes with deliberate gentleness, as though too much noise might shatter something fragile in the air.

you lie still beneath your sheets and watch the pale light gather at the edge of your bed. you have imagined this morning for years. you’ve always pictured yourself waking up with some sudden certainty, some divine clarity, as though the sky had already whispered the name of the person waiting for you somewhere in the world. 

instead, you only feel the quiet weight of being observed, as if the heavens lean close to you, as if they are counting. you press a hand to your chest and feel your heart beating fast, restless, like a bird caught indoors. 

when you step out of your room, you go to the kitchen and find your mum standing there, preparing breakfast. she glances at you when she hears you, and her face softens in that complicated way it has lately - proud and worried all at once, as though she is looking at both a child and an adult.

“you’re up early”, she says.

“i don’t think i slept much today”, you say.

she hums, “no one does on this day”

your dad sits at the table with his phone open, pretending to read. he scrolls without seeing as his tea grows cold beside him.

they are both trying very hard to act normal and it almost makes you laugh because this is not a normal day and it has never been, because for as long as you remember, your twenty-fifth birthday has never belonged to you. it belongs to the astrologers and the great atlas, and also, to whatever name waits beside yours. 

or so you believe. 

once you finish your breakfast, you go to your room and see that your clothes are folded neatly on the chair, waiting for you. white linen, long sleeves. simple and unadorned. you run your fingers over the fabric and it feels soft, almost gentle, which seems unfair for something that marks the end of a chapter of your life. when you finish getting ready, your mum walks into your room and smooths your clothes, her hands lingering on the fabric.

“you look beautiful”, she says softly.

“i look like everyone else”, you say.

“that’s the point”

you meet her eyes in the mirror and see the fear she tries to hide. it’s not fear of the ceremony itself, it’s fear of the unknown person who might take you away. because once the atlas names someone, everything moves quickly. engagements, weddings, families merging together, new lives beginning. 

“ready to go?”, she asks you and even though you’re not, you nod your head and leave your room, then all of you leave your house together.

the morning air is cool and thin. the sky stretches wide and pale above the rooftops, innocent and empty, as if it has not been orchestrating your lives since the beginning of time. you walk between your parents like you did when you were little and the people on the street notice the white clothes immediately. 

some offer you sympathetic smiles, others bow their heads in polite acknowledgement. an old woman selling flowers presses a rose into your hand and whispers, “may your stars be kind today”

you thank her, though kindness feels like a strange thing to expect from the sky, because the sky has never been kind, only absolute. 

the high observatory rises ahead and, even though you have seen this building all your life, today it feels enormous. your steps slow without meaning to and your dad notices and gently nudges you forward.

“it’s just a ceremony”, he says, “like your cousin’s. do you remember how nervous she was?”

you nod.

“and she’s happy now”, your mum says quickly, “see? it always works out. the sky knows what it’s doing”

you want to believe her, you truly do. so you just say, “i know”, and step inside.

the air smells thick with incense and old paper, and the main hall opens above you to a perfect circle of sky. the morning light pours down like water, illuminating the floor where countless people have knelt before you.

you see astrologers moving quietly in their robes, and other twenty-five year olds sitting with their families on the benches. all of them dressed in white, pale and waiting. the room feels like a train station where everyone knows their departure time but not their destination.

you sit between your parents, your knees shaking until your dad rests his hand over one of them to still you.

“breathe”, he says.

you try. you count the rise and fall of your chest like waves. one by one, names are called and each person walks to the centre. each of them kneels, says their names and shows their wrists. then the astrologers trace invisible lines, connecting stars and murmuring calculations as they consult the atlas.

some people return smiling through tears, others look stunned. one girl laughs and clutches her mum’s hands like she has won the lottery. every time someone comes back, your heart twists tighter and that happens until they call your name.

your mum squeezes your hand, “we’re right here”

you nod and stand up. your legs feel strangely light, as if you’re walking through water. when you reach the centre of the hall, you kneel exactly where your cousin once knelt, where all of those boys and girls have knelt before you.

three astrologers approach you, their faces unreadable.

“state your name”, one says.

“y/n”, your voice sounds steady, which surprises you.

“present your mark”

you push the sleeve back and reveal the faint constellation etched into your wrist, as one of them takes your wrist gently and studies the mark under the light.

they move to their previous seats and begin their work, their fingers moving through the air, connecting stars that only they can see, drawing invisible paths between the sky of today and the sky of your birth.

they murmur numbers, alignments, their voices blending in an almost soothing rhythm. you focus on that sound and imagine it means everything is normal, everything is fine. you will stand up soon with a name in your hands, you will go home and begin a new life. 

then the murmuring stops and the silence spreads slowly, like ink dropped into water. all three astrologers stare down at the chart - one frowns, another looks at the atlas on a stand. they turn the pages as your pulse quickens. something feels wrong. they check again, trace the lines one more time. their calm precision dissolves into confusion.

“recalculate”, one astrologer says.

“i did”, another says.

“that’s not possible”

your throat tightens, “is there a problem?”, you ask.

no one answers. more astrologers gather and they whisper urgently now, you can see the fear on their faces. the oldest among them finally steps forward, his hands trembling, and when he speaks, his voice carries through the hall.

“by the record of the great atlas”, he says slowly, “your prophecy reads-”

he pauses, as though the words resist him, then he reads.

“no star will claim her. she will walk the sky unbound. alone”

the words fall one by one, heavy as stones. you wait for the rest, there is always more. a name, a date, a place. but there is nothing.

