₊˚ʚ americano joha joha ☆ ɞ˚₊

The sheets were twisted around your legs, damp with sweat and smelling like sex.

Chan laid sprawled next to you, one arm thrown over his face, chest still rising too fast. You watched the ceiling above you, counting the seconds until he’d roll over and say something stupid — or worse, nothing at all.

This was how it always went. A text at midnight, usually after some party where you’d spent the whole night pretending not to watch each other. His place or yours, never sober enough to bother with a condom unless one of you remembered at the last second.

No talking afterward unless it was 'nice' or 'I should go'.

You weren’t his girlfriend. He wasn’t your boyfriend.

It had started last semester, after a particularly messy game of beer pong where he’d cornered you in the bathroom, fingers already under your skirt. Neither of you had asked what it meant. it just happened.

Chan shifted beside you, the mattress creaking as he sat up. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, because that’s what you always said.

He reached for his jeans on the floor, the fabric rustling as he dug for his phone.

The silence stretched too long. You rolled onto your side, pulling the sheet up just enough to cover yourself. Chan glanced at you, thumb still tapping his screen. “You want me to go?”

You almost laughed. “You always do.”

Something flickered in his expression — too fast to name — before he shrugged. “Right. Well.” He stood, hopping into clothes that were scattered throughout different areas of your room.

He didn’t kiss you goodbye. He never did.

The front door clicked shut behind him, and you exhaled, staring at the ceiling again.

It was fine. This was fine.

You had midterms next week anyway.

~

The first midterm exam was a blur of half remembered formulas and caffeine jitters that made your hands shake.

You scribbled your last answer with thirty seconds left, then bolted for the door before the professor could call time.

Outside the lecture hall, the air was thick with the smell spring, too cheerful for the hollow feeling slowly growing in your chest.

You spotted Chan immediately. He was leaned against the bike rack, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just ghosted you for 3 days. His head snapped up when your shoes scuffed the pavement, and his mouth quirked into that stupid smirk that made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t left you tangled in the sheets with your thighs still sticky and your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Hey,” you echoed, adjusting your backpack straps. The silence stretched, awkward.

Chan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, thumb swiping absently, and something bitter curled in your throat. “Busy?” you asked, nodding at the screen.

Chan's smirk didn’t waver as he pocketed his phone. "Just a group chat. some study session tonight." He shrugged, "You should come."

You snorted. "Hard pass. I’d rather stab my eyes out with a highlighter."

He answered you with a laugh, and you hated how your chest tightened at the sound.

You were about to make an excuse—library, laundry, literally anything—when a voice cut in from behind you. "Chan! There you are."

You turned to see a girl with a sleek dark ponytail and a textbook clutched to her chest. Her smile faltered when she noticed you, then went back to normal. "Oh. Hi."

"Hey, hae," he said, voice suddenly lighter. Too light.

The girl — hae — sidled up next to him, close enough that her elbow brushed his arm. "You disappeared after class," she said, flicking her ponytail over one shoulder. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab a drink before our next class." Her gaze slid to you, "Unless you're busy."

You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached. Chan shifted his weight, "Nah, just catching up with—" He gestured vaguely at you, and the omission stung more than it should have.

Not his girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even a name worth mentioning.

hae’s smile widened. "Cool." She hooked a finger through Chan’s belt loop — his fucking belt loop — and tugged. "Let’s go. You still owe me notes from Tuesday."

You watched them walk away. Your nails dug into your palms, but you forced your face into something neutral, something unbothered. You were fine. This was fine.

By midnight, the anger had curdled into something hotter, something restless under your skin. You were halfway through a half assed attempt at studying when your phone buzzed

u up?

you stared at it before typing back,

yea

his reply came immediately

dorm's empty, come over?

~

Chan was already shirtless when he opened the door, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. His grin was lazy, familiar. “Hey.”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped inside and let the door click shut behind you.

It was fast, no pretense of tenderness tonight. His hands dug into your hips, your back hitting the wall before you could make it to his bedroom.

You wrapped your arms around him, trailing kisses down his neck, “damn, missed you too,” he snickered.

~

After, tangled in his sheets. again. you stared at the ceiling. again. Chan sprawled beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising too fast. again. The silence was sticky with everything you weren’t saying.

“So,” you said finally, voice too loud in the dark. “hae.”

Chan stiffened. His arm slid away from his face, but he didn’t look at you. “What about her?”

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “You let her drag you away by your belt loop like some fucking lapdog.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “We study together. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure.” You laughed, “And I’m just some girl you fuck when you’re bored.”

Chan sat up suddenly, sheets pooling at his waist. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” You kept your voice steady, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “Because, as it seems, we’re not serious. You made that real clear today.”

“You’re pissed because I walked away with hae?”

“I’m pissed because you let her drag you away.” You fully sat up now, looking at him next to you as you tried real hard to hold your tears back.

“You didn’t even introduce me. Just ‘catching up with—’ like I’m some random you bumped into.”

“Oh, so now we’re doing introductions? What, you want me to tell people you’re my girlfriend?” he regret the words right as they spilled from his mouth, and you looked back it him in disbelief.

The word hung between you. before you decided to swing your legs off the bed, reaching for your clothes on the floor. The fabric was still warm from his hands. You yanked your shirt over your head.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply. The floor was cold under your bare feet as you stepped into your jeans, yanking them up. Chan didn’t move, he might have wanted to, but he didn't.

His silence was worse than anything he could’ve said — proof that he’d let you walk away a hundred times before and wouldn’t stop you now.

Your bra was somewhere near his dresser, but you didn’t bother hunting for it. Just tugged your sweater on over your t-shirt. Chan’s fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he stayed put, jaw clenched tight.

“You’re really leaving?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually go through with it.

You scooped your shoes off the floor without answering. The laces dragged as you shoved your feet into them, not bothering to tie them.

The doorknob was cool under your palm, and for half a second, you hesitated — stupid, pathetic hope curling in your chest. But there was no sound of footsteps behind you, no hand on your wrist pulling you back. Just silence.

you twisted the doorknob, letting the door slam behind you as you left.

~

The week passed in a blur, your textbooks spread across your desk. You aced the rest of your midterms — probably because Chan wasn’t in your bed, or your head, or your vagina every other night.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Still, your fingers hovered over his contact in your phone more times than you’d admit, thumb almost brushing the call button before you’d snap it shut and toss it onto your pillow.

The fifth time your roommate, yunjin, caught you staring blankly at the same page of your psychology textbook for forty minutes, she ripped the book from your hands and slammed it shut.

“Nope,” she declared, tossing it onto your bed where it landed with a thud. “We’re done here.”

You blinked up at her, your brain still foggy from three nights of fitful sleep, “What?”

“You,” Yunjin said, grabbing your wrist “are going to a party.” She yanked you upright with surprising strength for someone who subsisted entirely on instant ramen.

“And before you argue — no, you don’t have a choice. I’ve watched you mope around this room like a victorian widow for a week now. It’s pathetic.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yunjin was already rifling through your closet. She tossed a sparkly cropped black top at your face, followed by jeans so tight you’d have to lie down to zip them.

“Put these on,” she ordered, then paused, eyeing your unwashed hair with disdain. “Actually, shower first.”

The hot water did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest, but the steam cleared your head enough to remember how to function like a human being.

By the time you emerged, Yunjin had laid out your makeup on the desk, textbooks gathered and thrown somewhere, “Sit,” she commanded. and you sat there with your hair still in a towel while she did your makeup.

“You’re being weirdly intense about this,” you muttered as she swiped blush across your cheeks.

Yunjin didn’t pause. “Someone has to be. You’ve been acting like your life ended because one idiot boy can’t figure out his feelings.”

She grabbed your chin, tilting your face toward the light to inspect her work. “News flash, the world is full of idiot boys. Tonight, we’re going to remind you that you don’t need any of them.”

~

The party hummed with the kind of manic energy unique to college students who'd just survived midterms — music too loud, sticky floors, red cups getting passed around.

You let Yunjin steer you through the crush of bodies, her grip on your wrist unyielding as she carved a path toward the kitchen.

The scent of cheap vodka and sweat hung thick in the air, and you focused on that instead of the way your pulse jumped when you spotted Chan across the room, leaned against a wall with some guy friend of his.

He hadn't seen you yet. His head was tipped back in laughter, the familiar curve of his throat exposed under the dim overhead light.

Sakura spotted you first, her face lighting up like a flare in the dark. "Oh my god, there you are," she crowed, reaching across the kitchen island to snag your wrist then pull you in a hug. Her fingers were sticky with punch, but you didn't pull away as she dragged you into their orbit.

chae was perched on the counter beside her, legs swinging lazily as she sipped something pink from a plastic cup. The familiar sight of them loosened something tight in your chest.

"You look like shit," chae announced cheerfully, kicking your hip lightly with the toe of her boot. The bluntness made you laugh. It was the kind of honesty only she could get away with, delivered with charm that it felt like affection.

"Thanks," you deadpanned, stealing her drink for a sip. "Midterms."

Chae wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me. I had to bribe my TA just to look at my paper."

She leaned in conspiratorially, her breath warm against your ear. "Also, Yunjin texted us. We're under strict orders to distract you tonight." Her fingers made air quotes around the word, nails glittering under the kitchen's light.

The conversation flowed, uncomplicated for once, the kind of chatter that didn’t require thinking.

You leaned into the counter, letting their voices wash over you, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time in days.

It was almost enough to make you forget the way Chan’s gaze had flickered toward the kitchen twice already.

Then mingyu stumbled into you, his elbow knocking your ribs as he reached past you for the vodka.

you recognized him, he's someone from chan's obnoxiously big circle of frat guys.

"Shit—sorry," he mumbled, blinking at you with the bleary focus of someone three drinks deep. His face lit up in recognition. "Oh hey! You’re—" He pointed at you, brow furrowing. "Chan’s girl, right?"

The words hit like a bullet. Sakura’s cup paused halfway to her lips. Chae’s eyes widened, darting between you and where Chan was now very much not looking in your direction.

You forced a laugh, "Not even close."

mingyu blinked at your response, then shrugged. "Cool, cool." He leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

"So what do you go by, then?"

"Just my name works fine,"

He was easy to talk to in a way, no loaded silences. Just easy smiles and stupid jokes. It was casual. Nice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Chan stiffen. His drink hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid sip as mingyu leaned in to whisper something in your ear, his hand settling lightly on your waist to steady himself.

The music pulsed, loud enough to drown out whatever nonsense mingyu was murmuring, but you laughed anyway.

Chan’s cup hit the counter with a sharp crack. His jaw was tight, fingers flexing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from crossing the room.

You met his gaze across the sea of bodies, holding it for a few seconds.

mingyu followed your line of sight and snorted. "Damn. If looks could kill." He didn’t move his hand, though. "You sure you’re not together?"

You took a slow sip of your drink, the sweetness cloying on your tongue. "just play along."

Chan pushed off the wall abruptly, shouldering through the crowd toward the backyard. The screen door slammed behind him with enough force to rattle the frame. You exhaled.

mingyu’s thumb stroked absently over your hipbone. "You okay?"

"Fine," you lied.

chae, after watching the entire scene, slid off the counter with a sigh. "I’m gonna go see where Yunjin wandered off to," She paused, squeezing your shoulder. "we'll be back, okay? Don’t do anything stupid."

sakura sighed, "Too late for that." But she followed chae anyway, leaving you alone with mingyu and the ghost of Chan’s stare still burning against your skin.

mingyu’s laugh was low as he leaned in. "So, not Chan’s girl, that means you're free to dance?"

You hesitated, then nodding. "Yeah. Let’s dance."

some time passed. you let him spin you around, laughed at his jokes. It was easy, too easy, to pretend you weren’t counting the minutes since Chan stormed outside.

You were mid sip of some sickly sweet concoction mingyu had shoved into your hands when the crowd parted like a curtain, and chan emerged from the middle.

His gaze locked onto mingyu’s fingers curled around your waist, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, but it was not really a request.

mingyu tried to step in, "Hey, man—" but it didn't really work.

"Alone," Chan snapped.

You tilted your head, smiled, "We’re busy."

Chan’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer, his voice dropping low, "Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."

You hesitated, long enough to watch his throat bob, before sighing. "Fine." Turning to mingyu, "I’ll be back."

"Take your time."

Chan didn’t wait. He grabbed your wrist and pushed through the crowd, his grip firm on your wrist.

he took you to an empty room upstairs, shutting the door behind him. He exhaled sharply, raking his free hand through his hair. "What the fuck was that?"

You yanked your arm free, "Dancing? Pretty sure you’re familiar with the concept.

Chan’s laugh was jagged. "With mingyu?" He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall. but you held your ground, tilting your chin up. "You’re really gonna play this game?"

"We’re not serious," you mimicked, throwing his words right back at him. "That’s what you said, right? Or did your 'study buddy' blow your brain too?"

His hands flexed at his sides. For a heartbeat, you thought he might walk away, he always did, but then he moved, one palm slammed against the wall by your head while the other gripped your hip, fingers pressing into the same spot mingyu had touched minutes ago.

"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?"

You swallowed hard. "Enlighten me."

"Bullshit revenge act." of course, he read right through you. "You wanted me to watch."

You arched a brow. "And if I did?"

"Then mission fucking accomplished."

The party noise faded to a dull roar, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. Chan’s chest heaved inches from yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.

"You’re such a hypocrite," you hissed, "You don’t get to act jealous when you—"

Chan’s mouth crashed into yours before you could finish, clacking in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle. It was messy, desperate, fuelled with all the pent up anger you suppressed all these days.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, pupils blown wide. "I don’t want him touching you," he ground out, thumb swiping roughly at the smudged gloss on your chin. "Ever."

"You don’t get to decide that."

His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above your waistband. "Watch me."

Chan’s mouth was on yours again before you could protest, his teeth scraping your lower lip in a way that sent a jolt straight to your core. You arched into him, nails digging into the fabric of his tank top as he crowded you back against the wall, his thigh slotting between yours with bruising pressure.

"Fuck you," you gasped against his mouth, but your hips rolled against him on instinct, chasing the friction.

"oh I will," he growled, hands sliding under your top, his palms were rough against your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he yanked the fabric up.

The cool air hit your skin just as his mouth did — tongue swiping over your nipple, teeth following in a sharp bite that made you gasp.

"You’re such an asshole," you breathed, but your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him there.

he laughed against your skin, one hand already working the button of your jeans. He didn’t bother undoing it fully, just shoved the fabric down your thighs enough to slide his fingers past the waistband of your panties.

You were wet — had been since he dragged you up here — and his groan vibrated against your collarbone. "Fuck, you’re dripping," he muttered, dragging two fingers through your folds. "This what you wanted? Me losing my goddamn mind watching someone else's hands all over you?"

You keened when his fingers circled your clit, the pressure almost painful.

"You don’t own me," you managed, but the words dissolved into a whimper as he pushed two fingers inside without warning, curling them just right.

Chan’s breath hitched at the way you clenched around him. "Don’t I?" He worked you ruthlessly, his thumb pressing tight circles against your clit as his fingers fucked into you. "Tell me to stop, then."

any retort died in your throat when he twisted his wrist, fingers crooking, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle. "I—Fuck!" You bit down on your lower lip hard to try to conceal any sounds, but the moan tore free anyway as he sped up, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.

"You gonna come for me?" His voice was rough, laced with a challenge. "Or you still thinking about him?" The bastard punctuated the question with a sharp twist of his fingers, and you came with a choked cry, hips stuttering against his hand as he worked you through it, prolonging the pulses until your thighs shook.

Before you even caught your breath, Chan was on his knees, yanking your jeans the rest of the way down. He didn’t give you time to recover, just hooked your thighs over his shoulders and buried his face between your legs.

His tongue was flat and hot against your oversensitive clit, licking into you like he was starving. You writhed, but he held you firm, his fingers digging into your thighs as he sucked gently at your clit before lapping at you.

The pleasure coiled tight again. He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and you arched off the wall with a gasp, your fingers pulling at his hair for purchase.

"Fuck—Chan," you choked out, throwing your head back against the wall, your eyes screwed shut.

He pulled back just enough to blow a cool stream of air over your wetness, watching the way you shuddered before diving back in with renewed hunger. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked his tongue inside you, savoring the way your hips jerked against his mouth.

You could feel the tension building again, tighter this time, intensefied, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his head.

"Look at me," he growled against your skin, his breath hot.

You forced your eyes open, looking down to meet his gaze through the messy tangle of your lashes. His lips were slick, his chin glistening. His tongue circled your clit lazily, once, twice, then flattened against it with firm pressure.

the sight alone made you cum again with a sob, your back bowing off the wall as your orgasm ripped through you, sharper than the first.

Chan didn't let up, his mouth working you through it until you were whimpering, oversensitive and raw, your hands fisting in his hair to tug him away. He relented only to press a filthy, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.

he rose from his knees, his mouth slick with you, before you could catch your breath, he crushed his lips to yours, messy, desperate, tasting yourself on his tongue.

his hands slid under your ass to lift you up effortlessly. The bed hit your back a second later, mattress springs creaking under the sudden weight as he climbed over you, caging you in with his body.

You arched under him, nails scraping down his back. "Too bad we’re not serious," you taunted, throwing his words back at him with the same smirk he used to give. "Right?"

"You drive me fucking insane," he gritted out, dragging his teeth down your throat. His hips grind against yours, the hard line of his cock pressing into your thigh through his pants.

"You know that? Every goddamn time—" His hand fumbled between you, yanking his zipper down with impatience. "Every time I see someone else’s hands on you, I want to—" The words dissolved into a growl as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, thick and flushed against your stomach.