“alone?”, you repeat faintly and he nods his head.

not widowed, not divorced, not heartbroken, simply alone, as if love had never been written for you at all. 

the hall remains perfectly still, the incense crackling softly somewhere in the distance. you hear someone inhale sharply and you feel as though the floor tilts beneath you.

“but everyone has someone”, your mum says from behind you, her voice shaking, “check again, please”

“the atlas does not err”, the astrologer says.

he sounds apologetic, helpless, as though the sky has betrayed him too. when you stand up, your legs barely obey you. people stare openly at you, whispers beginning to spread in small, horrified waves. 

“poor girl”

“no sign of soulmate”

“is that even possible?”

“how sad-”

their eyes follow you as you walk back to your family. some look at you with pity so intense it burns. some move away from you, as though your fate might rub off on them, as though loneliness is contagious.

your mum holds you tightly as your dad argues quietly with an astrologer, asking for reassessment, for clarification, for anything. but you already know, there is nothing to fix, nothing to appeal. the sky has spoken and for the first time in history, it simply… left someone out.

you walk out of the observatory under the wide, indifferent blue sky, feeling strangely transparent, like a space between stars. everyone else has a line that connects them to someone, a thread, a destination. you only have an empty sky, and suddenly, you are not a person awaiting love. you are a quiet scandal, a mistake in the heavens, a girl the stars forgot to claim, a target for the people’s whispers.

and you realise, with a cold and terrible clarity, that heartbreak would hurt less than this, because heartbreak meant you loved and lost. this means the sky never planned for you to love at all.

words spread the way frost spreads across a windowpane - quietly, slowly, until suddenly everything is covered. you do not see it happen, you only wake into it, because by morning, the world already knows.

you wake up the next day just like any other, which feels almost insulting. sunlight slips between the curtains of your room. your phone lights up on your nightstand and you see texts from your friends stack one after another.

‘are you okay?’

‘i heard what happened yesterday…’

‘text me when you wake up’

‘y/n, is it true what they’re saying?’

you stare at the screen for a long time then sigh. your fingers hover over the keyboard, but you cannot think of a single sentence that makes sense, because how do you explain that the sky itself rejects you? how do you put that into words?

you turn the phone down and let the silence swallow the room again.

you leave your room after a while and go to the kitchen to have breakfast with your parents, who are trying very hard to behave normally around you. your dad reads the news as your mum sets down bowls and chopsticks for all of you.

“maybe we should go out today”, she says, “just a short walk. it might help clear your head”

“i’m fine”, you say.

“you shouldn’t stay cooped up”, your dad says.

“i know”

they study you for a moment, then nod their heads, though none of you believes the word fine. it has already started to lose its meaning. 

when you finally leave your house after a couple of days, the difference reveals itself slowly, like a photograph developing.

you leave your house with your mum, going with her to buy groceries. the street looks the same, children still run past with their bags bouncing against their backs, but people look at you longer than they should. recognition dawns in their eyes, and then, pity, soft and suffocating. a woman who has known you since you were little presses her lips together and touches your arm. 

“i heard about the ceremony”, she says quietly, “i’m so sorry, dear”

sorry.

you nod your head because you don’t know what else to do.

at the bakery, the owner gives you an extra pastry, “take it, it’s on the house”, like you're a charity.

two teenagers whisper behind their hands when you pass past them one day.

“that’s her”

“the girl with no match”

“i can’t imagine-”

you realise you’re not a person anymore, you’ve become a story, a tale that parents will tell their children at night during dinner, “eat your food. study hard. be grateful. at least you’re not like that girl”

your friends change too. they text less frequently, reply hours late. when you finally meet them for coffee one day, the air between you feels different, like you’re standing on thin ice.

“so… how are you holding up?”, one of them asks you.

“i’m okay”, you answer.

“it’s just… we don’t know if we should bring it up or not”, the other says.

“you don’t have to”, you say quickly.

a silence settles anyway and then, they start talking about their own upcoming ceremonies. then falter halfway through a sentence, guilt flashing across their faces.

“oh, sorry”

“it’s okay”, you say again. 

you leave early, saying you are tired, and they don’t try very hard to stop you. so you go home, not knowing that was the last time you saw them or spoke to them. 

after that, you stop going out, you don’t leave your house, because you simply cannot bear the weight of other people’s eyes and their constant whispering. you watch the world from behind the curtains of your room instead of stepping into it.

your mum knocks on your door often, “come eat with us”

“in a minute”

“you should go outside for a bit, y/n”

“maybe later”

your dad suggests movies, walks, visiting your family, but you shake your head every time. both of your parents hover around you carefully, not knowing exactly how to treat you or what to say, and you hate that most of all. because you are not broken, you are simply… unchosen. 

at night, you lie awake and study the constellation mark on your wrist. everyone else’s mark connects them to someone, threads across the sky, invisible lines pulling two people together. yours feels like an unfinished sentence. 

you start wondering if maybe the astrologers were wrong. the atlas is supposed to be absolute but nothing is ever truly absolute. there must be cracks somewhere, mistakes, exceptions. 

you start thinking of all the old stories you learnt in school - odd cases where names appeared days, months or even years later, cases where the atlas said one thing and then corrected itself, cases where people whose soulmates died young, cases where people whose matches were misrecorded at first. 

rare, but not impossible. 

the next morning you wake up and get ready to leave your house early in the morning. your mum looks up from the sink, surprised when she sees you.

“going somewhere?”

“the celestial archives”, you say, “i want to look at some records”

she studies your face, searching for something, then nods, “that’s good. it’s good to keep yourself busy”

busy is not the word, desperate is closer.

the celestial archives sit just downhill from the high observatory, you have passed it a thousand times but have never gone inside. the building looks older than everything around it. the stone walls are darkened by rain, the tall windows fogged with age.

inside, it smells like dust and paper, and also something faintly metallic, like old ink. the shelves stretch endlessly in every direction, stacked with books, star charts, testimonies, letters. every known case, every footnote in the history of fate. 

a librarian glances at you over her glasses, “can i help you?”

“i’m looking for records about irregular prophecies”, you say, “unusual cases, exceptions”

“oh”, her eyes soften with recognition and then pity, just like everybody else, “first floor, deviations and historical variances” 

deviations and variances. you cling to those words like a lifeline and go to the first floor. 

after that day, you begin coming every day. you sit by the tall windows where the afternoon sunlight spills across the wooden tables in warm gold sheets. you read until your eyes ache - cases where the atlas lists only initials, cases of mismatched dates, names appearing years later, prophecies that shift subtly like the sky itself changed its mind.

the sky is not perfect and hope grows small and stubborn in your chest. maybe you are not alone, maybe you are simply… waiting.

on the fifth day, you notice a boy. he sits at the same table near you, but never directly across from you or close enough to intrude. he sits slightly to the side, as though you share the same orbit without touching.

he looks about your age, his hair falling over his forehead. his sleeves are rolled up neatly as he reads, one of his hands resting against his cheek, and the other turning the pages. there is something calm about him, like he exists comfortably in his own silence.

you glance at him once, then look away.

the next day, he is there again. same seat, same stack of books. the soft scratch of his pen joins the quiet rustle of pages. it becomes familiar, comforting somehow. on the third day you see him, you both reach for the same book in one of the shelves at the same time. your fingers nearly brush but he pulls his hand back first. 

“sorry”, he says, his voice warm, “you go ahead”

“it’s okay”, you say, “you can take it”

he shakes his head, “no, you reached for it first”

after that, you begin acknowledging each other in quiet ways - a small nod when you arrive, a brief glance up from his books, a silent goodbye when he leaves, an almost smile. you never speak beyond that, you don’t know his name and he doesn’t know yours.

but every day, when you get to the first floor of the archives, you find yourself looking for him without meaning to. and when you see him already seated at the table, bathed in warm light and surrounded by histories of fate and stars, something in your chest loosens just a little, like the sky has shifted by a single, merciful degree.

“name appearing later… post-ceremony revisions… amended entries…”, you mutter to yourself, scanning titles in the archives one day, “there has to be something here”

you are standing between two towering shelves, running your fingers along cracked books, murmuring under your breath as though the books can hear you. your voice sounds small in the tall aisle, swallowed by the hush of the building. 

you are already carrying four heavy books against your chest, but you still reach for another one perched on the higher shelf. 

“cases of deferred pairings, volume I”, you read softly, “yes, this is what i need”

the book is thicker than you expect. when you tug it free, the entire stack in your arms shifts dangerously. the top book tilts, then another slides. you suck in a breath.

“oh- no, no-”

you try to steady everything with your chin, your elbow, anything, but gravity refuses to help you. before the books can spill onto the floor, a hand appears in your vision and catches the falling one neatly, and then, another hand steadies the rest of the stack against your arms. 

“careful”, a voice says gently.

you look up - it’s him, the boy from your table. 

up close, the light from the tall windows softens his features. his eyes are dark and attentive, as though he notices everything even when he pretends not to. for a moment, you simply stare at him, then heat rushes to your face.

“thank you”, you say quickly, “i almost destroyed half the archives”

he hands you the rescued book with a small, amused tilt of his head, “it wouldn’t have been the worst disaster this place has seen. last month someone knocked over an entire shelf”

“seriously?”

“yeah. it sounded like thunder in here”

a quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it. it surprises you, the way it feels unfamiliar in your throat after all this time.

“i’ll try not to compete with that”, you say.

“that would be nice for everyone here”, he says, a soft smile on his face.

you shift the books in your arms, “thank you, umm…”

“seungmin”, he says, “kim seungmin” 

the name settles between you, simple and steady. it suits him.

“thank you, seungmin. i’m y/n”, you say.

he repeats it softly, almost thoughtfully, as though testing how it sounds, “y/n”

for some reason, hearing your name in his voice makes your chest feel warm. then his gaze drops to the stack of books you are still struggling to hold.

“that’s a lot of reading”, he says.

you follow his eyes and laugh sheepishly, “yeah, i’m looking for cases where the name doesn’t appear at first. delayed soulmates, revisions, things like that”

you talk quickly, the words tumbling over each other, like if you explain it well enough it will become true. you notice the book tucked under his arm, the title catching the light.

historical irregularities and deferred matches. 

your heart skips - it’s the same section, the same topic. “so he’s here for the same reason”, you think, but you don’t ask him, because it feels too personal, like peeking into his diary. instead, you nod your head towards it.

“is that one good?”

“i don’t know”, he says, “i have to wait and see”

you both return to your table and sit in your usual seats. you open your books and pretend to read, but after a few minutes, you glance up and look at him.

“um”, you say, “when you finish that one… could i borrow it?”

he looks up at you, then at the mountain of books already surrounding you.

“you’ve got enough books to build a wall”, he points out.

“i know”, you say, “but i want to check everything”

he studies you and then bites his lip, like he’s trying not to smile.