Chan’s breath stuttered. He caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he reached between your legs with the other, fingers dragging through your wetness.

"Shut up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it — just raw frustration as he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. "Just—fuck—just let me—"

You gasped as he pushed in, The stretch burned. He was bigger than you remembered, or maybe you’d just forgotten how he felt after days of pretending you didn’t care.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips stuttering as he bottomed out. "You’re—god—still so tight."

"Missed your ego, mostly."

your legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper. The friction was maddening, the way he filled you so completely it stole your breath.

Chan’s laugh was ragged, his forehead dropping to yours as he rolled his hips in a slow, torturous grind. "You like that?" he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction when your nails dug into his shoulders. "Missed this, didn’t you?"

"and I missed you"

you let out a shaky sigh at that, his words never sounded this affectionate before.

"You don’t get to say shit like this after—"

Chan kissed you before you could finish, deep and desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was chasing the taste of your anger.

"I know," he muttered, after he pulled away, "I’m a hypocrite. An asshole. Whatever you want to call me." His hips rolled again, "But i'm yours."

The words barely had time to register before Chan’s hips snapped forward, driving into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

The bedframe rattled against the wall with each thrust, the sound muffled by the distant thump of bass from the party downstairs.

“Tell me you’re mine, too” he demanded, but it was more like a plea.

The words slipped out before you could stop them—"Yours," you gasped, nails raking down his back as his hips stuttered against yours. "Only yours."

Chan groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your collarbone where his teeth had marked you moments before. His hands slid under your thighs, hooking your legs over his elbows to drive deeper, and suddenly you were full in a way that made your vision blur at the edges.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough with something that wasn't just lust — something desperate.

You arched under him, meeting each thrust with a roll of your hips that drew a strangled moan from his lips. "Yours!" you repeated, louder, eyes rolling back when he hit that spot that made your toes curl.

"You take me so well," he murmured against your sweat slick skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Always so perfect for me, fuck—" His hips snapped forward, the angle shifting just enough to drag a whimper from your throat. "Look at you. Mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, the heat coiling tighter with every filthy word.

His thumb trailed up to your clit, circling roughly as his pace grew frantic. "Come with me," he ordered, his voice wrecked. "Let me feel it—god, please—" he begged.

You shattered with a cry, your back bowing off the mattress as the pleasure crashed over you in waves.

Chan followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours as he rode out the aftershocks.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass from below. Chan's weight slumped against you, warm and familiar, his lips brushing your temple in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache.

He exhaled sharply, rolling off you to collapse onto his back beside you. His arm flung over his eyes.

The bed creaked as you turned onto your side, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. "I think," you said slowly, tracing a finger down his sweat damp chest, "i think you just proved a point."

"mmm, and what point would that be?"

"That you're an idiot," you said simply.

His arm slid away from his face, revealing dark eyes gone soft at the edges. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. His fingers found yours, threading through them, "But now I'm your idiot now."

"Yeah," you agreed softly. "You are."

a/n: yes I borrowed hae's character from @starlostjisung 's exchange series (I hope u don't mind queen I couldn't think of anyone..), notice how she's a bitch in both universes 💔💔

The snowy mountains come into focus as you’re riding in the passenger seat of Minho’s car. The car radio is playing some old indie rock band you like, and the windows are cracked slightly to let a cool breeze in. You look over at Minho, his blonde strands of hair swaying underneath his beanie, and everything feels much better than it did a week ago.

Because a week ago, you found out your boyfriend was cheating on you. A week before Valentine’s Day. You’d been with him for a couple of years, and even considered moving in together, until you found out. It shattered you, of course it did, but one phone call later your best friend was at your doorstep with pudding and tissues to console you.

Minho was always there for you. From grade school to college to now, there was never a doubt in your mind that if you needed him, he’d come. Even when the two of you were in relationships, you took the space you needed out of respect for your partners but always made an effort to hang out every once in a while. Your ex didn’t like him, said he was cold and made bad jokes. But that’s just Minho.

He looks over at you and turns the radio down. Your temple is pressed to the glass and you’re staring blankly at the passing trees.

“You okay?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” you let out with a sigh, looking over to him and cracking a shy smile. “I’m just excited for this weekend.” He reaches over to grab your hand and give it a light squeeze. 

His presence alone has been your sole source of comfort the past week, coming over after work almost daily with takeout in hand and a box of tissues. Most of the time you don’t really talk, you just sit together on the couch and watch movies until you’re ready to go to sleep.

“Try not to think about it too much, yeah?” he says, grabbing your coffee from the cup holder and handing it to you. You smile at him, his kindness always catching you off guard but never taken for granted by you. The little things matter, you think to yourself.

The car pulls down a dirt road and you drive a couple of miles before reaching the cabin. It’s a quaint log cabin, with a good size deck and a cozy fireplace. It’s older, but charming and cozy. Plus, the owners just installed a hot tub on the back deck with a beautiful view of the snowy mountains. You told Minho the hot tub was non-negotiable, and he complied.

You step into the cozy atmosphere, the lights flickering on as you take in the space. It’s really small. Which is what you get when you book a trip during Valentine’s Day weekend with only a couple days notice. Your eyes flick from the kitchen to the small sofa, up to the loft overhead where you see the bed taking up most of the space up there.

“Minho, where am I sleeping?” You ask him as you realize there’s no way there’s another bedroom in this cabin.

“You can sleep upstairs, I’ll take the couch,” he says smiling as he lugs your duffel bag over his head to put in the loft.

“Minho, you’re taking me on this trip, at least take the bed,” you complain to him. That sofa fits maybe two people, and you know it’ll kill his neck if he’s on it all weekend. “I’m small enough to fit on that tiny ass couch anyway.”

“We can switch off, just take it tonight and I’ll take it tomorrow.” He squeezes your shoulders and smiles, as he continues to lug his bag and some groceries in. You offer to help, but of course, he declines and tells you to lay out on the couch. You pull out your phone for some doom scrolling, but sure enough the tiny letters at the top say “No Signal”. He knew if you had internet access you’d spend all weekend obsessing over what your ex was doing, who he was doing it with. 

Minho finishes unpacking his things into the kitchen and storage chest in the living area and settles down with you on the couch. You lean your head on his shoulder and he lets out a sigh. “Thank you for doing this for me,” you say quietly once the silence started getting comfortable.

“That’s what friends are for,” he says back, planting a kiss on the top of your head. This kind of physical affection was nothing new to the two of you, often getting mistaken for being a couple in public. You never corrected anyone, but it made you giggle a little bit. You showed it much less if either of you were in relationships, but became a lot touchier if you were sad. It always made you feel better knowing he’d never shy away from you when you really needed it. 

As the sky started to darken, and you both had comfortably showered and settled into pjs, Minho got started on dinner. Bulgogi and rice with a side of cucumber salad, one of your comfort meals. He was an incredible cook, he knew how to make everything taste perfect and timed everything so it all came out the perfect temperature when it was time to eat.

You followed him like a puppy, hovering over him and resting your chin on his shoulder. He moved around you with ease, sometimes moving you out of the way so he didn’t hit you as he turned. You tried to sneak a few bites in, but he always smacked your hand out of the way. 

“Ay, not yet!” he said as he playfully shooed you away. You whined a bit, but moved to the other side of the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and pour into glasses for each of you.

The air shifts when you sit down to eat. He knows what’s on your mind, and he tries to talk about your plans for the weekend to distract you. It helps some, until you stop talking and it feels even more awkward. 

“You deserve much, much better than whatever that guy had to offer,” he mentions, like he already knows your mind has slipped back into thinking of your ex. You realize how little time you’ve spent with Minho the past few years, and you feel a tinge of guilt.

“I’m sorry I haven’t really tried to see you,” you say apologetically. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m just using you because I’m lonely or something.”

“Don’t apologize, I know how it is. Plus, that guy hated me,” he lets out a laugh. “I’m surprised I got to see you at all. I’m just glad we’re here now.” You admire the way he’s able to say things so matter-of-factly, like nothing ever bothers him. You intend to adopt his mindset for the weekend, and maybe even the foreseeable future.

You help Minho clean up dinner and when you start to settle again, he leans close to you and whispers, “Last one in the hot tub has to make breakfast.”  You let out a gasp and run up to the loft to change into a bathing suit, and he sprints to the bathroom. He always has a trick up his sleeve.

You meet at the glass door that leads to the deck and you both stop to look outside. It’s freezing, and the hot tub is at least 20 feet across the deck. You turn to him and you both smile, lunging for the door handle at the same time. You were not losing this.

You’re both shoving each other as your bare feet patter on the wood deck. He reaches the steps before you do, and you tug his swim shorts down and slip past him before he can make it in.

“Ya! That’s so unfair,” he laughs, splashing water at you as he pulls his shorts back up and sits down.

“C’mon, you know you don’t want my burnt ass eggs in the morning,” you sputter out, laughing with him.

He relaxes in the seat next to you, your thighs brushing his. You slouch a bit to get as much of your body in the warm, bubbly water as possible. It’s incredibly relaxing, your shoulders feeling looser already as you look up at all the stars in the sky and just exist alongside him.

Minho lets out a long sigh next to you. “You know, I think I really needed this too,” he says. You tilt your head to face him and study his expression. He looks relaxed, but like there’s something he’s not telling you. 

“Trouble in paradise?” you ask him, referring to his own relationship. He and his girlfriend have been on again off again for what feels like a decade at this point. 

“Uh…I’ve been single for about six months now,” he says. You jerk your head up, and your jaw drops. Six months? Has it really been that long since you last spoke?

“Minho! Why didn’t you tell me?” you exclaim, giving him a playful slap to the shoulder. “I would’ve been there for you!”

“It’s fine, I’m over it now. I had a lot of things to think through on my own.” He’s holding eye contact with you, and you scan his face for any sign he might be lying. He’s so damn hard to read, always making it seem like he’s okay even when he isn’t.

“Still, I’m sorry to hear about it. I…liked her.”

“Liar.”

“No, seriously, she was…nice.”

“You groaned the last time we got back together.”

“I just didn’t like how you kept going back to her.” Your voice is softer now, like you didn’t want him to fully hear you. “Like she’d dump you, and then come running back and apologize like it made up for all the hurt she caused. She didn’t deserve you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He rests his elbow on the edge of the tub to fully face you, and his hand comes up to trace circles on your shoulder. He takes a deep breath like he’s nervous for what he’s about to say next.

“She tried calling me a few weeks ago. I didn’t answer. I think I’ve been done for a long time now, I just needed some clarity.” He’s smiling now, and you can tell a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all I care about,” you smile back at him. He scoots closer to pull you into a hug, and you feel yourself relax even further into him. His shoulders feel firmer than the last time you saw each other. He even dyed his hair blonde. You wonder if anything else has changed about him, too. 

“I’m happy when I’m with you,” he whispers to you, and for the first time all week, you feel like everything will be okay.

You wake up to the smell of eggs, not burning, and fresh coffee being made below you. The loft setup was neat, you could look straight through the massive windows and see the mountains towering over the cabin, or lean against the railing and watch Minho cooking. This morning you chose the latter.

He was humming to himself and dancing a bit, swaying his hips and moving his shoulders to whatever rhythm was in his head. You liked watching him being his goofy self, not a care in the world, despite the heavier conversations you’ve had recently.

“Don’t burn the eggs,” you call down, still groggy from sleep. He looks up at you, his startled expression turning into a smile.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he chirps, ears turning red at the fact that you probably caught him dancing. “Breakfast is ready.”

You gather yourself, brush your teeth, and throw on warmer clothes before going downstairs. The food is warm and delicious, and you’re silently glad to be taken care of. Minho is always so attentive, and it’s nice being the one taken care of for a change.

“What’s the plan for today?” you ask him, stuffing your mouth with eggs.

He responds with a shrug. “Whatever you want to do!” For being such a good planner, he was still willing to let loose and go with the flow. You appreciated him for not coming up with any kind of strict schedule for the two of you.

You both settled on going for a morning walk in town before skiing at the local resort. The town was a quaint ski town, with lots of tourists during the winter months. The shops were older, Tudor-style buildings nestled in the low valley between the mountains. A light layer of snow coated the buildings, and the atmosphere was calm despite there being more people than usual.

The two of you just strolled around, making your way through some of the shops. It started getting crowded in the late morning, so Minho suggested taking a stroll through the park. It being the middle of winter, the paths were clear of people and only a light layer of snow on the ground. 

“This is nice,” you say quietly, referring to the quiet environment and the surrounding park. In the springtime, the gardens bloomed and the sun shone brightly on the area. But it was still nice, even without the flowers' pretty colors.

Minho stopped at a rose bush on the side of the path. The roses had a dusting of snow on them, and you were curious how they had survived so long. He reached his hand out and plucked one of the stems with a red rose attached to it. He twirled it between his fingers, and gently handed it to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, careful to avoid the thorns as you took the rose from him.

“Delicate yet strong. Like you,” he said nonchalantly, flashing you a smile. You stopped in your tracks for a moment while he kept walking forward. It was such a small gesture, but it meant so much. He still saw you as someone with a lot of strength, despite how broken you’ve felt lately. Minho was good at that.

He kept walking forward as you trailed a few paces behind him. Towards the end of the path he stopped suddenly, turning toward you with wide eyes.

“Do you hear that?” he asked. You shook your head.

He crept closer to the bushes and crouched down. You crouched down with him, unsure of what you were supposed to be looking at. A few moments later a grey tabby cat emerged, and slowly walked towards you two. Minho dipped into his pocket and pulled out a Churu packet, opening it and beckoning the cat closer.

“You just…have those with you?” you asked, puzzled.

“I like making friends with them,” he said, as the cat brushed up against his leg and started eating the treat. Minho the cat whisperer, you thought to yourself. It was endearing seeing him care for such an innocent creature. He scratched the cat's head, cooing at it lovingly. You just looked at him, a wide grin on his face, completely in his element. 

And suddenly, you realize this is all you ever wanted. A calm, quiet kind of love. Not one that sneaks up on you, but one that was always there.

You’re standing at the top of the snowy hill, dressed in snow gear from head to toe, skis strapped to your feet and poles in hand. You look over at Minho while he’s strapping his snowboard to his boots.

“Ready?” He asks, fastening his helmet to his head. You were not ready. You’ve gone skiing a couple of times in your life, but you always forgot how to do anything the second you found yourself back on the hill. 

You shake your head at him, slightly terrified, but mostly excited. “Just remember, pizza!” He says, referring to the position he taught you for slowing down.

“Are you sure this is a beginner hill?” you say to him, questioning your choices.

“Define beginner,” he laughs back.

“Minho!” “I’m kidding! Look, there's a 6-year-old who can do this hill. You’ll be fine. I’m right behind you.”

That makes you feel slightly better, but you take a deep breath and head down the hill anyway. You want this weekend to be fun for both of you.

It only takes a second for muscle memory to kick in, and then you’re moving down the slope with ease. You’re on the side of the hill, away from all the people, and you’re calling back to Minho about how much fun you’re having. You catch a glimpse of him gliding down the hill on his snowboard, snow kicking up with every graceful movement, hips moving effortlessly as he maneuvers around people. You can’t help but smile to yourself, he looks so happy.

You both go up and down the hill for a couple of hours before you begin to tire. “One more, then lunch?” Minho says to you on the ski lift. Right when you nod your head to agree, you see him wince as he stretches his neck and shoulders.

“Minho, if the couch is killing your back, let me sleep on it tonight,” you say, rubbing his shoulder. You could tell his shoulder was bothering him, and you could only imagine how his back was feeling after a day of snowboarding as well.

“I’m fine,” he says assuringly. “Truly, I want you to be comfortable. It’s only a couple of nights.” He’s so damn stubborn. You roll your eyes, but you know when his mind is set on something, it’s hard to change it. 

You slide off the ski lift for the last time and start to head down the hill, Minho trailing not far behind. The day stayed mostly overcast, but the trees and mountains against the clouds were beautiful. You glide down the hill with ease, slowing to watch as people learn to ski and snowboard. Everyone seemed so happy.

You don’t notice the rock hiding at the edge of the tree line until you crash into it, losing your balance, and faceplant into the snow. You roll a couple of times, but luckily you were towards the end and there wasn’t much hill left to tumble down. The snow stings your face, and you feel a brutal pain in your shoulder as you come to realize what just happened.

Minho screams your name as he rushes over to help. “Shit, are you okay?” he asks as he frantically unstraps himself from his board and kneels beside you. 

You’re able to roll over on your back, letting out a groan as the pain throughout your body starts to hit. You’re positive there will be bruises on your ribs when you wake up tomorrow. He helps you up, takes off your skis, and supports you as you step out of them. Your legs feel fine, but your upper body aches. He drapes one of your arms over his shoulder and holds your waist firmly as he walks you over to the medic tent.

“I’m okay, really, I promise,” you say to the staff member as he’s checking you out. You’re definitely in pain, and Minho is certainly not convinced.

“It’s just a precaution, to make sure you have no concussion or broken bones,” the staff member says to you as he feels around your ribs. Minho’s holding your hand, tracing small circles with his thumb, watching you intently. You have a feeling that it’s more for him than it is for you, but you still enjoy the comfort, especially with someone poking at all the places that hurt.

“Nothing’s broken or bleeding, but you’ll definitely have some nasty bruises in the morning,” the medic says to you. “A warm bath and ice for any swelling, and go to the hospital if anything gets worse.” You nod your head at him and put your jacket back on, and Minho helps you out of the tent.

“Minho, I can walk just fine,” you laugh as he’s still holding you up by your waist, walking you back to the car. He makes eye contact for a moment, and you study his face. He’s flushed, no doubt from the cold and exercise, and his hair is messy from the helmet. A look of worry is plastered on his face, but he lets you go gently. 