“alright”, he says finally, “i’ll pass it over”

“thank you”

it feels strangely important, this small agreement, like you have just formed a quiet alliance. and that’s what you do, the following days, when sharing books becomes natural, something unspoken.

you read one book, then slide it across the table towards him, and he does the same with the books he reads. sometimes your fingers brush when you trade the books, quick and accidental, and you both pretend not to notice. 

he starts sitting in front of you now, close enough that you can see the way his brows knit together when he concentrates, the way he taps his pen lightly against the page when he’s thinking.

you don’t talk much, just small, practical exchanges.

“done with this one?”

“yeah, chapter eight is interesting”

“thank you” 

your conversations are made of fragments, but the silence between them feels comfortable. you only know his name, he only knows yours, there’s no need for more. 

then one day, you walk in and his chair is empty. at first, you don’t think anything of it, so you sit down and open a book. ten minutes pass, then twenty. you read the same paragraph five times without absorbing a single word. your eyes keep drifting to the space across from you. the chair remains neatly tucked in, untouched, like it has never been used.

an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. “it’s silly”, you tell yourself. he’s just late, people can be late, but then, you start imagining things you shouldn’t. 

maybe he has stopped coming.

maybe something has happened. 

maybe-

you close the book with a soft thud and press your fingers to your temples. you need air, so you stand up and go outside. the stone steps are warm from the afternoon sun, and you sit down, leaning back on your hands and tilting your face towards the light.

you tell yourself you don’t care that much about seungmin, he’s just a boy you share books with, just someone who happens to sit across from you every day. then you hear footsteps crunch on gravel and you look up immediately. 

there he is, walking up the stairs, his hair slightly messy and his sleeves pushed up, looking faintly disoriented like he has just woken up and hurried out the door. relief rushes through you so fast it almost makes you dizzy. he notices you and lifts a hand.

“hey”, he says.

“you’re late”, you say before you can stop yourself.

it comes out sharper than you intend and he blinks, surprised, then rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

“yeah, i overslept”, he says, “my alarm went off and i ignored it”

“oh”, you feel ridiculous immediately, “i… i thought maybe something had happened”, you mutter.

he tilts his head, “something like what?”

“nothing”, you say quickly, “it’s just that… you’re always here”

he smiles, softer this time, “i didn’t know i was that predictable”

“your chair was distracting me”, you say, trying to sound casual.

“mhmm”, he says, “so the chair was the problem, not me”

“obviously”

he laughs quietly and the sound settles warm in your chest. instead of heading inside, he sits down beside you on the steps, close but not quite touching. the sun warms the stone beneath you and the wind moves through the trees as you sit together in the quiet. 

for a while, neither of you speaks, it’s like you are both resting in the same thought without needing to name it. then seungmin leans back on his palms and tilts his face towards the sky.

“so”, he says, “what’s your story?”

you blink at him, “my story?”

he glances at you, one eyebrow raised, “yeah”

“i don’t- what do you mean?”

he gestures vaguely towards the building behind you with his head before he speaks again.

“we’ve been sitting together for days, trading books like we’re planning some secret mission, and now you’re out here scolding me for being late”, his mouth curves slightly, “i think that qualifies as friends rather than strangers”

heat creeps up your neck, “i wasn’t scolding you”

“you definitely were”

“i was just-”

“worried about me? no, wait, sorry, you just were distracted with the chair”, he says, laughing softly.

you look away too quickly and he lets you off the hook, mercifully.

“what i mean is”, he continues, softer now, “people don’t usually spend weeks digging through ‘rare anomalies and fate malfunctions’ for fun. so… why are you here?”

the question settles between you, simple and direct, dangerous in a quiet way. you haven’t really said it out loud to anyone, not like this at least, not without pity hovering in their eyes. but seungmin isn’t looking at you like you’re fragile, he just looks curious, like he’s willing to listen to you.

so you speak.

“i had my star reading some weeks ago”, you say.

he nods once, encouraging you to continue.

“and it didn’t go… normally”

“how so?”

you laugh softly, but there’s no humour in it, “have you ever heard something so absurd that it almost sounds fake?”

“constantly”, he says.

you breathe in, then out.

“my prophecy says there’s no one”

he frowns slightly, “no one?”

“no soulmate, no match, nothing”, you tell him, your fingers twisting together in your lap, “they read it a lot of times, checked the atlas, called more astrologers over, tried to see if they miscalculated something”

“and?”

“and it still said the same thing”, your voice drops, “‘no star will claim her. she will walk the sky unbound. alone’, that’s what they said”

the words feel colder in the open air than they do inside your head. you expect him to look shocked, or sympathetic, maybe even horrified. instead, he just sits there, listening to you, like your story is something solid he’s holding in his hands.

“i’m pretty sure there’s a mistake”, you continue quickly, before the silence can swallow you, “there are cases where the atlas changes later, right? names appearing later, delayed matches. so i thought… maybe mine’s just late, maybe it’s blank for now, saying i will be alone, and something will show up eventually”

you give a small, embarrassed shrug, “so i’m here trying to find proof that the sky messes up sometimes”

seungmin studies you for a moment, his eyes softer now.

“that sounds exhausting”, he says quietly.

“it is”, you admit, “but it’s better than just… accepting it”

the wind rustles through the trees. you hesitate, then glance at him.

“what about you?”, you ask, “your reading”

he exhales through his nose, almost like a laugh.

“mine’s a bit weird too, one of those you said”, he says.

“how?”

“there’s no name”

you blink, “really? you’re one of those?”

he nods his head, “the atlas doesn’t list anyone specific in my prophecy. no birthplace. no date. nothing”

your heart jumps.

“that’s exactly the kind of thing i’m researching”, you say quickly, feeling a tiny bit of hope in your chest, “so you’re here trying to figure out how the name appears later, right?”

he looks at you strangely, then smiles.

“no”, he says.

“no?”

“i’m here because i want to break my prophecy”

the words land between you like a dropped glass.

you stare at him, “break your prophecy?”

“yeah”

you almost laugh, because surely you must have misheard him. breaking a prophecy isn’t something people say out loud. changing it, maybe. delaying it, appealing it. but breaking? that sounds like trying to snap the sky in half.

“that’s not…”, you struggle for words, “that’s not possible”

“i know”

“i’m here, trying to fix my prophecy, see what’s wrong”, you say slowly, “and you’re here, trying to get rid of yours”

“pretty much”

“but- why?”

he looks up at the sky again, and the light catches in his eyes.

“my reading said”, he says, his voice calm, “‘he will love once, and it will be as steady as the north star’”

you picture it immediately - something unwavering, constant and eternal. it sounds beautiful, romantic, safe. it sounds like everything you want but you don’t have.

“that’s… perfect”, you say quietly.

“is it?”, he asks you.

you turn to him, and he doesn’t look convinced.

“i don’t know”, he continues, “everyone hears that and says how lucky i am. one love, forever”, he shrugs, “it’s simple but it feels like a cage”

“a cage?”

“i don’t believe in forever”, he says, “or maybe i do, but i just don’t want it handed to me like something that has already been decided”

you frown slightly and he goes on.

“if forever exists, i want to choose it myself. i don’t want some book deciding that i only get one shot. that this one person is it and everything else is wrong”, his jaw tightens a little, “i want to live my life. meet people. love who i want. mess up. change my mind. be human”

the wind lifts his hair briefly and you notice how serious he looks, the most serious you’ve ever seen him.

“how can it be love”, he says softly, “if i don’t choose it?”

you fall quiet, because you don’t have an answer, because the question hurts you in a strange way. you’ve spent days wishing for what he has - certainty, a promise, a future written next to his name. and here he is, trying to escape it.

it feels unfair, confusing, like you are both staring at the same door from opposite sides.

“i don’t get it”, you say quietly, “you have exactly what everyone wants”

“do i?”, he asks you gently.

you look down at your hands, you don’t know anymore. maybe certainty isn’t the same as freedom, maybe fate is just another kind of leash. the thought unsettles you.

seungmin shifts beside you, then says, “i’ll help you”

you look up, “what?”

“with your prophecy. the delayed name thing. we can look together”

“you don’t have to-”

“i want to”, he says simply, “and you can help me too”

“with breaking your prophecy?”

“yeah”

“i’m sure that’s illegal”, you mutter.

he grins, “probably”

you shake your head, “you don’t even know me”

“we share books”, he says, “that’s basically a lifelong bond”

you snort despite yourself.

“i’m serious”, he adds, softer now, “it’s easier not to fight the sky alone”

something in your chest tightens at that, like a string being pulled. you hesitate at first, then nod your head.

“okay”, you say, “we will help each other”

he smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes.

“deal”

you sit there a little longer on the sun warmed steps, the observatory watching from above like an indifferent god, the archives at your back filled with centuries of written destiny. and on the steps, two people, two prophecies. one trying to find fate, one trying to outrun it. 

and somewhere between those opposite desires, something quiet and unfamiliar begins to take root inside you, small and unnamed, like the first star appearing in a darkening sky.

after that afternoon on the steps, something between you and seungmin settles into place. nothing dramatic happens, the world doesn’t rearrange itself around you. the archives still creak with age, the observatory still watches from the hill like an unblinking eye, and the stars still move in their ordained patterns overhead.

and yet, your days begin to feel different, as though life has stopped holding its breath for a bit. 

you arrive earlier now. you tell yourself it is because you want more time with the books, more hours to chase footnotes and obscure records. you convince yourself that it is diligence, and nothing else, that pulls you out of bed while the sky is still pale in the morning. 

but every morning, the first thing you do when you get to your floor on the archives is look towards your table, and every morning, your chest loosens when you see him already there.

seungmin - whose new seat is the one next to you - usually sits with his sleeves rolled up and his eyes focused on the task at hand. there is always a small stack of books at his elbow and a pencil tucked somewhere on his person, sometimes behind his ear, sometimes between his teeth while he flips through pages. 

when he notices you, he lifts his head.

“morning”, he says, his voice low and warm.

“morning”, you reply as you take your seat next to him.

you read side by side for hours, the silence comfortable rather than heavy. sometimes the only sounds are turning pages and the scratch of pencils as dust floats in the shafts of sunlight like slow falling stars. every so often, one of you breaks the quiet.

“seungmin, listen to this”, you whisper, leaning closer to him, "this entry says her match’s name appeared four years later. four years. see? i’m not delusional”

he leans closer to read, his shoulder brushing yours, his eyes scanning the lines closely. 

“i never said you were”, he says, and there is something gentle in the way he says it, something that makes you feel instead of pitied. 

other times, he shares his findings with you.

“there’s a case here”, he says one afternoon, tapping a paragraph with his pencil, “about a man who kept moving cities to avoid their assigned partner. the atlas kept updating his location like it’s trying to chase him down”

you laugh softly, “that’s terrifying”

“it’s persistent”, he says.