You walk on your own back to the car, but he still helps you into your seat and buckles you in. You stop protesting so much. He likes being helpful, and he’s clearly worried about you, no matter how much you assure him that you’re fine.

The caretaking doesn’t stop back at the cabin, either. Not that you expected it to, or even wanted it to. It was nice having him fawn over you. It made you feel loved in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. He helps you inside the house and sits you down in a chair to help you take off your boots and winter gear. He walks you into the bathroom and starts a bath for you, and gently tugs on your shirt to lift it over your head. Your hand reacts before your brain can catch up, stopping him.

“Let me take a look,” he says gently, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. He’s seen you shirtless countless times, for years now, in swimsuits where you’re wearing much less clothing. This, however, feels more intimate. You nod your head at him, letting him take your shirt off and inspect your torso.

A bright red splotch crawls up your side, already starting to turn purple around your ribs. You hiss at the contact, his hands still cold from outside.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, moving your shirt to the counter. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, but it’s fine, your hands are just cold,” you say, laughing a bit at how apologetic he is.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?”

“My shoulder, I think I landed on it funny.”

“Yeah, the judges gave it a 6/10.” You smack him at that one.

“I’m serious, it hurts.” You whine, and he moves your hair and shifts to your right to get a closer look.

“It’s red, and it’ll probably bruise tomorrow. Good thing you’re taking the bed!” He smiles at you like he’s won the argument you’ve been having the whole weekend. You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t disagree.

“We can share, okay? No more bad shoulders for us, we only have 2/4 left,” you tell him, trying to be stern. He raises his eyebrow at you.

“If you wanted to get me into bed, you should’ve just asked—”

“Get out!” You smack him playfully, and he holds his hands up in surrender as you shoo him out of the room.

The bath is nice and the warm, bubbly water eases a lot of the pain you just endured. Your mind wanders to the events of the last few hours, how everything happened. How Minho’s face looked when you fell. How he held you up, how he held your hand, how he touched your skin, how close he got to your face. You feel your heart beating faster when you snap out of it and climb out of the tub. 

Minho already has dinner made when you get out. A nice hearty soup, it’s warm and smells heavenly. You both sit at the table, your hair’s still wet from the bath and he’s still in his ski clothes.

“Thank you,” you say as you sip on the soup. Minho’s the best cook you know, and you’re thankful that he’s the one taking charge in the kitchen.

After dinner is cleaned up, he showers, changes into comfy clothes, and pours you both a glass of wine to help you wind down from the day. You’re playing cards at the coffee table by the fireplace and just chatting away.

“My mom called, says she misses you,” he says gently.

“Tell her I miss her too, and now hopefully I can come and see her now that…” you say, trying not to mention your ex. You realize it’s the first time you’ve really thought about him all day. And the first time it doesn’t make you sad.

He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes. You gently place your hand on his, and look at him to say, “I’m okay, I promise. I’ve been having so much fun I haven’t even thought about him until just now.”

“That’s good. You already know you deserve better,” he says, placing his other hand on yours.

“I know,” you nod. “You too.”

The bathroom sink lights flicker slightly while you change into your pjs. You can’t stand wearing pants to bed, no matter how cold it is outside. The big t-shirt you wear hides not much more than your butt, hitting right along your middle thigh.

Minho’s lying on the couch when you come out. “I don’t think so, mister,” you say to him sternly. He looks at you, smirk on his face, and you gesture to the loft above.

“Fine, but you’re a space heater in your sleep, stay on your side of the bed,” he says back, rolling his eyes.

You get situated on the inside of the bed closest to the railing, and Minho climbs in after you. He breathes out a sigh of relief, feeling exhausted after a long ass day. Your heart starts racing as you both lie there, inches apart.

“Goodnight,” you say, turning to him.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams,” he says back to you. An eerie quiet falls over the cabin. It’s pitch black save for the bit of moonlight that peeks through the trees, and you can hear his breathing as it steadies.

You move your hand ever so slightly until you feel his, and just hold it there. He laces his fingers between yours and you can feel your pulse quicken, and your breath getting shaky. Neither of you moves or speaks, and once the nerves die down you quickly drift off to sleep.

You jolt awake in the middle of the night, absolutely freezing despite being under several layers of blankets. You sit up to try and investigate, but your bruised torso starts aching when you try. Minho stirs beside you as you let out a low groan.

“Minho,” you whisper, trying not to startle him. It doesn’t work, and he’s still fast asleep. You resort to nudging him with your foot.

“Ay!” he lets out as he jolts awake. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He immediately comes to and leans over to look at you.

“Uh…it’s just really cold in here,” you whisper, putting your cold foot on his leg.

“Jesus, your feet are cold. Let me see what’s wrong with the heat.” He gets up and throws his hoodie on, and heads downstairs to check it out. You hear him flick the lights on, but the room stays dark.

“Well, that’s probably why,” he says, laughing in disbelief. You lean over the edge of the railing and you see what he’s talking about. The snow outside is coming down hard. The wind is knocking the tree tops together, and you can only assume the whole town is without power.

Minho lets out a deep breath and heads over to the fireplace. He put out the fire hours ago, but the cabin is small enough that he’s hoping it’ll give you both at least a bit of heat upstairs. You watch as he takes firewood from the stack and kindles the fire. He starts the fire and makes sure the screen is tight and that there’s nothing that can easily catch in front of it. 

He comes back upstairs with an extra set of blankets and leans over the bed to throw one of them over you. You’re shivering, even under three layers of blankets, praying for warmth. 

The bed dips as he climbs back into it, and he snakes his arm under your head to pull you close, taking care not to put weight on your bad shoulder. Your head settles into his chest and you catch a whiff of his cologne, the smell of him makes your heart flutter. 

“What are you doing?” You whisper against him as he holds you tight. He rests his chin on the top of your head, letting out a deep breath. Surely he can feel your heart pounding out of your chest. 

“I’m keeping you warm,” he says simply, but you catch the faintest sense of nervousness in his voice. Your hand is on his side, and you slowly move it under the hem of his shirt. His skin is warm, and he hisses at the contact of your cold hand.

You pull back slightly to look up at him, your hand drifting across his abs. You didn’t notice that he had a six pack the other night in the hot tub, but your skin grows warmer as you trace every single muscle. His breathing gets shakier with every moment that passes, and he opens his eyes to look at you. 

His hand comes up from your back to move a stray strand of hair out of your face, and then rests gently cupping your jaw. You’re not sure what might happen, what it might mean, but you know that you want it. You want him.

You can’t stop staring at his lips. They’re perfectly plump, pink, and parted slightly so his front teeth peek out. He’s only inches from your face, and you bite your lip to refrain from babbling nonsense. You’re too nervous to make the first move, or to say anything really. 

You don’t have to say anything. He already knows by the way you’re looking at him, eyes full of want. He looks at you the same way. You’re holding your breath now in anticipation, waiting for him. He leans in slowly, scanning your face just before you touch, just in case you want to pull back. You respond by closing your eyes and he closes the gap. Your lips meet, and you exhale into him.

The kiss is tender, gentle in a way that’s precious. You’re only slightly stiff for a moment before relaxing into his touch, your lips moving in rhythm with his. It’s better than you could have ever dreamed of, and the only thing that matters is this moment right here, right now.

He pulls back for only a moment. “Jagiya,” he whispers. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Don’t stop,” you reply. 

The next kiss is hungrier, and his hand drifts down to your thigh, hiking it over his side. You grind into him on reflex and you can feel how hard he is beneath his sweatpants. You let out a moan into his mouth and he moves his hand to squeeze your ass, guiding you as you move against him.

You move your hand to his neck, deepening the kiss as your tongue meets his. He tastes delicious, and you move your hips harder and faster into him. He lets out a moan pulling you hard against him.

Your body feels like it’s on fire now, and you need more of him now. You feel your cunt throbbing against his length, and you tug his shirt up to take it off. He rolls you on your back gently, breaking the kiss to kneel above you to yank it off. He pulls up on the hem of your shirt next, and you sit up slightly to help him get you out of it.

The cold air hits you and your nipples harden immediately. He continues to kiss you, resting on his arm and moving his other hand to knead your breast. You moan at the contact and wrap your legs around his hips to bring him closer to the spot you’re on fire. His mouth moves down your jawline, leaving a trail of soft kisses. He gets to your neck and you lean your head to give him better access. He kisses and sucks on it gently, and your moans get louder and higher pitched. Everything is so much, and yet not enough. The friction between your legs causes a heat in your belly to pool, and you scratch at his back as his hips continue to roll into yours.

“Minho, please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

“Okay, jagiya. Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers against your skin. You nod your head frantically as you pull him back into another kiss.

He takes his hand from your chest and gently moves it down your body. You start to tremble, desperate to feel him between your legs. His fingers ghost against your core and you feel the wetness of your panties sticking to your folds. His mouth dips down to your chest as he licks across your breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. You gasp, and your hands fly to his hair, gripping slightly as he moves against you.

He brings his head up and moves his hand away from your heat, and you whimper at the loss. His hands come up and he takes two fingers into his mouth, wetting them gently. His hand comes back down, slips underneath your panties, and he sinks them into you.

“Fuck, Minho,” you gasp as he fucks into you slowly, lowering his head back down to your breast, sucking gently on your neglected nipple. “Oh my god, that feels so good.” He responds by humming against you, and you can’t help but buck into his touch.

“So needy,” he says as he pulls back, looking up at you. “Let me take my time with you, jagi.” You whine at him and pull him back into another kiss. He slips a third finger into you and your eyes roll back into your head, your stomach knotting as he picks up his speed.

His thumb makes contact with your clit and your muscles tighten, your whimpers louder and more erratic. “Not yet,” he whispers in your ear as he pulls his hand completely away from you. You’ve completely ruined your underwear at this point, the cool fabric sending a shock through you. He stands off the bed to tug them off of you, tossing them on the floor. He stares at you as he slowly unties his sweats, shimmying them off his hips and onto the floor. You watch as he drops his boxers next, his cock flinging out and against his stomach. He’s huge, and you whimper slightly at the thought of him stretching you out. 

He climbs back on top of you, kissing you again, and you grab onto his waist impatiently. He chuckles into your mouth.

“Are you sure?” he asks again. “I didn’t exactly bring a condom on a trip with my best friend.”

“Aw, I’m touched,” you say sarcastically. “Yes, god Minho please fuck me.” 

He slots himself between your legs and you wrap yours around his waist. He guides himself to your entrance and gently presses in. Only the head is inside and you’re already feeling stretched out. His forehead falls to yours, and you both moan in sync as he enters you. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans as he bottoms out. Your arms wrap around his back as he hovers above you, giving both of you time to adjust.

He starts to move and your stomach heats up again. He’s moving slowly but so deep, you can feel him hit your cervix with every thrust. You feel every drag of his length against his walls, the stretch of him feels so fucking good after all of the buildup.

He picks up the pace and kisses you again, fucking you harder into the mattress. He groans as he feels you squeeze around him. “Fuck, don’t do that, or I’m gonna come.” You do it again deliberately and he lets out a growl. 

He leans back and his hand moves to your clit, rubbing circles around it, applying just enough pressure to let the heat in your belly rise. Your body starts to tingle, and you feel your peak approaching fast. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, holy shit,” you gasp between his thrusts. He applies slightly more pressure, slamming his hips into you. The mattress squeaks loudly underneath you, the sound just barely audible over your moans.

“Minho—fuck, I’m gonna—“ you sputter out.

“It’s okay, come for me. I wanna feel you come around me, jagiya,” he coaxes you as he continues to drive into you, thumb moving fast over your nub.

That does it for you, and soon you're a shaking mess underneath him. Your orgasm crashes over you, and your skin feels electric, the warmth spreading throughout your body. 

“Jesus, I’m coming,” he says as he’s fucking you through your orgasm, finishing inside of you. You feel his cock spasm inside of you as you’re coming down from your high, and he grunts as he falls on top of you, careful to avoid your previous injuries.

“Fuck, jagi, baby, you’re incredible,” he pants, kissing you again. You’re smiling so wide now, kissing him back as he softens inside of you.

“That’s one way to warm up,” you laugh.

He pulls out of you, and you hiss at the contact, leaking all over the mattress. He grabs a towel and cleans you up, being gentle around your sensitive area. He helps you into a (thankfully fresh) pair of panties and his shirt, and he lies back down to pull you against his chest.

The quiet settles around you, still pitch black in the cabin, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s warm, comforting, and everything you’ve been missing.

“I’m an idiot,” he says softly. You raise an eyebrow at him, confused.

“Uh…you are, but why say that now?” you question.

“I spent the better part of a decade trying to make a relationship work, thinking that it would fill the weird emptiness I was feeling,” he starts, looking back at you. “Only to realize the person I wanted, the person I needed, was right in front of me.”

Your breath catches at his confession. “And…when did you realize that?” You pry. 

“About six months ago.” When he finally broke things off with his ex. “I was just waiting for her to realize it, too.” 

He looks back down at you, and you can’t hide the smile on your face. He kisses you again, slowly, and suddenly you realize why it never worked out with anybody else.

“I love you, if that wasn’t obvious,” he chuckles.

“I love you too,” you smile at him, resting into his chest.

This, him, everything, is exactly what you needed.

a/n: valentine’s day present is a bit late but it’s not really themed that way anyway haha. i feel like this was boring so pleaseee tell me if you enjoyed it! thank you to everyone who's shown me so much love these past few weeks, i'm hoping my writing is getting better hahaha ♡

part two

part two

Hyunjin throws phenomenal parties.

He always has, ever since you met him back in college. Basements, back decks, abandoned warehouses, any place you can think of, Hyunjin threw a party there. It was always packed, drunk people pressed together like sardines while trying to grind up on each other. It was fun, especially when you were freshly 21.

He makes no exception for his birthday. He’s toned the scale of everything since those days, but the activities were still the same. Drinking, dancing, turning every corner to find people coupled up and making out. It always made you laugh how easily people came together as soon as they had a couple shots in them. 

You remember being constantly asked, “Hey, you know Hyunjin, right?” and being begged to let people tag along with you. At first, you felt cool, like you were part of some exclusive club. After a while, you realized that people were kind of just using you, either to get an invite to one of Hyunjin’s parties or to get to Hyunjin himself.

He was always so popular with the ladies. Girls would bat their eyelashes at him around campus, trying to get an invite or trying to get in his pants. You rolled your eyes, knowing he’d never actually do anything about it.

He’s a flirt, for sure, but you know him better. Secretly, deep down, that man is a hopeless romantic. You love him for it, even if he's talking your ear off about some girl he thinks he’s in love with. There’s something precious about the way he still lights up even after being broken down time and time again in the dating market. 

But you still wish he were talking about you. 

Your crush on Hyunjin has lasted about as long as you’ve known him. You probably can’t even call it a crush anymore, it’s been years of silently pining over a man while never having the courage to actually admit how you feel about him. Because the prospect of losing him, your closest friend, over a silly little crush felt absurd and impossible. You wouldn’t let it happen. 

When you first met, you thought maybe there would be a chance for you. Maybe he didn’t ask you to hang out all the time just because, maybe he wanted more than just friendship. Until one night, after sharing a few beers, he said it.

“I’m glad you see me as more than just a pretty face who throws parties.” 

And the realization hit you like a brick wall. Oh, you thought. He just wants to be my friend. Whatever, you’ll get over it soon enough. Or so you thought. 

Cue you, kneeling on the rooftop concrete in a skirt that’s way too tight for your comfort, sweeping up glass from rowdy partygoers who had a few too many. 

Hyunjin is bagging up plastic cups and popping balloons dramatically on the other side of the rooftop. The after party clean up became somewhat of a ritual for you two. You’d clean up, joke around, have a few more drinks, and go back to his place and fall asleep on the couch watching a movie. It was the one thing you looked forward to at the end of every party. Sure, his presence during the parties was fun, but you were selfish. You wanted him all to yourself.

“Half of these cups are still full,” he says with a big sigh, dumping two cups straight into the trash bin in the middle of the rooftop. “I’m starting to think people just pretend to be wasted to look cool.”

“Or they realized your punch tastes like battery acid,” you reply with a chuckle.

“Hey! It’s not my fault these people can’t hang,” he jokes back. “It’s just juice and vodka.”

“I watched you pour a whole bottle of tequila in there.” You peer your head into the bowl on the table, and the smell of the alcohol hits your nostrils hard. You wince at it and give him a questioning look.

“It’s not that bad.” He pours a bit into an empty cup and takes a sip, his face twisting almost immediately. “Fuck that’s a lot of tequila.”

“Mhm.” You can’t help but laugh at him. He tries to offer it to you, and you shake your head as he downs the rest of it and tosses the cup. 

He walks over and wraps his arms around you. Your heart jolts, and you worry he can feel how fast it’s beating through your chest. 

If he does, he doesn’t comment on it. He starts to sway a little, his hands drifting to your sides as he rests his head on top of yours.

“Are you…dancing right now?” you ask him, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Yeah.”

“Without music?”

“Music is for amateurs,” he says, pulling back to spin you around. 

You giggle as he does it, stumbling back into his chest with a soft thud. Your hands settle on his shoulders before you can think too hard, swaying with him. Moments like these squeeze your heart so tight and fill it with so much affection, and there’s no one else who can make you feel it.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says quietly into your ear. If it were possible for your heart to beat harder, it would. Any looseness in your body that the alcohol gave you tightens again, and you’re too scared to look him in the eyes.

He notices the stiffness in your body and slows. “Hey,” he says softly, trying to make eye contact with you. 

“Don’t,” you say curtly, shaking your head.