“did he escape?”

he shrugs, “the record stopped. either he succeeded… or the astrologers got tired of writing”

you both stifle your laughter, your shoulders shaking quietly like children hiding a secret. 

soon enough, breaks become habitual. around midday, one of you stretches or sighs, and the other immediately understands. 

“food?”, seungmin asks.

“yes, please”, you answer every time, as though you haven’t eaten in days.

you sit together on the stone steps outside the building, the sun warming the stone beneath you. you share whatever snacks you bring and he always steals from your bag without shame.

“did you just take my last cookie?”, you ask.

“i didn’t see your name on it”, he says calmly.

“you’re awful”

“you still brought enough for two”, he points out.

you glare at him, but you are already smiling. the laughter that leaves you feels unfamiliar at first. it rises easily, without force, without the weight that has followed you since the ceremony. when you laugh with him, you forget the whispers, how lost you felt that day, the pitying looks, the careful way people treat you like cracked glass.

with him, you are simply a person, not a tragedy or a cautionary tale, you’re just you. and it feels almost rebellious.

in the evenings, when the librarian flicks the lights twice to signal closing time, you both gather your things slowly and then, seungmin starts walking you home. the first time he does it, you glance at him as he falls into step beside you.

“you don’t have to”, you say.

“it’s fine”, he says, “i’m heading this way anyway”

you know that is a lie, his house is in the opposite direction, he had told you one day where he lived. still, you don’t argue. the streets glow gold under the streetlamps, and the sky deepens into a dark blue.

you talk about everything - childhood memories, favourite movies, bad teachers, ridiculous dreams. once, you spend fifteen minutes debating whether mint chocolate tastes or not like toothpaste.

“you’re so wrong, y/n”, he insists.

“you’re tasteless”, you say.

“if history remembers anything”, he says, “it will remember that i was right”

“if history remembers anything, it will arrest you”, you say and he laughs, the sound lingering in the air long after. 

during these walks, fate feels far away from you, like something that is written for other people, like the sky has momentarily forgotten to watch you both. 

but that’s what happens outside the archives. inside, it’s another story. 

your eyes keep drifting, always to the same place. at the very end of the floor, past the neatly labelled shelves and the catalogued books, the lights grow dimmer. the air feels colder, heavier. the shelves there are taller, older, carved from darker wood that seems to swallow the light. a bronze plaque hangs at the entrance. 

RESTRICTED ACCESS. AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.

the forbidden section, the place only astrologers can enter. every time you look at it, your heart beats faster because, if answers exist anywhere, wouldn’t they be there?

the hidden records. the redacted cases. the cases the astrologers didn’t want people to know. the things people aren't allowed to see. your gaze lingers there longer each day that passes and one afternoon, seungmin finally notices. he follows your line of sight and immediately shakes his head.

“no”, he says.

you blink, “no what?”

“don’t even think about it”

“think about what?”, you ask, feigning innocence.

he gives you a look, “you know exactly what”

you cross your arms, “what if there’s something important there?”

“it’s forbidden”

“and? forbidden doesn’t mean impossible”

“it means dangerous”, he replies quietly.

you study his expression. for once, he isn’t teasing. his voice is firm, closed, almost sharp.

“that’s for the astrologers only”, he adds, “not us”

“but what if my answer is there?”, you say.

he holds your gaze for a long moment, “then maybe they don’t want us finding it that way”

the unspoken warning settles between you like dust.

you sigh, “you’re no fun”

“i prefer staying alive, thank you”, he says lightly, but you hear the truth underneath.

so you let it go, for now.

the days keep passing, weaving together until they feel inseparable. your notebooks begin to contain his handwriting alongside yours. your snacks automatically split in half. sometimes your knees bump under the table, and neither of you moves away. you talk about your lives like normal people, like the sky isn’t looming over both of you with its heavy declarations. 

you almost forget how you met, almost. 

one late afternoon, sunlight spills through the tall windows in thick golden sheets, turning the dust in the air into something luminous. the entire room looks suspended in honeyed time. you are deep in a stack of records, muttering to yourself while copying notes. 

next to you, seungmin has been quiet for a while, too quiet. you look up to ask him a question and then stop-

he has fallen asleep.

his head rests on his folded arms, his cheek pressed against an open book. his hair falls across his eyes, soft and slightly messy. his breathing is slow and steady, peaceful, like he trusts this place enough to let himself rest. 

you watch seungmin for a long moment, and something warm spreads through your chest, gentle and unfamiliar. you don’t have a name for it, you only know that looking at him like this, bathed in gold light and quiet, you feel less alone than you ever have in your life.

you return to your book. you read carefully, tracing lines with your finger, copying notes into the margins of your notebook. the text speaks of amended prophecies, of rare celestial corrections. and yet, your focus keeps slipping, because, again and again, your eyes drift towards the forbidden section.

you swallow and look back down at your notes. you try to concentrate, but the thought persists, stubborn and whispering. if the answers aren’t here… they have to be there. maybe the real anomalies, the real mistakes, the real miracles are hidden away from ordinary people. maybe your name already exists in one of those forbidden books.

your heart beats faster and you glance sideways. seungmin doesn’t move. his lashes rest against his cheeks, his lips part slightly with each breath. he looks deeply asleep.

he told you not to go, he was firm about it. but he isn’t awake now, and the temptation curls inside you like smoke.