“Don’t what?” He looks confused, and you don’t have it in you to have this conversation right now. 

“You just...always do this,” you start slowly as you play with his necklace, trying to keep your hands steady. “You compliment me, you cuddle with me on the couch, you tell me you love me—”

“I do love you.”

“No, I mean,” you pause, trying to find the words. “I know that, but it’s not…you don’t mean it like that…” Your voice trails off.

His eyes scan your face, brows furrowing. You’re still not looking at him, and you can feel your throat tightening up. 

“What if I did?” he says, soft but firm.

“Hyunjin, please stop—”

“I’m serious.” You finally look up at him. There’s no lie that you can see on his face, and you would know.

“This might ruin everything,” he starts, cupping your face in his hands. “But I have enough tequila in me that I don’t care right now. I love you. I’ve meant it every time I’ve said it, and no, not like you’re just a friend. God, it feels really good to say that out loud. I’ve wished every year for you to look at me differently, to see me as more than—”

You shut him up by pulling his necklace towards you and kissing him. Your hands grab onto his shirt, holding tightly to keep yourself together. He kisses you back, passionately and without hesitation. Your head is spinning, and you can hardly contain the emotions surging through your body.

He’s staring back at you wide-eyed when you pull away. His confused face slowly turns into a smile, his brows unfurrow as he pulls you back in for another kiss.

“What took you so long?” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back, leaning his forehead against yours. “I didn’t think I stood a chance…”

You stare back at him with a puzzled look. It’s a ridiculous statement, truly. He has to be the most oblivious person on the planet if he has never realized the way you looked at him.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You can’t help but laugh at him and at yourself. If he’s been oblivious for years, you wonder how long you’ve missed the signs. “For how long?”

“God, for years,” he huffs out, big ass smile still plastered on his face.

You nod your head. “Same.” The puzzled, confused look reappears on his face. 

“You really didn’t know?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“I had no idea,” he replies, squeezing you tighter. 

All those late nights, tender moments, the way he’d pull you into random dances like it was nothing. You just missed it. Or maybe, you were too scared to notice what you would have surely found. Him, longing for you, the same way you did for him. You peer up at the sky, perfectly littered with twinkling stars, and curse them for a moment for laughing at you. Hyunjin starts to move again, leading you into another dance.

The rooftop feels quieter now, save for the buzz of the string lights that stretch across it. You move along with him, swaying to the beat of absolutely nothing, and you couldn’t be happier in this moment.

“Hyunjin, there’s still no music.” You giggle against his chest, your heartbeat now steady. He moves dramatically with the wind, leading you along with him.

“I don’t need music.” He pulls you closer, a twinkle in his eye as he cups your face with his hand. “I just need you.”

permanent taglist: @11racha @jisuperboard @kloversung @sourtae @binniebb @b4echo @hanjinology @lynsbng @eyyyylucieeee

fuckboy!Chris who fucks like a man with something to prove. He’s used to girls falling apart in ten minutes and he’s bored of it, so with you he takes his time just to see what happens. He lays you out on his bed, gets your dress rucked up around your hips, panties shoved to the side, and spends way too long just… looking. Big hands spreading you open so his thumb can swipe through your slick, middle finger teasing at your entrance but not pushing in yet.

fuckboy!Chris who talks you through it like he’s slipping under your skin—voice all gravel and honey right by your ear while his thick cock stretches you out, inch by inch, until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. He hitches your knees up high, folding you almost in half so your feet barely have anything to press against, your whole body pinned and helpless under the weight of him.

“That’s it,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he bottoms out, so deep you swear you feel him in your lungs. “Take all of it for me. Knew this pretty pussy could handle me.”

fuckboy!Chris who loses his mind over the size difference—how your hand looks when it wraps around just the base of him, how your thighs tremble against his ribs when he really starts to move. He watches you in the mirror across the room, the way your tits bounce with every rough snap of his hips, your face going slack and pretty when he hits that spot inside you over and over until your voice cracks.

“Look at you,” he pants, leaning back just enough to cage your wrists above your head with one hand, the other bracing under your thigh as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams the wall, your whimpers spilling into the room. “So fucking pretty under me… you hear yourself? All those little noises just for my cock?”

fuckboy!Chris who swears he doesn’t kiss girls, not really, not the way that matters—but somehow his mouth keeps finding yours mid-thrust, stealing your breath, swallowing your broken, wrecked sounds. He groans when your legs lock around his waist like you’re trying to keep him there forever, like you’d die if he pulled out.

“Fuuuck—yeah, hold on to me,” he rasps, voice fraying. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-slick and desperate. “Clingy little thing, aren’t you? You want me to stay?”

fuckboy!Chris who was supposed to pull out. He always does. That’s the rule. No sleepovers, no cuddling, no finishing inside. But then your nails rake down his back and he feels you clamp down around him so tight he sees white.

His hips stutter, rhythm breaking as he drives into you harder, deeper, chasing it.

“Shit, baby, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He should pull back. He knows it. Instead his hand flies to your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he forces your head up so you’re looking right at him when he spills, cock throbbing, hot and thick inside you. He groans into your open mouth, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck… shit, look what you made me do,” he pants, staying buried, cock twitching as his cum leaks out around the seal of you, sticky and obscene. 

fuckboy!Chris who tells himself that’s it. One time. You were good, sure, but there’s always someone else. Except then he’s in the shower later with his head against the tile, jerking himself off to the memory of your fucked-out face, the way you gasped when he lifted your hips and pushed you down onto him like a doll. He comes too fast, embarrassingly fast, and the worst part is he still isn’t satisfied.

fuckboy!chris who tells himself he only comes back because you’re convenient. Because you’re close. Because you’re good. And you are—fuck, you’re good. You look up at him with those glassy eyes while you’re on top of him and he has to brace a hand against the mattress so he doesn’t shake, veins in his forearms popping as he rasps out, “slow down, baby, fuck— you tryna make me fall in love or what?”

fuckboy!Chris who starts seeing you everywhere after that—your lip gloss in the corner of his sheet, your hair tie on his nightstand, the faint bruise your teeth left on his throat. His phone lights up and he pretends he’s not waiting for your name, but his stomach flips every time it’s someone else.

fuckboy!Chris who texts you at 1:43 a.m. u up? fully expecting you to ignore him. When you actually answer, his fingers tighten around his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face.

yeah. why?

you know why, he sends back before he can talk himself out of it. come over.

fuckboy!Chris who never, ever fucks the same girl twice—who built a whole persona on that, on being untouchable, unbothered, too busy chasing the next warm body to even think about repeats—until you.

Until he’s on his knees between your thighs the next time, shoulders spread wide against your inner legs, licking into you like a man starved because just feeling you around his cock isn’t enough anymore. Until he’s growling against your pussy, voice rough and wrecked:

“Gonna ruin you for everyone else, you know that? You feel what I’m doing to you? No one’s ever gonna have you like this but me.”

fuckboy!Chris who starts staying after. He’ll finish with you—deep, messy, your cunt still fluttering around him—and then he’ll realize he’s still inside you ten minutes later, just lazily rocking his hips while you whimper into his neck, your fingers tracing patterns on his back. He tells himself he’s just catching his breath, that’s all.

fuckboy!Chris who hears his friends joking about how he never sticks around, never calls, never double-backs… and doesn’t say anything about the fact he’s already been in your bed three times this week. Or the way his jaw tightens when you mention some guy from class, tongue pressed into his cheek when your phone lights up with another name while you’re straddling his lap.

fuckboy!Chris who suddenly gets really opinionated about your love life for someone who “doesn’t do relationships.”

“Why you even talking to him?” he mutters, peeping over your shoulder at your phone. “His texts are dry as hell. You seriously into that?”

fuckboy!Chris who pretends it doesn’t bother him when you say, half-teasing, “Relax, you’re not my boyfriend,” after he snatches your phone and flips it screen-down. He scoffs, leans back on your pillows with his arms behind his head like he’s unbothered, shirt riding up just enough to show the cut lines of his stomach.

“I know,” he says. “I’d be a shit one.”

But he fucks you mean that night, rougher than usual, your knees hooked over his forearms as he drives into you, eyes dark and focused like he’s trying to fuck the word boyfriend right out of your vocabulary. Every thrust is deep, punishing, your breath hitching into little choked-off cries.

“Not your boyfriend,” he grits, hips slamming into the backs of your thighs. “But you let me fuck you like this, yeah? You let me be the only one who sees you like this?”

fuckboy!Chris who can’t stop talking once he’s in deep and losing it.

“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, eyes fixed where you’re stretched around him, where his cock disappears inside you again and again. “Always so ready for me, always so tight—shit, bet you’d take whatever I give you, huh? Fingers, tongue, anything I want.”

You whine his name, broken and high, and feel him shudder behind you.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You were made for this fucking cock, swear to God.”

fuckboy!Chris who starts doing stupid things, out of nowhere. Like showing up with takeout on a night you didn’t invite him. Like remembering how you take your coffee without ever meaning to. Like shrugging off his hoodie and tugging it over your head when you shiver, grumbling, “you say you run hot and then complain about being cold, unreal,” while his brain quietly short-circuits at how cute you look in it.

fuckboy!Chris who gets reckless with his own rules. You spend the night once because it’s late, and then again because you “accidentally” fall asleep on his chest, and then again because he mumbles, half-asleep, “Just stay, yeah?” into your hair, and you do.

fuckboy!Chris who wakes up hard against you, arm heavy over your waist, face tucked into your neck, and realizes—horrified—that he feels… calm. Not trapped, not itchy to leave. Just… good. Your breath soft and even, your hand curled around his fingers like you trust him with something fragile.

fuckboy!Chris who panics and pulls back. Starts answering slower. Starts making excuses. Starts trying to prove to himself he’s still the same as he was before you, going out more, letting girls press up on him in clubs, flirting just enough to remind himself he knows how.

fuckboy!Chris who can’t follow through. He gets them back to his apartment, hands on autopilot, mouth saying all the right things—until they touch him in a way that isn’t yours, until they laugh at the wrong moment, until they look up at him and he thinks, not you. Everything in him goes flat.

“Actually,” he says once, stepping back with a crooked, apologetic grin, “I just remembered I’ve got an early morning.” “Now?” she scoffs. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, already walking her to the door. “Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart.”

fuckboy!Chris who shuts the door on someone else and somehow ends up in his car, engine rumbling under his hands while his brain short-circuits. He tells himself he’s just going for a drive, just clearing his head. Definitely not typing your address into his GPS even though he could get there blindfolded by now.

fuckboy!Chris who’s halfway up your building’s stairs before he realizes he doesn’t have a reason to be there. No real one, anyway. Not one that doesn’t sound pathetic when he says it out loud.

I missed you.

He stands outside your door for a full minute, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides, heartbeat loud in his ears. He almost turns around. Almost.

He knocks.

You open the door in an old t-shirt and tiny shorts, hair a little messy, eyes going wide when you see him.

“Chris?”

He did not plan what to say. Panic hits so fast his brain grabs the first thing it can find.

“I’m sick,” he blurts.

You blink. “…What?”

“I’m—” he fakes a cough on the spot, winces at himself halfway through it and commits anyway, hunching his shoulders like he’s in a drama. “S’bad.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just stare at him, taking in the hoodie, the faint smell of cologne.

Then your mouth curls, unimpressed. “If you wanted to come over to fuck,” you say flatly, “you could’ve just said so.”

His ego flares like a personal emergency. Absolutely not. No way is he admitting that he bailed on another girl and came here because he—what, missed you? Needed you?

He coughs again. 

“Nah, I’m serious,” he insists, putting a hand to his forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “Think I’ve got, like… the plague or some shit.”

You squint at him. “You walked here with the plague.”

“Drove,” he corrects, like that helps. “Didn’t wanna give it to anyone. ‘Cept you, I guess. Sorry, baby.”

You exhale, half a laugh, half a sigh. “You’re so stupid.”

But you step back to let him in.

fuckboy!Chris who instantly sheds his shoes and beelines for your couch like he lives there, flopping down with a dramatic groan. He drapes an arm over his eyes, other hand fisted in the hem of your throw blanket like he’s on his deathbed.

“Let me feel,” you mutter, stepping closer.

His brain promptly exits the chat.

“Feel what?” he asks, voice pitching up, because there are about five different answers he’d like to give that have nothing to do with health.

“Your forehead, dumbass.” You plant a hand on your hip.

He swallows and sits up a little, and it hits you—he does look off. Not just tired. His hair is a little damp at the hairline, cheeks flushed in a way that doesn’t look like his usual post-gym glow. His breathing isn’t labored, exactly, but there’s something… off-rhythm about it.

You reach out, press your palm flat to his forehead.

fuckboy!Chris who has had your hands on every inch of him and somehow still feels like he’s going to combust from the simple, cool weight of your palm on his skin. His eyes flutter shut on reflex, lashes brushing his cheeks, shoulders slumping.

“You’re hot,” you say, even though he’s not.

He opens one eye. “In a sexy way or—”

You smack his shoulder. “Christopher.”

He winces, but there’s a ghost of a grin there. It fades when you lean in again, thumb brushing the side of his neck like you’re checking his pulse. Your brows knit.

“On a scale of one to ten, how fake is this illness?”

He peeks at you from under his arm, lashes low. “Nine point seven,” he admits. Then, quickly, “But the part where I feel like shit is real.”

Your expression shifts, just a little. “Headache?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, the lie burying itself under the truth. “Headache.”

You hover for a second longer, still clearly suspicious, then your shoulders drop. “You could’ve just said you were having a bad night,” you mutter, brushing a bit of his hair back from his forehead with your fingers before you can stop yourself.

He goes very still under your touch.

“I’m having a bad night,” he says quietly.

fuckboy!Chris who says it like a joke at first—even now, his instinct is to twist everything into something lighter, something you can both laugh off later. But it sits between you too heavy to be funny, and when you don’t immediately fire back, he realizes he said it a little too honest.

You exhale, the edge in your shoulders softening against your will.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I kind of figured.”

You end up herding him toward your bedroom like he’s some oversized, sulky cat. He sits on the edge of your mattress, suddenly shy in a way that makes no sense given how many times he’s had you naked and begging under him.

“Top on or off?” you ask, rummaging for an extra blanket.

His brain immediately supplies a slideshow of you asking that in very different circumstances. His cock twitches in his sweats. Not the time, not the time, not the time—

“On,” he croaks, in case his body betrays him. 

You snort. “Relax, I wasn’t trying to strip you. I just don’t wanna wash hoodie lint out of my sheets if you start writhing around in your ‘death throes.’”

“I don’t writhe,” he mutters, which is a lie and you both know it.

You flick off the lamp by your dresser, leave the one by your bed on low. The room shrinks around the soft pool of light, everything quieter, edges blurred. You toss the extra blanket onto the mattress, then gesture.

“Lie down properly,” you say.

He hesitates, then swings his legs up, sitting stiffly with his back against the headboard like he’s in a waiting room. His hands are flat on his thighs, fingers drumming restlessly.

You crawl onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping with your weight. That gets his attention; his gaze tracks the movement of your body, the hem of your t-shirt riding up just a touch as you settle.

You pat your lap. “Here.”

His brows lift. “There?”

“No, the floor,” you deadpan. “Yes, here.”

He stares at you like you’ve offered him something dangerous and he’s not sure he should touch it. This is stupid, he thinks. He’s put his head between your thighs without blinking and now he’s nervous about putting it on them.

“You sure?” he asks, and even he can hear how rough it comes out.

You roll your eyes, softer this time. “Chris. C’mere.”

fuckboy!Chris who has never, ever laid his head in anyone’s lap in his life like this, not unless it was on the way to sliding down their body. 

fuckboy!Chris who has never been shy about taking what he wants when it comes to your body, but somehow feels like he’s crossing a line just by shifting down the bed, turning, and easing his head onto your thighs. The mattress springs sigh, your warmth seeping through the thin cotton of your shorts.

You adjust him without ceremony—one hand at the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the tense knot there as you guide him until he’s exactly where you want him.

“Better?” you ask.

He didn’t know he needed this until the second his head finds the curve of you and everything inside him… drops. Unwinds. Lets go.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s… good.”

Your hand finds his hair like it’s been waiting there all along. You start to card your fingers through the strands, slow and deliberate, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

fuckboy!Chris who has taken you apart with his hands, his mouth, his body—who has bent you and folded you and held you down—and yet somehow, this undoes him more than any of it.

His eyes slide shut before he can stop them. His shoulders, always so squared and ready for impact, gradually sink into the mattress. Every stroke of your fingers sends a little shiver down his spine, not sharp, not electric—just… warm. Soothing. Intimate in a way he doesn’t have a category for.

“Tired?” you murmur after a moment.

“Mm.” His voice vibrates against your thighs. “Yeah.”

“How bad was it?” you ask quietly. “Your day.”

He swallows. His first instinct is to say it was fine. To make a joke. To say something glib and easy that keeps everything on the surface where it’s always been safe for him.

Instead, your nails catch on a tender spot behind his ear and his answer slips out softer than he means it to.

“Shit,” he says. “It was shit.”

You hum, fingers never stopping. “Yeah?”

He could tell you about the girl he almost fucked tonight and couldn’t. About how he stood in his own kitchen with someone’s hands on him and felt… nothing. About the way his chest has been tight for days, like there’s a fist around his ribs that only loosens when you’re close.

Instead, he swallows it all down.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he mutters.

You don’t push. You don’t pry it open or ask for details or turn his bad day into a post-mortem. You just make a quiet, noncommittal sound and keep stroking his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp in slow, steady passes.

It’s such a small kindness it shouldn’t knock the air out of him.

But it does.