“just a look”, you whisper to yourself, “i won’t touch anything. i will just look”

you slide your chair back slowly, wincing at every faint scrape. you pause and see he doesn’t stir. you stand up, careful, as though the floor itself might protest. each step towards the forbidden section feels louder than it should. the archives seem to stretch around you, endless and watchful, the shelves rising like dark trees in a forest that doesn’t want you wandering too far. 

you cross into the restricted section and it feels like stepping into shadow.

the books here are older. their spines are cracked and worn, their titles stamped in fading gold. they don’t look meant for casual hands. your fingers trail over them as you read the titles, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

“so many…”, you say lowly.

so many people who don’t fit neatly into fate, so many lives that don’t follow the perfect lines the astrologers preach about. maybe you’re not an anomaly after all. then, you see it - a thick, weathered book tucked between two larger ones.

unbound subjects and null prophecies. 

the words feel like they echo inside you. your hand moves before you can think too much. you reach for it, your fingers brushing the rough spine, and carefully begin to slide it out when a hand closes around your wrist, warm and firm, unyielding. the book slides back into place and your breath catches before you turn.

seungmin stands there, his hair still messy from sleep, his eyes sharper than you have ever seen them. he looks breathless, like he has hurried here. he doesn’t look angry, he looks scared.

“what are you doing?”, he asks you, even though the answer is obvious.

his voice is low, but it cuts straight through you.

“i was just looking”, you say, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“in here?”

“i just need to check something-”

“y/n”, he says your name slowly, like he is trying not to let frustration leak into it, “we’ve talked about this”

“i know, but maybe the answer’s here. maybe they’re hiding things”

“it’s dangerous”, he says, “that’s why it’s forbidden”

“you don’t know that”

“i woke up and you were gone”, he says, running a hand through his hair, “your chair was empty. do you know how that felt?”

you falter.

“i-”, he sighs, then continues, “i thought something had happened to you”

the words hit you deeper than any fight or scolding could, and you look away from him

“i can’t just sit there anymore, seungmin”, you say, “reading the same thing, over and over again. waiting for nothing to change”

“so you sneak into the one place we’re not allowed to go?”

“what else am i supposed to do?”, you burst out.

your voice cracks, and suddenly everything you have been holding together begins to splinter. 

“i walk outside and people stare at me”, you say, your hands trembling, “they look at me like i’m already mourning a life i never even had. my friends stopped talking to me, seungmin. they avoid me like my loneliness is contagious”

he stands there, listening to you, his eyes softening.

“my parents don’t know how to treat me anymore”, you continue, “they tiptoe around me like i’m.. like i’m a fragile glass and i will break at any moment. everyone feels sorry for me all the time, and i just, i-”

your throat tightens painfully.

“i feel like i’m a mistake”, you whisper, “like the sky shouldn’t have written me anywhere”

“don’t say that”, he says immediately.

“but it’s true”, you choke, “i’m twenty-five and my prophecy says i will be alone forever. alone, seungmin. do you know how terrifying that sounds?”

your knees weaken.

“i can’t accept that”, you breathe, “i can’t just… live knowing this is all i will ever get”

the tears come before you can stop them, hot and relentless. you sink to the floor between the shelves, your back hitting the wood as sobs tear out of you, fast and uncontrolled. everything you have swallowed for weeks, for months now, spills out at once.

“i just want it to change”, you cry, “i just want something to change, please”

seungmin kneels immediately and he doesn’t hesitate, he pulls you into him like your body belongs in the space against his chest. his arms wrap around you, strong and steady, one of his hands pressing gently between your shoulders.

“i’m here”, he murmurs, “y/n, breathe, please… i’m here”

you clutch his sweater, your fists tight in the fabric. he rocks you slowly, back and forth, the motion gentle, like he is trying to calm a storm.

“you don’t have to hold everything in with me”, he says softly, “you don’t have to be strong all the time”

so you aren’t. you cry into his chest, your words breaking apart, telling him everything - the  shame, the whispers, the pity in everyone’s eyes, the nights you lie awake staring at the ceiling and wondering what you did wrong for the sky to forget you.

he listens to every messy word, he doesn’t interrupt you, he just holds you closer against his chest.

“i’ve got you”, he whispers again and again when you finish, “you’re not alone, not with me, never with me”

and sitting there on the floor of the forbidden section, wrapped in his arms while the old books loom quietly around you, you finally let yourself fall apart, trusting that he will not let you hit the ground alone. 

time loses its shape there. the shelves tower around you like silent witnesses, their shadows long and unmoving. seungmin’s arms stay wrapped around you as though he is afraid that if he lets go, you will dissolve into the dust and disappear between the books. 

your crying quiets slowly, like a storm exhausting itself. your breaths come in shaky pulls and you head aches and your throat burns. but his hand keeps moving in small circles on your back, steady and grounding, the same rhythm over and over.

“i’m sorry”, you whisper at some point, your voice hoarse, “i didn’t mean to... make a scene”

“you didn’t, and you don’t have to apologise for anything”, he says immediately.

when you finally stand up, your legs feel weak, like they don’t entirely belong to you. he stays close to you, one hand hovering near your elbow as though ready to catch you again. neither of you talks much after that. you walk back to your seats just as the librarian announces closing time, flickering the lights just like any other day.

you gather your things quietly, and so does he. and like always, he walks you home.

the streets are darker tonight, the air colder. the usual evening chatter feels distant, muffled, like the world is happening behind glass. you walk side by side, your shoulders almost brushing, but neither of you jokes or argues about snacks or mint chocolate or anything trivial the way you usually do. halfway to your house, he finally speaks.

“you scared me today, when, you know… when i woke up and you weren’t there”, he says softly.

you nod, “i know, i’m sorry”

“i wasn’t mad”

“i know”

“i just…”, he exhales, “don’t disappear like that again, please”

the way he says it makes your chest ache, like he isn’t talking about what happened today anymore, like he’s talking about something much bigger.

“i won’t, i promise you”, you say.

when you reach your house, you turn to thank him, the words already forming on your tongue. but before you can say anything, he steps forward and pulls you into a hug. it isn’t like earlier, when he reached for you and your body collapsed against him on the floor. this time, he chooses it. 

his arms wrap around you, firm and warm, and your face presses into his chest. for a second, you freeze in surprise. then your hands clutch the back of his sweater as he holds you tighter against him.

“i’m here, okay?”, he murmurs near your ear, “if it gets bad again… call me. anytime. i don’t care what time it is”

your throat tightens.

“okay”, you whisper.

“promise?”

“i promise”, you say again. 

he pulls back slowly, like he’s reluctant to let go, “i will see you tomorrow”

you nod and then you watch him turn and walk away under the streetlights, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulder slightly hunched. for a moment, you want to run after him, but you don’t, so you go inside your house. 

everything is quiet and dark inside, your parents are already asleep. the hallway clock ticks softly as you slip off your shoes and move straight to your room without turning on the lights. 

your body feels heavy, not just tired, it feels empty, like someone has scooped something essential out of your chest and left only air behind. you close your door and lean against it for a moment as the silence presses in. 

you change into your pyjamas slowly, mechanically, your movements dull and automatic. then you glance towards the window. the moon hangs low and bright tonight, silver and beautiful, like an eye watching the sleeping city.

you don’t know why, but your feet carry you towards it. you step closer, then closer still, until the moonlight spills over you, pale and cool. and suddenly your knees give way and you sink down onto the floor in front of the window, your hands clasped together like a child praying for something impossible.

“please, i’m on my knees… change the prophecy”, you whisper.

your voice trembles as you continue.

“i don’t want money, just someone who wants my company. let it once be me… just once, please. who do i have to speak to… about if they can redo the prophecy?”

your reflection stares back at you in the glass - red eyes, tear streaked cheeks, your hair messy and unkempt. you look small, so small.

“i know a greater woman has faith”, you murmur, your voice breaking, “but even statues crumble if they’re made to wait and i’m-”

your fingers tighten together painfully.

“i’m so afraid i sealed my fate”

the room feels too big around you, too empty. tears slide down your face again, quieter this time, not violent, just exhausted, like your body doesn’t even have the energy to sob anymore. 

“please”, you breathe to the sky, “just… please”

the moon doesn’t answer, the stars don’t rearrange themselves. the world stays stubbornly the same. eventually, you wipe your cheeks with your sleeves and crawl into bed without checking anything else. 

you don’t look at your phone. if you had, you would have seen seungmin’s name lighting up your screen. 

‘did you eat something?’

‘you okay?’

‘call me if you need anything’

‘please’

you don’t see them. you fall asleep almost immediately, pulled under by exhaustion so deep it feels like you’re drowning.

the next morning, a thin line of sunlight slips through the gap in your curtains and stretches across the floor, pale and watery, carrying with it the faint chill of early air. for a few seconds, you lie still beneath your sheets, then your eyes open and the weight returns immediately. 

your head throbs dully, a slow, steady ache behind your temples, as though someone has pressed their thumbs there and never let go. your eyelids feel swollen, heavy with yesterday’s tears. you stare at the ceiling and try to piece yourself back together. 

the archives.

the forbidden section.

seungmin’s arms around you.

the moon.

your whispered plea to the sky.

it all comes back like a tide, and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes and exhale. of course you feel awful, you cried half the day. you don’t consider anything else.

when you pass through the kitchen, you see your parents have already left for work, and there’s a small note on the table reminding you to eat properly, written in your mum’s careful handwriting. you swallow a few bites of toast without really tasting it.

by the time you reach the street, the sky is washed-out blue, thin clouds drifting lazily overhead. the air is crisp enough to wake you a little, though the ache behind your eyes refuses to fade. you walk the familiar path to the archives, step after step, routine carrying you forward.

when you get to the first floor, your gaze moves automatically to your table and there he is. seungmin is already seated, flipping through a book, tapping a pencil against the margin. there’s a half-empty cup of coffee sitting by his elbow and he looks up the moment you start walking towards him, like he senses you before he sees you, and relief flashes across his face.

“you’re here”, he says.

you pause, “of course i’m here, where else would i be?”

he studies you carefully, “i texted you last night”

guilt flickers through you as you sit down, “sorry. i fell asleep”

he nods, but his eyes linger on you longer than usual.

“you look tired”, he says gently.

“i am tired”, you reply with a small shrug, “yesterday was… a lot”

his expression softens immediately, “yeah”

you force a small smile, “i’m fine, though. really”

he doesn’t look fully convinced, but he lets it go.

“okay”, he says quietly, “if you say so”

the day unfolds like all the others before. book, notes, more books, whispered conversations. but something feels… heavier. you read the same paragraph four times before it sticks. your eyes blur more easily. your head pulses faintly, like a distant drumbeat you can’t quite escape. still, you ignore it. you tell yourself you’re just exhausted, anyone would be, anyone would feel drained after everything you’ve been carrying.

next to you, seungmin watches you more often than usual. you catch him sometimes, his pencil paused mid-air, his eyes fixed on you instead of the page.