He feels it in the way his body reacts—like some invisible tension wire inside his chest finally snaps loose. His shoulders sink further into the mattress, muscles unspooling one by one as your fingers comb through his curls, carding from his hairline all the way back to the nape of his neck.

He lets out a sound he doesn’t recognize.

It’s tiny. Half-sigh, half-whine. It slips out of him on the exhale, vibration buzzing against the soft skin of your thigh. He goes still immediately after, like he can pull it back in by force.

You’re an angel for pretending you didn’t hear it.

Your hand just changes angle, fingertips dragging from his temple, over the shell of his ear, back to that spot at the base of his skull. You circle there, gentle pressure and lazy scratches that make his toes curl in his socks.

He doesn’t mean to, but another little noise escapes him—deeper this time, a soft, broken-edged hum that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

“Feels that good?” you murmur, almost amused.

His cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he mutters, but it comes out breathy, not sharp at all.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you say. Your thumb strokes along his hairline, catching the dampness there, smoothing the flyaways back. Your nails skim his scalp again, slower, firmer.

He shudders.

The hand on your leg tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh like he needs something to hold on to. His other hand, the one on his chest, slides lower to grip the hem of his hoodie, knuckles going white as he clenches.

You keep touching him like you have all the time in the world. No rush, no goal, just long, repetitive strokes that make his thoughts blur at the edges.

It’s obscene, almost, how good it feels. Every drag of your fingers through his hair sends a warm, lazy heat spilling down his spine, settling in his chest, his stomach, the backs of his knees.

“Mm,” he hums, eyes squeezing shut when you scratch a little harder at his scalp. “Fuck, that’s…”

He trails off, jaw slackening. Another small sound slips out, embarrassingly close to a whine. It makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

“Good?” you supply.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “S’good. So good.”

You slow it down even more, changing the pattern—fingers threading through his curls, separating them, letting them slip through the spaces between your knuckles. You use the pads of your fingers to massage small circles into his scalp, working from one side to the other, like you’re trying to erase every leftover thought clinging to his brain.

His breathing changes.

It’s softer now, coming in slow pulls. Every exhale brushes warm over the inside of your thigh. You can feel the way his body keeps reacting in tiny involuntary flinches: the twitch of his shoulders when you scratch behind his ear, the little kick of his foot when you drag your nails right at the nape.

A soft, breathy whimper falls out of him, high in his chest, broken off halfway like he tried to swallow it and failed.

You don’t stop. If anything, your touch gentles, fingertips tracing the curve of his skull with almost ridiculous care.

“There you go,” you murmur, more to him than anything. “Just relax.”

He lets out a helpless huff of laughter. “I am,” he says, voice fuzzy. “That’s the problem.”

“Is it?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, not really. Just hums again, the sound low and wrecked, pressing his cheek more firmly against your thigh like he’s trying to burrow inside it.

You can feel how warm he is. Not sick, not feverish, just thoroughly undone. His lashes lie dark against his cheeks, his mouth parted around soft, involuntary breaths. The notorious fuckboy, the one who always has the upper hand, the exit strategy, the next option—reduced to a whimpering puddle because you’re playing with his hair.

Your fingers slide down, combing through the curl at his nape, then drifting to stroke the side of his neck. You trace absent patterns there—little loops and lines that make his pulse jump under your touch.

He squeezes your thigh, a small, desperate gesture.

fuckboy!chan who starts to melt in earnest, muscles slack, hand slipping from a grip on your thigh to a loose, warm weight. Every so often, he makes a sound—tiny, half-formed, the kind of whine he’d mock someone else for—but he’s too blissed-out to care.

If he could hear himself, he’d be mortified. If his friends could see him, he’d never live it down.

But it’s just you here. Just you and the soft light and the quiet and the gentle drag of your fingers through his hair. And for once, he lets himself have this without thinking about what it looks like.

Without thinking about what it means.

He tips his head a little to the side, just enough that his nose brushes the inside of your thigh through the fabric. He inhales, deep and slow, like he’s trying to memorize your scent. Your hand automatically slides down again, cupping the back of his head, thumb stroking behind his ear.

“Y’gonna fall asleep on me?” you ask after a while, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” he whispers back. His words are getting fuzzy at the edges, each one a little slower than the last. “You’re… dangerous, you know that? Could get anything you want from me like this.”

“Good to know,” you say, amused. “I’ll start drafting my list.”

He huffs a quiet laugh that dissolves into a tiny, breathy “ah—” when your nails scratch lightly behind his ear again. His toes curl under the blanket. He has never been this defenseless in front of anyone, and somehow it doesn’t scare him. It just… feels right.

“You are so adorable, Channie,” you murmur without thinking, the words slipping out on a breath.

His entire body jolts.

Heat rushes up his neck, flooding his face, his chest. He feels it burn all the way to the tips of his ears. A strangled noise catches in his throat and he grips your thigh again, harder this time, fingers biting into your skin.

He doesn’t know what to do with that. With you. With the way his tough-guy persona, the fuckboy mask, all of it feels so flimsy in the face of this quiet, devastating tenderness.

So he doesn’t do anything.

He just lies there, whimpery and boneless, letting you pet him like he’s yours. Letting himself be soft where no one else can see.

fuckboy!Chris who can talk you through every way he wants to fuck you, who can narrate your own pleasure back to you in filthy detail without flinching—completely wordless now beneath your hands, all his slick lines burnt away by the simple, devastating luxury of being petted and held.

fuckboy!Chris who thought he’d come over tonight to take the edge off, to use your body like a distraction—now humming quietly into the softness of your stomach, eyes half-closed, letting you turn him into a whimpery, pliant mess with nothing more than your fingers in his hair and the steady warmth of your lap.

the kitchen smelled faintly like toasted bread and instant ramen, the kind of comforting mess that always came with spending too much time at felix's place.

you were perched on the counter, legs swinging as felix leaned against the opposite side, laughing at something on his phone. his laugh filled the space so easily that you barely noticed how natural it felt to be there with him.

it always did.

you were wearing the hoodie he’d left at your place weeks ago, sleeves a little too long, and he was absentmindedly fiddling with the thin bracelet around his wrist. the one you’d made him years ago, back when friendship bracelets felt like promises.

“listen to this,” he said, shoving his phone towards you. some ridiculous video played, and you snorted before you could stop yourself.

“you have the worst sense of humour,” you told him, smiling anyway.

“that’s a lie and you know it,” he shot back, grin wide. then, almost casually, like it didn’t mean anything at all, he added, “oh, by the way, i’m going on a date tonight.”

the words landed wrong. they felt absolutely… off. like a note slightly out of tune.

for half a second, your chest tightened, breath catching before you even realised why. your mind scrambled to keep up with the sudden shift, to shove the feeling down before it showed on your face. you forced your expression into something bright, something easy.

“oh,” you said, then quickly, “really? that’s great, lix. i’m happy for you.”

and you meant it. you did. at least, you wanted to. you cared about him, wanted him to be happy, wanted his life to be full and exciting and everything he deserved.

that didn’t stop the small, sharp sting in your chest, the one you pretended not to notice.

felix blinked. it was subtel, the way his smile faltered for just a moment before he smoothed it out again. his fingers stilled on the bracelet, hand dropping to his side.

“yeah?” he asked, like he was checking your answer. “you’re… happy?”

“of course,” you said, too quickly. “why wouldn’t i be?”

he hummed, nodding slowly, but something in his eyes shifted. confusion, maybe. disappointment. something unspoken settling heavy between the two of you.

he’d expected something else. he didn’t know what exactly, maybe surprise, maybe hesitation, maybe a crack in your voice that betrayed something deeper. anything that proved he wasn’t the only one who felt that strange, tightening pull when the idea of someone else entered the picture.

but you were smiling supportively. and for reasons he didn’t fully understand yet, that made something sour twist in his stomach.

“i should get ready,” he said after a moment, pushing himself off the counter. “don’t wanna be late.”

“right,” you replied, nodding. “have fun.”

he paused at the doorway, glancing back at you like he wanted to say something else. instead, he just smiled again, brighter this time, almost forced. “i will.”

when he left, the kitchen felt quieter. too quiet.

you stared at the spot where he’d been standing, fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie. the bracelet on your own wrist felt heavier somehow, the thread digging softly into your skin.

you told yourself it was fine. that this was something you knew would happen at some point. that you’d get over your iwn feeling like you always did.

you didn’t see the way felix, down the hall, glanced at his reflection and frowned, thinking about how much he’d wanted your reaction to be different.

you were still sitting on the counter when the door opened again, the sound of shoes being kicked off echoing through the hallway. seungmin walked in, hair damp, practice bag slung over his shoulder, radiating that tired-but-energised post-practice vibe. he headed straight for the kitchen, nodding at you in greeting.

“hey,” he said easily. “you’re quiet.”

“am i?” you asked, though your voice felt distant even to yourself.

he didn’t push it. instead, he grabbed his water bottle. the normalcy of it grounded you a little, the familiar rhythm of someone else just… existing.

“felix around?” seungmin asked, unscrewing the lid.

“yeah,” you replied. “he’s getting ready.”

seungmin paused, eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at you. for a second, you could almost see the thought forming behind his eyes.

ready for what? shouldn’t you have to get ready then as well?

his gaze flicked over you, your hoodie, your lack of urgency, the way you were very clearly not scrambling to leave. the confusion lingered, then something clicked.

“oh,” he said, eyes widening slightly. “wait, who’s he going out with?”

you shrugged, the motion small, almost careless. “no idea.”

seungmin frowned, clearly unsettled by that answer, but before he could say anything else, you pushed yourself off the counter.

“i should head out,” you said. “see you.”

he watched you leave, the quiet click of the door closing behind you leaving the kitchen feeling oddly incomplete.

down the hall, felix stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the collar of his shirt for the third time. he should’ve been excited.

instead, his mind kept replaying the same image. you, smiling. supportive. unbothered.

he swallowed, jaw tightening. it shouldn’t matter. it didn’t matter. you were his best friend. you always had been. the feelings he’d buried for so long were stupid, inconvenient, and clearly one-sided.

you didn’t feel that way about him, he told himself. so why keep holding onto it?

felix exhaled sharply, straightening his posture. fine. he’d go on the date. he’d really go through with it. he’d let himself try, let himself prove that he could want someone else, that he could finally get over this stupid crush he’d carried for way too long.

he grabbed his jacket, forcing determination into his movements.

this was for the best.

for both of you.

when felix came back later that night, the dorm was dim and quiet, the kitchen light still on. seungmin was there again, rinsing a plate, glancing up when the door closed.

“you’re back,” seungmin said. “how was it?”

felix dropped his keys onto the counter, shoulders tense as he shrugged out of his jacket. he hesitated for half a second, long enough to notice the faint, unfamiliar emptiness settling in his chest.

“it was nice,” he said finally, tone carefully neutral. “i thought i’d give her a chance.”

seungmin studied him, something thoughtful in his expression, but he didn’t argue. he just nodded slowly.

“yeah?” he said. “that so?”

felix nodded, even as his fingers curled unconsciously around his wrist, rubbing over the place where his bracelet sat, like he was reminding himself of something he hadn’t meant to forget.

days passed, slipping into each other the way they always did, and on the surface, nothing really changed.

felix still texted you the moment he woke up, half-coherent messages riddled with typos and voice notes where his voice was warm and sleepy. he still sent you pictures of the sky when it looked especially pretty, of his food when it looked especially bad, of anything that made him laugh because his first instinct was still you.

you replied like you always had. you teased him for his spelling mistakes, sent him memes in return, complained about your day, listened to his. sometimes you forgot that anything had shifted at all.

until it did.

a pause before he answered. a message left on read for longer than usual. a conversation that ended earlier than it would have before. you told yourself not to overthink it. he had a girlfriend now. things were bound to be different.

felix felt it too. every time his phone buzzed with your name lighting up the screen, something warm spread through his chest, and right after it, a sharp prickle of guilt.

his girlfriend would glance over, lips pursed. “you’re texting her again?” she asked once, not quite accusing, but close enough.

“yeah,” felix replied, instinctively tucking his phone closer to himself. “we always text.”

she hummed, eyes lingering on him for a second too long. “don’t you think that’s a little… much?”

the word settled uncomfortably between them.

after that, she started hovering. leaning against his shoulder while he typed, peeking at the screen, commenting on your messages.

“what’s so funny?”

“why does she need to know that?”

“can’t it wait?”

felix started angling his phone away without even realising it, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. he hated the feeling crawling up his spine, like he was doing something wrong just by wanting to talk to you.

so he replied slower. shorter. sometimes not at all.

you noticed and didn’t say anything at first, but the ache built quietly, every unread message and delayed reply chipping away at something you hadn’t realised was so fragile. when you did see him in person, he seemed distracted, his attention split, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

the worst part was that he still laughed with you. still cared. just… less openly.

one afternoon, you caught sight of his wrist and your heart sank a little. the bracelet was gone.

you didn’t ask about it. you just swallowed the feeling and smiled like everything was fine, even as felix rubbed absentmindedly at the bare skin there later that night, a hollow sensation blooming in his chest.

the tension finally snapped the night the boys invited you over. it was supposed to be casual. food, games, too much noise and not enough space. the kind of thing that usually felt like home. but felix barely looked at you.

he laughed at jokes that weren’t yours, kept his answers short, his body angled away like he was trying to create distance on purpose. every time you caught his eye, he looked away first.

your patience wore thin. you waited until he stepped into the hallway to grab a drink, then followed him, heart pounding as you called his name softly.

“felix.” he turned, expression already tense. “what?”

you hesitated, then took a breath. “did i do something? you’ve been really distant lately and i just– if i upset you, i want to know.”

for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. his jaw clenched instead. “no,” he said, too fast. then, louder, “it's just... i have a girlfriend now, okay? i can’t be there for you twenty-four seven.”

the words hit harder than you expected, a cold shock spreading through your chest.

you stared at him, searching his face for something, any emotion, but you didn’t find anything.

“okay,” you said quietly, with a forced nod, “fine.”

you didn’t wait for him to respond. you turned and walked away, grabbing your things, ignoring the way your hands shook. when the door closed behind you, the sound echoed painfully through the dorm.

felix stood there, staring at the empty hallway, heart racing.

the second you were gone, the anger drained out of him, leaving only a sick, sinking realisation in its place.

he thought he’d just done something he wouldn’t be able to take back.

you went home, kicked off your shoes, sat on the edge of your bed and stared at the floor for a long time, replaying his words over and over until they lost shape and still somehow hurt just as much. you told yourself you were being dramatic, that this was what you’d agreed to the moment you decided to stay quiet about your feelings.

still, the ache lingered.

hours later, when the apartment was dark and your thoughts refused to settle, you reached for your phone. not to start a fight. not to demand anything. just to… make sure you hadn’t imagined it all.

your fingers hovered over his name before you typed.

« hey. i don’t want things to be weird between us. »

you hit send.

the message stayed grey.

you frowned, waiting. refreshed the chat. tried again.

« is everything okay? »

nothing.

a cold knot formed in your stomach, your pulse quickening with every second that passed. then you realised it.

you were blocked.

your breath left you in a shaky exhale. you laughed once, softly, like you couldn’t quite believe it. “wow,” you whispered to no one.

embarrassment burned hot, followed quickly by anger. you wanted to march back to the dorm and scream at him, wanted to slap that stupid, apologetic look off his face that he’d probably wear if you ever confronted him. instead, you tossed your phone onto the bed and lay back, staring at the ceiling until the ache settled into something dull and heavy.

fine, you thought. if that’s how he wants it.

back at the dorm, felix sat on his bed with his phone in his hands, screen lighting up his face every few seconds as he checked it again. and again.

nothing.

you hadn’t texted. not once. no memes. no sarcastic comments. no got home safely! like you used to send without fail.

his chest tightened.

maybe you just need some space, he told himself.

but the days dragged on, stretching thin, and the silence grew louder with every passing minute.

the memory of your voice earlier replayed in his head, softer than he’d ever heard it.

did i do something?

guilt clawed at him.

he reached for his wrist without thinking, thumb brushing over bare skin where the bracelet used to be. the absence felt wrong, like he’d misplaced something important and only realised too late.

maybe you were upset. maybe you were hurt. maybe, his stomach twisted, maybe you just didn’t care enough to reach out anymore.

the thought hurt more than he expected.

he unlocked his phone again, opening your chat, ready to type something, anything, to fix it. he stared at the empty space where your messages should have been, waiting for the familiar buzz that never came.

with a frustrated sigh, he set the phone face down on the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

you probably don't want anything to do with him anymore, he thought. the idea settling heavy in his chest.

and as he lay there in the quiet, felix realised with a sinking feeling that pushing you away had hurt a lot more than he’d ever meant it to.

weeks passed, each day blending into the next. felix threw himself into schedules, practices, anything that kept him busy enough not to think too hard about the quiet that followed him everywhere. he laughed when he was supposed to, smiled for cameras, nodded along to conversations, but it all felt hollow.

his girlfriend didn’t notice. or maybe she didn’t care. "we should go out again,” she said one afternoon, scrolling through her phone while sitting next to him. “somewhere nice. people love couple content.”

felix hummed noncommittally. “i’m kinda tired. maybe we could just stay in?”

she looked up, visibly unimpressed. “stay in? felix, that’s boring. you’re an idol, you can’t just hide. i want people to see us.”

us, she said, but it never felt like it included him.

another time, as he poked at his food, appetite long gone, he tried again. “i’ve just been feeling off lately,” he admitted quietly. “like… not myself.”

she waved a hand, already losing interest. “you’re overthinking. anyway, i was thinking we could do a couples shoot. it’d be great for my socials.”

his words dissolved in the air between them. whenever he talked about himself, about being tired, overwhelmed, lonely, she’d redirect the conversation so fast it left his head spinning.

“you’re so sensitive lately.”

“can we not talk about this now?”

“why are you making this such a big deal?”

once, when he went on for more than a minute about missing the things he used to enjoy, she scoffed. “why do you always make everything about you?”

the words stuck with him. around the studio, the others noticed.

chan watched felix retreat into himself, shoulders hunched, smiles shorter. jeongin whispered to changbin one night about how quiet he’d gotten. even hyunjin frowned when felix flinched at a joke that would’ve made him laugh before.

late one evening, the studio was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that made thoughts too loud.

chan found felix curled into one end of the studio couch with his phone in his hands. he wasn’t really scrolling, just staring at the screen like he expected it to change if he looked long enough. chan lingered in the doorway for a moment before speaking.

“hey,” he said gently. “i haven’t seen y/n in a while.”

felix’s thumb paused. he didn’t look up.

“how is she?” chan continued, tone casual on the surface. then, more carefully, “how are you?”

felix shrugged, the movement stiff, practiced. “i don’t know.”

chan frowned, stepping closer. “you don’t know?” he echoed. “aren’t you two talking anymore?”

felix’s grip tightened around his phone. your chat sat at the top of his screen, empty, silent, mocking him with weeks of nothing. no good mornings. no stupid videos. no did you eat yet?

nothing.

“i don’t know,” he repeated, quieter this time.

chan raised his eyebrows, disbelief creeping in. “you don’t know how she’s doing? felix, she used to be here all the time.”

felix swallowed, jaw tightening. he hated how small his voice felt when he spoke again. hated how much effort it took just to keep it steady.

“people drift,” he muttered.

it sounded like something he’d rehearsed. something he’d told himself over and over, hoping one day it would stop hurting.

chan crossed his arms. “since when?”

silence stretched between them.

felix stared at his phone like it could save him, like if he kept his eyes down long enough, he wouldn’t have to face what chan was really asking. his chest felt tight, lungs burning, the weight of everything pressing in at once.

he hated who he’d become. hated how quiet he was now. hated how empty his days felt. hated waking up and realising the person he wanted to tell everything to wasn’t there anymore.

his life felt wrong. like he was living someone else’s version of it, smiling for the wrong reasons, holding onto the wrong person.

“i have a girlfriend now,” he said finally, voice flat.

chan scoffed, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “but she was your best friend.”

was.

the word hit felix like a blow to the chest. something inside him cracked, breath stuttering as he pushed himself to his feet too quickly. he didn’t trust himself to speak, not if he wanted to keep whatever composure he had left.

he grabbed his jacket, keys jingling in his trembling hand, and headed for the door.

“felix,” chan called after him, concern threading his voice. “hey! where are you going?” felix didn’t answer. he didn’t turn around.

the door closed behind him with a soft but final click, leaving chan staring at the empty space and felix walking out into the night, heart pounding, the word was echoing in his head long after he was gone.

he was different around her. smaller. tense. nothing like the felix they knew. nothing like the felix he’d been with you.

you had always been his calm. the person who grounded him after exhausting days, who listened without judgment, who cared about the parts of him that existed far beyond the stage lights. with you, he never had to perform.

chan’s message came late at night.

« hey. random question, but do you think we could meet up sometime? »

you stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering. you hadn’t talked properly in a while, not to him, not to anyone from the group, really. still, chan had always been kind to you. safe.

« yeah »

« i could swing by the studio during my lunch break tomorrow, if that works. »

« perfect »

the next day, the studio smelled familiar, it made your chest ache. you barely had time to set your bag down before chan was pulling you into a gentle hug, arms warm and steady around you.

“i missed having you around,” he said quietly. “game nights aren’t the same without you.”

you laughed, the sound lighter than you felt. “please,” you teased, stepping back. “you should consider yourself lucky. now you actually have a chance of winning instead of constantly losing to me.”

chan grinned widely.

inside, the joke twisted into something sharper. felix hadn’t invited you once since everything happened. not a single text. not even a half-hearted “you should come over.” the realisation stung more than you wanted to admit.

“guess i’m not welcome anymore,” you added lightly, like it was nothing.

chan’s gaze sharpened immediately, like he’d been waiting for that. “hey,” he said firmly, “you’re always welcome. you know that.”

you shrugged, looking away. “i don’t know. i’m not so sure a certain someone wants me there.”

chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “seriously,” he said, voice soft but weighted, “what happened between the two of you? if you don’t mind me asking.”

you shook your head at first, pressing your lips together. you didn’t want to open that door. didn’t want to say his name out loud. but chan’s expression which was genuinely worried, made your resolve crumble.

“i just…” you exhaled slowly. “i didn’t want to interfere with his happiness. he has someone now. i figured it was better to step back.”

chan scoffed, disbelief flickering across his face. "i think he misses you."

you let out a small, humourless laugh. “chan, he blocked me.”

that wiped the expression from his face entirely. “he what?” chan asked, brows furrowing. “blocked you?”

you nodded, arms crossing instinctively. “yeah. weeks ago.”

chan fell silent, staring at you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. something about this felt wrong. deeply, unmistakably wrong.

felix blocking you?

it didn’t add up.

felix missed you. the longing grew heavier with every day, until it pressed down on his chest and made it hard to breathe. until one night, sitting alone in his room, he broke.

he needed you.

without thinking, he grabbed his phone and opened your chat, fingers already moving.

« are you awake? i really need to talk. »

he hit send. nothing happened.

his stomach dropped. he tried again. refreshed the chat. checked his signal.

then he noticed. blocked.

panic surged through him. his hands trembled as he stared at the screen.

“no,” he whispered. “no, no, no…”

you'd blocked him. that had to be it. the realisation felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. the thought of you wanting nothing to do with him, of cutting him off completely, hurt more than he thought possible.

his chest felt tight, vision blurring as he swiped through his phone, desperate for some kind of explanation.

he checked his settings. his blocked numbers.

yours was right there.

his breath stuttered to a halt. panic twisted into confusion, his mind racing as he stared at your number listed under blocked. his fingers hovered over the screen numbly, as the pieces slowly fell into place.

confusion hardened into something hot and sharp. rage.

the truth hit him all at once, heavy and unmistakable. his girlfriend had done this.

she’d taken the one person he needed most and cut you out of his life without him even knowing.

felix’s hands curled into fists, heart pounding as anger surged through him. anger at her, at himself, at the way he’d let things go this far.

and for the first time in days, his next move felt painfully clear.

the moment the truth settled in his chest, he pulled out his phone and called her. she answered on the third ring, voice sweet, almost lazy.

“hey, babe–"

“we need to talk,” felix cut in. “now.”

there was a pause. “we could meet at that café near–"

“no,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “no more public places. i’m coming over.”

he didn’t give her time to argue. he ended the call and was out the door seconds later, moving on pure adrenaline. the drive blurred past him, streetlights streaking like lines of fire against the windshield as his thoughts spiraled.

you hadn’t messaged him in weeks. not because you didn’t care. not because you’d moved on. but because you couldn’t.

the realisation made his jaw clench so hard it hurt. you must’ve thought he’d blocked you on purpose. must’ve believed he’d chosen someone else so easily, that he’d cut you out without a second thought.

he gripped the steering wheel tighter, anger and shame tangling painfully in his chest.

how didn’t i notice?

how did i let this happen?

by the time he reached her place, his hands were shaking.

she opened the door with a smile, stepping forward like she expected a hug. felix walked right past her.

“did you block her from my phone?” he demanded.

he didn’t say your name. he didn’t need to.

her shoulders dropped as she sighed, already bored of pretending. “yes,” she admitted easily. “i did.”

something in him snapped.

“she was constantly texting you,” she continued, crossing her arms. “she was demanding way too much from someone who has a girlfriend. you barely have time as it is, don’t you think you should spend what little you have with me?”

every word felt like another knife. before he could respond, she stepped closer, fingers sliding around the back of his neck, trying to pull him down. “let’s not fight about this,” she murmured. “you’re just stressed–"

felix stepped back sharply, her hand dropping uselessly to her side. anger and frustration burned openly across his face, eyes bright with something close to fury. "we’re done,” he said.

her mouth fell open, but he was already turning away. he left without looking back.

he didn’t remember the drive to your place. he just knew he was there, heart pounding, breath shallow as he knocked once, twice, a third time. then he called your name, voice breaking despite himself.

“please,” he said softly through the door. “i know you’re home. just let me explain.”

inside, you froze. your heart slammed against your ribs, his voice sending a shock through your entire body. you stood there, staring at the door like it might disappear if you didn’t look directly at it.

minutes passed. too many.

finally, you reached out and opened the door and let him in.

felix let out a shaky sound of relief, eyes wide and desperate as he saw you. without thinking, he stepped forward, arms already lifting, needing you close like he needed air.

you pushed him away. harder than you meant to, maybe, but you couldn’t let him touch you.

the look on his face when you did was covered in hurt. he looked so devastated it made your chest ache.

but you held your ground, arms crossing over yourself as the space between you filled with everything that had been left unsaid.

felix’s breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling too fast from running up the stairs because he hadn’t wanted to wait for the lift, not when every second without you felt unbearable.

“i’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you again. “i’m so sorry. but i swear it wasn’t me who blocked you. i didn’t do it. i would never–"

“i don’t care, felix.”

the words came out sharper than you meant them to. a lie. a blatant lie, because of course you cared. but the damage was done the second they left your mouth. he flinched like you’d struck him.

“i messed up,” he rushed on, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “i know i messed up. and i hurt you. i’m so sor–"

“you didn’t just hurt me,” you exploded, the dam finally breaking. “you abandoned me.”

his breath hitched, shoulders jerking like the word had physically slapped him.

“you made me feel like i didn’t matter to you at all!”

something snapped then. because for once in his life, felix couldn’t stay calm. “that’s bullshit and you know it,” he shot back, voice rising despite himself. “you matter so fucking much to me.”

“you say that,” you fired back, anger flooding your veins, “but it certainly didn’t feel that way!”

the air between you grew hot, heavy with everything you’d both swallowed for too long. your words spilled over each other, tangled and sharp, and felix raised his voice too. frustration, fear, and hurt crashing together.

“then why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?!” he demanded.

“because it wouldn’t have mattered!”

“how could it not matter?!” he snapped. “of course it would have!”

you laughed then, short and humourless, the sound bitter. “i was blocked, felix. even if i wanted to, i couldn’t have reached out. besides, i thought you didn’t want that.”

that stopped him. his jaw clenched, then unclenched, breath slowing as guilt settled deep in his chest. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, strained.

“you could’ve told me how you felt before. before our first argument. or during.”

“tell you how i felt?” you scoffed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “about how jealous i was?!”

his voice softened immediately, confusion and something fragile threading through it.

“jealous?”

“of course i was jealous!” you shot back, even as your voice trembled.

his eyes widened slightly, disbelief washing over his features. “you… were?" his voice was gentle now.

“god, felix,” you said, the anger giving way to raw honesty. “yes, i was jealous. ever since you first told me about her. i’ve been crushing on you for years. but i just didn’t want to wreck what we had. i valued our friendship too much to ruin that. i thought i’d get over it. i thought–"

you didn’t get to finish. felix moved suddenly, like the decision had been burning inside him all along. his hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you. fierce, desperate, breath-stealing.

the kiss tasted like pent-up longing and apology and everything he’d never said out loud. it said i’ve wanted this too without needing words.

you gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt, but he only deepened the kiss.

he pulled you closer before you could think, one hand sliding to your lower back, the other still warm against your cheek. it was messy and aching and full of too much feeling, like he was trying to tell you everything he’d failed to say with his mouth alone.

you felt it in the way his hands trembled, in the way he kissed you like he was afraid this might be the only chance he’d ever get.

you were the one who pulled away first. barely.

his lips chased yours for a second before he stopped, breath uneven, forehead dropping against yours as if that was the only thing keeping him upright. his fingers traced the sides of your waist, grounding, familiar.

“what are you doing, felix?” you whispered, voice shaking despite yourself.

“kissing you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. his eyes were closed, forehead still resting against yours, breath warm on your skin.

“why?” you asked.

he opened his eyes then and looked at you, and something in his expression made your chest ache instantly. there was no confusion there anymore. just truth. raw and unguarded.

“because i’m a fucking idiot,” he said quietly. “because i’ve been in love with you too. for so long.”

his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “i thought you didn’t want me like that. so i tried to make myself not want you.”

he shook his head, almost laughing at himself, the sound breaking halfway through.

“but i can’t,” he admitted. “i never could. i want you so bad it hurts. it always did.”

his grip tightened slightly at your sides. “she was just… a pathetic attempt to get me to stop hoping for something i thought would never happen.”

the words hit you one after another, impossible to ignore.

"i’ve been miserable,” he continued, quieter now. “not just because of her. but because i lost you.”

his eyes shone, tears threatening but not falling. “every day felt wrong. like i was living someone else’s life. i hated who i became. i hated waking up and realising the first person i wanted to talk to wasn’t there anymore.”

you felt your own eyes burn. “i missed you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “so much it scared me.”

something in you finally broke. “i’ve been miserable too,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i tried so hard to pretend i was fine. i told myself it was stupid to feel the way i did. that i was selfish for being jealous.”

your voice cracked. “i watched you drift away and i couldn’t even be angry at you because i thought i was the problem. i thought you were happy."

you laughed softly, sounding broken. “every day i told myself to get over it. to stop hoping. but it just… hurt more.”

felix’s expression crumpled.

“i thought losing you was what i deserved,” you whispered. “i thought that was the price for staying quiet."

he pulled you into his chest then, holding you tightly, like he was terrified you might slip away. his chin rested against your hair, his arms firm and warm around you.

“i’m so sorry,” he murmured. “i should’ve fought harder. for you. for us. our friendship."

you clutched his shirt, breathing him in, heart pounding painfully but steadily now.

his arms were firm around you, protective, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the reminder that you were really there.

“can we…” his voice came out soft, almost hesitant. “start over?”

his breath tickled your skin as he shifted slightly. “or… start something new?”

your heart ached in the best way. you lifted a hand to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands before you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

“we can start whatever you want, lixie,” you whispered.

he let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like relief, his shoulders finally loosening. he smiled softly against you.

he leaned in again, lips brushing against your skin as he kissed slowly up your jaw, over your cheek, lingering like he was savouring every second. when he reached your lips, he paused just long enough to murmur, voice barely there, “i’ve always been yours.”

then he kissed you again.

this one was softer than before, unhurried, full of promise instead of desperation. his hand cupped your cheek, thumb warm against your skin, like he was grounding himself in the moment. you kissed him back just as gently, heart full and fragile and hopeful all at once.

₊˚⊹∘•····································•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•·····································•∘⊹˚₊

Seungmin thinks that avoiding you is the best case scenario after overhearing how you feel about him. He decides that distance will be the best thing to do to get over you. So he makes himself out to be the villain in hopes that one day he’ll apologize and the two of you will laugh about his silly little crush on you, that he will definitely get over, and the two of you can become friends again. Just friends.

His replies to you are short and blunt, and he doesn’t message you like he usually does. Over the next few days, he tries to ignore you before having to go back to the company. He often finds himself subconsciously opening your messages every few hours out of habit. He goes to type something out. To tell you about something he saw that reminded him of you, to tell you what's on his mind, to tell you anything. But eventually he deletes all of the messages he wants to send to you. 

His last message to you haunts him. It takes all of his willpower to not apologize to you and to tell you what's going on in his mind. And when he finally sees you for the first time after leaving you waiting at the cafe, it feels like he can barely breathe. 

Being in the same room as you feels suffocating so he avoids you as best as he can. The words he heard coming out of your mouth tortures him and he can’t bear to look at you without feeling guilty. Guilty that he heard a conversation he was not supposed to, guilty that he left you without any explanation, guilty that he caught feelings for you that went beyond friendship.

The worst part of it all was that you were still trying to talk to him, trying to understand what happened, even while he was actively avoiding you. He didn’t look you in the eyes all day, but he can feel the hurt radiating off of you every time he brushed past you and left the room. 

And after walking away from you in that practice room, spitting out the harshest words he could think of in order for you to keep your distance from him, it feels like everything falls apart. He feels selfish hurting you to protect himself but it’s the only thing he thinks will work to keep you at arms length. 

He replays the hurt on your face as you stand there and yell at him, something he knows he deserves. In the moment, he so badly wanted to reach out to you. To wipe away your tears and tell you everything will be okay but he doesn’t. Instead he leaves you standing in the room alone while every word he spits out cuts like daggers into your heart. 

When he finally gets home, he realizes the sweater he brought to the company is the one he wore on that fated day to the cafe. The sweater with the not a love letter in the front pocket. 

He rushes quickly to stuff his hands into the pocket, fingers brushing along the soft cotton inside but nothing else. The letter is gone. His eyes widen and he starts to panic. 

Seungmin turns his room upside down hoping the letter would turn up somewhere. He dumps everything out of his bag he brought to the company, scattering all the belongings inside onto his bedroom floor. 

Nothing. 

He’s making so much noise in his search that Felix walks into his room with a worried look.

“Woah what's going on? Looks like a hurricane blew into your room.”

“Have you seen a crumpled piece of paper?” Seungmin asks him frantically as he paces around the room looking in places he had already checked multiple times.

“Umm no I don’t think so. Is it something important?”

“It’s important to me. I just don’t want anyone seeing it.”

“What is it? Like a love letter or something?” Felix jokes. 

Seungmin freezes in place at the sound of his words and he can feel the heat rush to his face. He knows that Felix has no clue about the actual letter or what went down at the cafe. But by the way he reacts, Felix lets out a loud gasp, putting the pieces together.

“No way! You wrote a love letter? Oh my god is it for Y/n? Is that why you were acting so weird to her today?”

“It’s not a love letter.” Seungmin’s reply is quick and defensive. “But it was a letter written for Y/n but she absolutely cannot see it now. She doesn’t like me back so I need to find it before someone else does.”

“What do you mean Y/n doesn’t like you back? We’re talking about the same Y/n right? Like our Y/n? The Y/n that looks at you like you placed the stars in the sky Y/n?”

“She does not look at me like that.”

“She literally does! What do you mean she doesn’t like you back?”

“That’s what she said, I overheard her saying she sees me as just a friend.”

“And you’re sure she was talking about you?”

“I’m pretty sure she was.”

“Well, did you ask her?”

“No.”

“You’re helpless,” Felix groans. But then he notices the look on Seungmin’s face, like he was guilty of doing something regretful. “Oh no, what did you do?”

“I may or may not have said some stuff to her earlier that she definitely isn’t going to forgive me for,” Seungmin says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to avoid Felix’s disappointing stare. 

“Kim Seungmin, you better fix this or we’re losing the best staff we’ve ever had because you’re an idiot.” 

“Hey! In my defense-”

“You don't get to defend yourself,” Felix cuts him off quickly. “You're currently the worst man I know for hurting Y/n. Now tell me what happened so I can determine if your love life with her is still somewhat salvageable.” 

— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The next day at work you try your best to busy yourself with stuff to do. If Seungmin said you were just a staff member, then you were just that. And if he thought that about you, then the other boys must feel the same way too.

You feel stupid for thinking you were friends with the idols you worked with. And you spent the whole night overthinking every interaction you’ve ever had with the boys. You realized it was silly to think that you had become friends with them, they were definitely just trying to be polite because they were all kind people. 

So you decide to put up a more professional front than you usually would when you get to work. You smile politely at them but you don’t hang around like you normally do, no side conversations full of teasing and jokes. 

But the boys notice your absence, of course they do. They were used to you being around all the time. Even when you were running around throwing orders at people, you always found a way to take a break to have a conversation with them, topic usually unrelated to work. 

Changbin and Jeongin find you running around trying to organize everything for their upcoming performance. They notice the way you look tired. Not tired in the way that you’ve been overworking yourself, but tired in a sad way. Like someone who’s soul has been crushed. 

And when they offer to grab you something to drink at the cafe downstairs, trying to be good friends, you brush them off. 

“Y/nnie, you’ve been working nonstop since you got here this morning. We’re going to grab some coffee downstairs. Do you want us to get you anything?”

“It’s okay Changbin. You guys don’t need to worry or spend your money on me.” 

Jeongin frowns. “We’re your friends Y/n. Of course we worry about you. And we would never mind spending money to treat you if it’ll help you out.”

You give them a smile, but they notice it's not the usual smile you always give them. The friendly one that always reaches your eyes because you were happy to see them. It’s the professional smile you give to others while you’re on the clock, the one that you give to be polite when talking to people you don’t really want to be talking to. 

“Ahh I didn’t realize we were friends,” you whisper to yourself but both boys hear you, looking at each other with confused faces. 

Before they can ask you what you mean, someone is calling you away for help. You flash them another polite smile and a quick sorry before you turn around and walk away.

“Hyung, why would she think we’re not friends?”

“I don’t know.”

And when the boys all gather together for practice, you become the main topic of discussion. 

“I tried to ask Y/n who she was riding with for our performance in a few days but she told me she wasn’t going. Something about having to do something else so someone else was assigned to come with us.”

“But she always comes to our performances even if she doesn’t have to.”

“She’s been acting weird all day. I tried to give her her favorite snack but she denied it before walking away like it was poisoned.”

“She told me and Changbin hyung that she didn’t think we were friends earlier.”

At the maknae’s words, Felix and Seungmin share a look. The guilt starts to feel heavier on Seungmin, he didn’t realize his words would have affected you this much. 

So when he opens his mouth to tell the rest of the members what happened, he is met with a lot of scolding words and threats to make things right with you. 

— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

You busy yourself so much with work and trying to avoid them, that you completely forget about the letter you were supposed to give back to Seungmin. You finally remember it when you open your bag to put something away.

It sticks out like a sore thumb along the other papers filed into your bag. The crumpled edges contrast harshly amongst your neatly organized paperwork and the ghost of Kim Seungmin lingers. 

So for the first time that day, you set out to find one of the boys. And you hope with everything in you that the first member you find is not Seungmin. 

You peek your head into rooms that they would normally reside in, but after looking for a while you can’t seem to find any of them. It felt ironic. You spent the whole day avoiding them and when you finally decide you need to talk to one of them, they are nowhere to be seen. 

The last place to check is the one room you wanted to avoid. You hesitate as you approach the practice room where your heart shattered into a million pieces just the night before. 

The light from inside the room glows softly under the door as you raise your hand up to knock. No noise comes from the other side of the door at the sound of your knock so you reach for the handle and open it. 

Peeking your head inside, you're surprised to find an empty room. But your eyes quickly land on the pile of bags pushed up along the opposite wall. It’s easy for you to spot Seungmin’s bag.

Now is the perfect time you think. You can just slip the paper into his bag and you won’t have to talk to him or any of the other boys. You’d be out of the room without a trace, before anyone noticed. 

Quickly, you enter the room and reach into your own bag to pull out the folder piece of paper. You're so distracted with trying to be fast and sneaky that you don’t hear the door open again. Crouching down in front of his bag, your hand pauses mid air when hear someone cough from behind you. 

“Fuck,” you mutter quietly under your breath. Standing up, you turn around slowly. Locking eyes with the last person you want to see. 

You freeze in place at the sight of Seungmin. Hands reflexively clenching, accidentally crushing the paper you were trying to sneak into his bag. 

At the sound of the crumpling paper, his gaze moves to what’s in your hand and you can see the way his eyes widen in recognition. You open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. 

“Where did you get that?” His voice sounds accusatory, like you took it from him without permission. 

“It was on the ground after you left yesterday,” your voice shakes slightly due to the way he’s looking at you. “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner. You left so quickly last night and honestly after what you said I was not going to chase after you to give it back. And then I forgot about it until like an hour ago. But I was really hoping to find anyone else to give it to because right now you’re the last person I want to be n-”

“Did you read it?” He cuts off your rambling. 

“What?” You’re shocked, you thought he knew you better than that.

“Did you read it?” He repeats himself, emphasizing each word.

“No, I didn't read it,” you huff out in annoyance. “And I don’t like the way it seems like you're accusing me of doing something I shouldn’t be doing. I didn’t realize you thought so little of me. But I also didn’t realize we weren’t friends until last night so maybe I just don’t know anything about you.” 

Your body shakes in irritation. You so badly want to push the paper into his hands and run out of the room. To leave him behind like he did to you last night and the day at the cafe. But before your body can move his voice cuts you off again. 

“So you didn’t read the letter that has your name on it?”

“No Seungmin. I did not read the letter that has my name on i-” This time you cut yourself off. You look at him perplexed and then down at the paper in your hand. You flip it over and for the first time notice your name on the other side. Your brows furrow in confusion when you notice the heart scribbled next to it. 

“You didn’t realize it had your name on it,” he points out. His voice is softer this time and you can see a noticeable change in his body language. Like he was relieved you didn’t find out a secret he was trying to keep from you. 

“No I did not,” you whisper looking back down at the letter. You softly trace over the neat print of your name and the heart with your finger. 

The two of you stand there in an awkward silence, neither of you knowing what to do next. 

“You can read it if you want.”

“What?”

“You seem to be having a hard time hearing today huh,” he jokes quietly trying to ease the tension, letting out a small chuckle. 

“No. I heard you clearly. I’m just confused Seungmin. Because not even five minutes ago you were accusing me of reading it like I committed some sort of crime. And now all of a sudden I’m allowed to read it?” 

Seungmin doesn’t know how to respond because he knows your right. He knows the boys are right. And he knows he did not handle this situation well. 

Taking his silence as his answer, you let out a sigh. Walking forward you push the letter into his hands, glancing at it one last time. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you Seungmin. But when you’re ready to talk, actually talk, you know where to find me.”

Then you walk away, leaving him behind for the first time rather than the other way around. 

— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Work becomes busy. For the first time you don’t have to purposely find something to do to keep yourself occupied and distracted. You have so much to do that you don’t see Seungmin or any of the other boys for a few days. 

But you do notice the random things that appear on your desk throughout the days. The first thing to appear is your drink order from the company cafe. There’s no note, just the drink sitting on the coaster on your desk. You can tell the drink is still fresh, the ice barely melted. 

Everything that shows up is something you like. Your favorite snack, a new pack of the pens you use, the cute sticky tabs you use to organize everything, your favorite thing to eat for lunch. Things that only someone would know if they paid close attention to you. Or if they were Kim Seungmin. 

You knew this was his way of trying to apologize without actually having to say the words. 

The next apology gift surprises you though. There’s a knock on your apartment door almost a week after you last spoke to him. 

And when you go to look through the peep hole, you’re shocked to see Seungmin standing on the other side. He’s holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and you can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek, swaying back and forth on his feet. 

You hesitate at first to open the door, wanting to protect your heart and not let him in again. But logically you knew if you didn’t answer, he would stand out there all night until you did. And what kind of scandal would that bring if someone recognized him? 

So you open the door slowly. He stares at you in surprise, eyes wide, and he shakes his head like he’s trying to wake himself up from a dream. 

“Hi,” he breathes out softly. You can tell he hesitates to smile at the sight of you, unsure if he deserves to even be standing in front of you. “I didn’t think you would open the door this quickly. I was prepared to wait out here all night.”

“I know.” Your reply is short and quick. “That’s why I opened the door. Someone is going to recognize you if you stand out there for too long.”

Opening the door wider, you gesture for him to come inside before you change your mind. 

He walks into your apartment timidly before quietly looking around. He’s dropped you off plenty of times before but has never actually been inside. It’s cozy, he thinks, very you, as he looks at all of your decorations. 

Your voice interrupts his thoughts and wandering eyes. “When I said you know where to find me. I didn’t actually mean coming to my apartment, you know.” 

“I didn’t want to disturb you while you were working.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Seungmin flinches slightly at your words. You don't mean for your reply to come off as rude, you actually enjoyed his company at work, even when he was distracting you. But the memories of the last couple of times he saw you in the JYPE building causes him to recoil slightly. 

Again your words leave him speechless and he doesn’t know what to say. He stands there dumbfounded, eyes looking everywhere but at you.

“So are you going to say anything or are you just going to stand there and gawk at my furniture choices?”

You notice the way his lips curl up into a small smile at your joke. And you can hear the way he lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits quietly. “I’m not good at this whole talking about how I feel thing. I’m usually the one who listens and gives advice, not the other way around.”

“Well you can have a seat and think about what to say while I put these into some water.” You reach out to grab the flowers from him. Your fingers barely brush against his before he’s pulling away quickly, almost dropping the flowers before you can get a good grip on them. 

He mumbles out a quick apology to you as you walk into your kitchen. Taking a seat on your living room couch, he takes another look around your apartment. His eyes land on the side table next to the couch, a picture frame lays face down on top of it. 

Curiosity gets the best of him and he reaches out to pick up the picture frame. It’s a picture of you smiling with all of the members. Seungmin remembers the day the picture was taken. It was one of the first times you had hung out with all of them outside of work. They had invited you over for a movie night. 

You’re seated in the middle of the couch, in between Seungmin and Felix. Both of their arms are wrapped around your shoulders but your body leans against Seungmin’s, knees touching.  Seungmin remembers Han had cracked a joke right before the camera timer went off. All of your smiles are bright and real, the kind of smile that reaches your eyes, mouths wide and teeth showing. 

He smiles softly to himself at the fond memory. That hangout had changed the dynamic between the boys and you. You weren’t just any staff member, you had become their friend as well. And Seungmin was here to try and fix the pieces he had shattered. 

“It felt weird having that picture out after what you told me.” Your sudden voice causes him to jump slightly in his seat. “But I had a hard time trying to throw it out. That’s why it’s face down, so I wouldn’t have to see it.”

You take a seat on the opposite end of the couch, the space between you two feels like an ocean’s length away compared to how you two are positioned in the photo he’s holding. You avoid looking at him, opting to stare at your hands in your lap as you fidget with the sleeves of your hoodie. 

“You shouldn’t throw out a picture of your friends,” he says quietly. 

“We’re not friends,” you point out. “Or at least that’s what you told me.”

“I didn’t mean it. They are your friends. They like when you’re around and not avoiding us like the plague. They miss you.”

“And what about you?”

The question weighs heavy, uncertainty of what was to come lingers in the air. Seungmin is silent again and you’re not sure if he’s going to answer or get up and run away again. You can feel his gaze on you, like he’s begging you to finally look at him. 

“I don’t want to be friends.”

His words cut through the silence. It feels like your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. You want to get up, to tell him to leave, ask him why he came over in the first place, to scream, to do anything. But your body is frozen in place at the sound of his words and you can’t even open your mouth to let out a reply. 

“I don’t want to be friends because I want to be more than that to you,” he whispers. “I miss you so much it actually hurts. And I know I said some stupid shit because I’m an idiot. But I have this really big, fat, stupid crush on you and I literally don’t know how to think when it comes to you.”

This time you're the one left speechless. You turn your head so fast to look at him that it feels like you have given yourself whiplash. And you think there’s no way you heard him correctly.

“I’m sorry. What?” You can barely choke out the words. It feels like your head is spinning due to all the thoughts running through it.

“I umm like you. Like more than a friend. I have for a while now actually. And I know you only see me as a friend. That’s why I said all that bullshit to you, I didn’t think about anything but protecting my own feelings. But I didn’t mean it and I am really sorry. You’re not just a staff member to me or to any of the boys. They honestly adore y-”

“Seungmin,” you cut him off. “I’m going to need you to slow down and back up a few steps.”

He nods slowly and you can see the way he anxiously swallows. 

“You have a crush on me?”

He nods again.

“For how long?”

“Probably since that first movie night.” 

“And why do you think I don’t like you back?”

“The day at the cafe. I heard you on the phone saying you only saw me as a friend.”

“Did I specifically say your name in that sentence?”

“No bu-”

“No, because I wasn’t talking about you, you pabo! My friend had called me and was asking me for advice on this classmate who keeps trying to confess to her so I was telling her what to say to him because she does not like him back.”

His eyes widen in shock at the truth. “I just assumed-”

“Yea. You assumed,” you cut him off again. “You assumed I was talking about you and then instead of being an adult and talking to me about it, you ran away and decided hurting my feelings to protect your own was the better decision.”

You know that he knows your right by the way he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flicking away from yours. 

“I’m sorry. You’re not just a staff member, you’re one of my closest friends. And I’m really sorry I hurt you.”

“Sorry isn’t going to make everything magically better, Seungmin. It doesn’t just erase how you made me feel the past couple of weeks.”

“I know. I was scared that you didn’t feel the same way and then I ended up not thinking logically. I thought that if I pushed you away, my feelings for you would eventually go away and then we could go back to being just friends again. But I swear I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Even if you don’t feel the same and want to stay friends only.”

“Okay.”

His head perks up at your response. You can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and if he had a tail it would definitely be wagging. 

“Okay?”

“One last chance, but that's all you get. And it’s going to take some time for me to forgive you. So you better not ruin it this time.”

He smiles at you. A real, big, toothy smile. And you can basically feel him buzzing with excitement on the other end of the couch. 

“I won’t let you down again. I promise.”

“You better not. Remember, I’m in charge of your schedules. I can make work a living hell for you,” you threaten him jokingly, a smile on your face that he hadn’t seen in what felt like decades. 

“You know you can be pretty scary when you're upset.” 

“I have to be, it's part of my job. I can’t have people not take me seriously and mess up everything I organize for you guys.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re amazing at your job?”

“Oh, only a few times. But you can keep telling me. It might make me forgive you a little faster.” You only meant it as a joke but his response makes your heart flutter.

“I’ll tell you how wonderful you are every day for the rest of my life if I have to.”

“Slow down Romeo,” you laugh. A real laugh that echoes throughout your apartment. “You can start off by taking me to our cafe first to make up for the other day.”

“Tomorrow at noon?”

“It’s a date. I’ll see you then. And bring that love letter too. I want to read it now.”

He blinks rapidly at the word date. He's so surprised that he doesn’t even deny that the letter addressed to you is a love letter. “A date?”

“Yes. A date Seungmin. Because I’ve had a crush on you since forever too. You would have known sooner if you had asked instead of overthinking about a conversation that wasn’t even about you.’’

“You like me? Like, like like me?”

“Yes Seungmin. I like like you. I have for a while.”

“And you still want to go out with me after everything I said and did?” His face is twisted in disbelief, like you're purposely choosing to go out with the worst man on the planet. 

You can't help but giggle at his skepticism. “Being stupid is part of your charm,” you joke. “This better be the best first date I’ve ever been on though if you want me to eventually forgive you.”

“Oh it’ll be so memorable you won’t want to go on another first date ever again.”

And he was right. It was the best first date ever and you had plenty of amazing dates to follow. True to his word, you never went on a first date again since Seungmin’s. 

₊˚⊹∘•····································•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•·····································•∘⊹˚₊

you and minho had always joked that the practice rooms at jype were haunted, but if anything really lingered inside those walls, it was the memory of two exhausted trainees who somehow found comfort in each other long before either of you realised it.

you were both dancers first, dreamers second, and too stubborn for your own good. the instructors liked to pair you together because you matched well: clean movements, the same kind of perfectionism that drove you to stay hours past the official end of practice. it didn’t take long before staying late became a silent agreement. he’d be there, you’d be there, both pretending it was coincidence.

you still remember your very first day so vividly. you had walked into the studio clutching your trainee folder a little too tightly, scanning the unfamiliar faces. minho had been leaning against the mirror, and his expression seemed unreadable. you remembered thinking he looked absolutely breathtaking, but intimidating. sharp eyes, sharp jawline, sharp tongue as you were just to find out.

“you’re standing in my spot,” he had said without even glancing at you properly. you blinked. “i didn’t see your name on the floor.”

he finally looked at you then, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he couldn’t help it. “wow. bold on day one. you’ll fit right in.”

most trainees might have backed away, flustered or intimidated. but something about his tone told you he wasn’t actually annoyed, just testing you.

when the instructor started practice, minho sighed, standing next to you. "fine. stay in my spot. you’re welcome,” he muttered.

“i didn’t thank you,” you replied.

that made him look at you a second time. and for a brief moment, you saw the softness hiding behind all the sarcasm, the kind that didn’t show itself to people easily.

from that day on, minho’s comments became a fixture of your training life. “your footwork’s sloppy today,” he’d say.“what a coincidence! so is your attitude,” you’d answer without missing a beat. he’d roll his eyes, but the corner of his mouth would twitch every time.

somehow, you read him effortlessly from the beginning. his deadpan jokes, his quiet acts of kindness, the way he nudged a water bottle towards you when he thought you weren’t looking. minho wasn’t easy to understand, not for most people, but you picked up on every subtle shift in his expression, every sarcastic jab that actually meant he cared. and he noticed that you noticed.

maybe that was why, before either of you knew it, he had become your closest friend. your person. the one who stayed long after everyone else left, dancing beside you until the sky turned pale with morning.

and maybe that was why falling for him felt less like a decision and more like gravity. completely out of your control.

the turning point happened on a random monday. you were stretching on the floor when the door slid open and the instructor ushered in someone new.

she looked nervous in that hopeful way new trainees often did. polite smile, stiff posture, eyes scanning the room like she was trying to memorise every face all at once. you offered her a small smile back, because you remembered how it felt.

minho barely glanced up at first, too focused on retieing the laces of his shoes. but when the instructor introduced her and said she’d be joining your group training, he lifted his head.

“great,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “a monday surprise. my favourite.” you elbowed him lightly. “be nice.”

“i am nice,” he said, straight-faced.

you stared at him. he sighed. “fine. i’ll pretend to be nice.”

during warm-ups, she struggled to keep up with the tempo. minho noticed immediately, because of course he did. despite the sarcasm, he was annoyingly observant. when she fumbled a turn and nearly bumped into him, he caught her elbow before she could fall.

“careful,” he said, tone neutral but not unkind. “your weight’s too far forward. try shifting it back.”

she blinked, grateful. “oh– thank you..." she trailed off, hinting that she didn't know his mame.

“minho,” he cut in. “lee minho.”

you watched them from across the room. he’d help anyone who looked like they were about to break an ankle. he wasn’t smiling at her. he wasn’t giving her the soft patience he saved for you on your worst days. but still.

still, something in your chest tugged uncomfortably when she lingered near him during water breaks. when she asked questions only he could answer. when she started hovering a little too close, laughing a little too loudly.

and minho… didn’t exactly push her away.

his friendliness had that polite stiffness. the version of him that appeared in front of people he didn’t fully trust yet. but you didn’t see the stiffness. you didn’t hear the subtle sigh he let out when she clung a little too much. you didn’t catch the look he threw your way whenever she asked for help, as if silently asking you to save him.

from your angle, from your insecurities, it all looked painfully simple. minho liked her. and somehow, that thought settled in your stomach like sinking stones.

after that, you started stepping back, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. fewer jokes. fewer late-night practices. fewer easy smiles thrown his way.

you told yourself it was for the best. you told yourself he was too busy with her to care. but minho noticed anyway. he always noticed when it came to you. he just didn’t understand why.

during stretching, he nudged your foot with his own. “you look like an elderly doing that,” he said, tone light, the usual teasing in it.

normally, you would’ve shot back something sharp. instead, you just hummed, not even lifting your head.

minho frowned. “wow. no comeback? should i check for a fever?” you forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but you hoped would be convincing enough. “i’m fine. just tired.”

that made him pause in that serious way he got when he was genuinely concerned. his eyes softened, shoulders lowering slightly.

“you should get more rest,” he said, voice dropping to something gentler. “you’ve been pushing too hard again.” you shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. “i’ll be alright.”

"i don't want you to overwork yourself."

"minho, i'm okay, really."

he stared at you for a moment longer, as if trying to read the real meaning behind your half-smile. then he grinned, catching you off guard.

“how about ending practice early for once?” he suggested. “we grab some food and then you can actually go to bed before 3am.”

this time, your smile came naturally. “yeah. that sounds nice.” he tilted his head pleased. “great. i’ll go change after this. wait for me outside, okay?”

you did. you waited… and waited… and waited.

after half an hour, the hallway felt too cold. so you walked back inside, checking the practice rooms one by one. that’s when you found them.

in the far room, minho was going over a segment of choreography with the new trainee. his hands hovered near her waist, not touching, but guiding. she wasn’t as careful. her hand lingered on his shoulder, then slid down his arm, her laugh soft. your stomach twisted.

minho’s back was to you, so you didn’t see the way his jaw clenched. you didn’t see how he subtly shifted away every time she got too close. you didn’t hear his voice, becomign increasingly impatient, muttering, “we’re done for today. seriously, i have to go.”

all you saw was the picture in front of you. and that was enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

you stepped back quietly, not trusting yourself to take a full breath. disappointment washed over you, a sinking weight. you turned around and headed home without a word, without a message. for the first time in months, you walked home alone.

you didn’t see minho finally disentangle himself, bowing politely while clearly trying not to look annoyed. you didn’t see him hurry out of the room, checking the hallway twice, then three times. you didn’t hear him curse under his breath when he couldn’t find you. you only saw your phone light up, messages coming in one after another.

« where are you?? »

« did you leave already? »

« what about dinner? »

you turned off your screen.

training the next day felt heavier. maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was everything sitting uncomfortably in your chest, maybe it was the way you kept replaying that practice room scene like a loop you couldn’t shut off. minho noticed instantly that something was off.

“you look like death,” he said as he dropped his bag beside yours.

you didn’t laugh. you didn’t even look at him. you just mumbled something that vaguely resembled, “good morning to you too."

he paused, thrown off just enough for you to catch it in your peripheral vision. his brows knit together, the smallest crease forming between them.

“are you still tired?” he asked, softer this time.

“yeah,” you said, keeping your eyes on your shoelaces.

minho opened his mouth as if to say more, but the instructor called everyone to line up, and he let it go, for now.

training was brutal that day. fast tempo, intricate footwork, too many corrections. by the time break finally came around, you were sweating, breath shaky, shoulders tight with exhaustion.

but you refused to take a break, wanting to go through the choreo once more. that’s when hyunjin approached you.

he had always been kind to you. polite smiles, soft greetings. he offered you a bottle of water, eyes gentle.

“you’re pushing a little hard,” he said, not scolding, just observing. “want to go over the steps together?”

normally, you would have declined out of habit, because minho was always the one you practiced with. but today… today felt different. today, you didn’t want to face the confusion or the hurt. so you nodded.

hyunjin smiled, relieved as if he’d been waiting for you to say yes for longer than he'd admit.

you practiced together in the corner of the room, him counting the beats softly, correcting your posture with careful, respectful touches. nothing flirtatious hidden behind, just gentle help. he made you laugh once with a silly impression of the instructor, and you were too tired to hold it in.

that laugh caught minho’s attention. you felt his stare before you saw it, prickling against your skin. when you finally glanced his way, his expression was tight, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed just slightly.

you looked away first. he didn’t.

for the rest of practice, minho’s mood was different. harder. his movements sharper, his sarcasm a little too quick, his corrections to other trainees clipped and impatient. when hyunjin walked you through the turn sequence, minho let out a scoff loud enough for everyone to hear.

you pretended you didn’t notice. you pretended it didn’t sting.

after practice, hyunjin walked with you towards the hall. you talked about nothing, just light chatter about music and the upcoming monthly evals. he made it easy to breathe again.

you didn’t see minho behind you, watching the two of you walk away together, expression darkening by the second. you didn’t see the way he almost kicked the doorframe, just to let out the frustration chewing at him from the inside.

and you didn’t hear the words he muttered under his breath bitterly, “so that’s how it is now.”

the next day after practice, you were packing your things quietly, mind set on going home, maybe showering, maybe pretending your heart wasn’t a mess of tangled feelings. you haven't spoken to minho all day. at least nothing more than a quick "good morning".

minho hovered nearby, pacing a little, tying and retying the strap of his bag like he was waiting for something. or waiting for you.

you didn’t say anything first. so he did. “so,” he said, voice dripping with lazy sarcasm, “will hyunjin walk you home today too? or was that just a one time thing?”

you froze. your hands stilled on your zipper, breath catching before you could force your expression neutral.

“why does it matter?” you asked, not looking at him.

“oh, it doesn’t,” he snapped back, far too quickly. “just didn’t know you replaced me already.”

that one hit deeper than you expected. you let your bag fall to the bench and turned towards him, jaw tightening. “really? you’re giving me crap about that?”

minho’s eyes flashed. “i’m just calling it how i see it.”

“how you see it?” your laugh came out hollow. “minho, you’ve practically been glued to her. every time i see you, you’re teaching her something or letting her hang off you like–"

“like what?” he cut in sharply, stepping closer. “like i’m being nice for once? sorry, didn’t know that was a crime.”

you clenched your fists. “it's just... unlike you. but it's not even about that. it’s the fact that you ditched me for her.”

he blinked, thrown off. “ditched you? when did i–"

“the night we wanted to grab dinner,” you said, voice cracking despite your best effort. “i waited for you for half an hour. and where were you? in the practice room with her, letting her touch you every five seconds and–"

“you think i wanted to be there?” he cut in harshly. the room went quiet. you swallowed, throat tight. “looked like it.”

“well you didn’t look,” he shot back, frustration spilling over. “you didn’t see me trying to leave. you didn’t hear me telling her i had to go. you just saw what you wanted to see.”

that stung. partly because it wasn’t fair. partly because it was exactly what you had feared.

he stepped closer, anger tightening his shoulders. “and you’ve been off with me for days. barely talking. barely looking at me. should i have guessed this was why?”

you held your ground, but your voice wavered. “it just… felt like you didn’t need me anymore.”

minho let out a humourless laugh. “really? that’s rich. because it kinda felt like you’re the one who didn’t need me.” your chest tightened painfully.

somewhere between the tension, the jealousy, the misunderstandings, and the exhaustion, the fight was no longer about the new trainee or hyunjin.

it was about you. the distance. the hurt neither of you had known how to speak aloud.

your voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “if you didn’t want me around anymore, you could’ve just said so.”

minho’s face twisted, "god, you’re impossible,” he muttered. but beneath it, something inside him cracked. and everything was about to fall out at once.

minho’s jaw tightened, his voice lifting only by a fraction, just enough for you to hear the frustration shaking inside him. “you were the one who told me to be nice to her,” he said, each word controlled. “you asked me to give her a chance. so i did. for you. because i thought it’d make you happy.”

you stared at the floor, fingers curling and uncurling around the strap of your bag. the weight of his words pressed against your chest, and they were suffocating. you opened your mouth, closed it again, opened it one more time.

finally, you whispered, “i didn’t know you being nice to her would make me jealous.”

minho swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “jealous?”

you nodded, barely. “i know i have no right to be…”

he laughed in disbelief. “if you don’t have the right to be jealous, then what the hell does that say about me?” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing, “god, just seeing you with hyunjin–" he cut himself off, shaking his head, turning away like he needed distance before his emotions boiled over completely.

you didn’t let him get far. “he was just being nice to me,” you said softly. “i thought i could use some help since you were… unavailable.”

minho froze. he spun around so fast it startled you. in three long strides, he was in front of you again, closer than before, anger simmering beneath his skin, but something else burning far hotter.

“then ask someone for help who doesn’t want to get in your pants.”

your breath hitched, “minho! that's absolutely not–" he didn’t let you finish. he stepped closer, eyes dark and locked on yours like he was done pretending, done holding back. “someone who doesn’t look at you like he wants to take your clothes off.”

you instinctively stepped back, pulse fluttering out of control. you didn’t even realise how close the wall was until your back hit it.

minho caged you in without hesitation. his hands slid up the wall and planted themselves on either side of your face, his breath fanning across your cheeks, uneven and tortured.

“because that truly drives me insane,” he said, every word rasped between clenched teeth. “he doesn’t deserve to have you.”

your eyes flicked up to his, pulling him in without meaning to. your lips parted, a shaky exhale slipping past them. minho’s gaze dropped to your mouth for a split second too long. that was all it took. he leaned in, voice a low, breaking whisper.

“because you’re mine.”

and his mouth crashed onto yours with weeks of swallowed frustration and unspoken longing poured into a single breathless moment. his hands moved from the wall to your face, fingers firm along your jaw as he angled you perfectly, deepening the kiss like he’d been dying to do it for far too long.

your mind was stunned with shock and adrenaline, but your body didn’t need time to think. your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with all the desperation you’d tried so hard to hide.

the moment your lips moved against his, something inside minho seemed to snap and melt at the exact same time. his kiss deepened instantly, growing messier, like he’d been holding himself back for so long that now he physically couldn’t. he angled your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks in frantic strokes, and you felt his whole body lean into you, chest pressed against yours, breath mingling in uneven bursts.

you tugged him closer, needing him closer. you weren’t thinking anymore, just feeling. the warmth of him, the tremble in his jaw, the soft groan that escaped him when your lips moved a little more urgently against his.

minho’s hand slid from your cheek down to your waist, then around your back, pulling you flush against him with a needy strength that made your knees buckle. he held you like he couldn’t stand the thought of even a breath of space between you.

you melted into him, completely. your arms looped around his neck, your fingers brushing the soft hair at his nape, earning another breathy exhale from him. his lips moved hungrily against yours, then softer, then desperate again, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss you hard enough to make up for weeks of tension or slow enough to savour the fact that you were finally in his arms.

he kissed you like he had wanted this for months. like he had dreamed of it in the empty practice rooms and swallowed it down every time you laughed with someone else.

your heart pounded against his chest, and you could feel his racing just as wildly.

at some point, he broke the kiss only to breathe, forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling fast. his lips brushed yours again softly, before he whispered against your mouth, “and i’m always available to you.”

the words knocked the air from your lungs. you closed your eyes, hands still clinging to him. “i’m sorry, minho,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke. “for acting like that.”

he didn’t even hesitate. he kissed you again. this time slow. like he finally had what he’d been craving, waiting for, breaking over. his hands stayed at your waist, grip softer now, thumbs stroking lightly.

when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, he gave you a tiny, breathless smile. “will you finally have dinner with me now?”

₊˚⊹∘•····································•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•·····································•∘⊹˚₊

Having Yeosang and Mingi as roommates was pretty cool, the majority of the time; however, ever since the beginning, it seemed like you and Yeosang wouldn't get along. Always at each other's throats, even for the dumbest shit known to mankind. Mingi had lost count of the times he had to separate the two of you before things got physical.

No one could figure out what was going on between the two of you, because some days you'd just ignore each other. Other days, the whole apartment became a warzone, and anyone who was inside got caught in the crossfire.

Today would be one of those latter days. Wooyoung and Yunho were over, playing games with Mingi in the living room, while you sat at the dining table scrolling through your phone while eating some fruit you had cut earlier in the day.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention, causing you to look up slightly just as Yeosang walked into the room. Pushing down the urge to scoff, you turned your attention back to your phone, not wanting to start any drama today. Chewing on another piece of fruit, you scrolled down on your phone despite the feeling of eyes burning into your skin.

It wasn't like you hated Yeosang, no, it was quite the opposite in fact, but you were far too prideful to admit it. So you just fed into his annoyance and instigated these little spats just to keep his attention on you. Plus, you have never been one to let anyone else have the last word in any kind of argument.

Just then, a message from one of your friends came through, so you backed out of whatever article you were reading to reply to her. The sound of something being placed on the table caught your attention, so you glanced over, seeing Yeosang sit down, his eyes fixated on the plate in front of him. Shaking your head softly, you averted your gaze back to your phone as you hit send on your message.

"You know, if you have the day off, the least you could do is clean before being lazy." Yeosang's voice broke through the silence, causing you to look over at him, and the familiar warmth in your chest rose. Your eyes narrowed as he raised an eyebrow, wiping the tip of his finger across the surface of the tabletop.

"You're being childish." You grumbled, rolling your eyes and going back to your phone, trying your best to ignore him.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't quite hear you." He chastised you, a smirk on his lips, causing your eye to twitch in annoyance.

"I said, you're acting like a child, so grow the hell up." You sneered, eyes narrowing into slits as you glared daggers at him.

Yeosang scoffed, turning his body so he was facing you fully, anger displayed beautifully on his features. "I'm the one acting like a child? That's really rich coming from someone who has been ignoring me like a kid who hasn't gotten what they want."

"And why the fuck do you think that is?" You asked, voice rising an octave, which caught the attention of the three men who were still in the living room.

"They're at it again." Mingi groaned quietly as Yunho paused the game while Wooyoung stood up to investigate with his nosy ass. He hadn't been around when the two of you fought before, so he was intrigued; however, as soon as he started to walk to the door, Yunho grabbed his arm.

"Please don't instigate them, I really don't wanna break up a physical fight." Yunho pleaded with the younger male who just brushed him off, saying it was fine, before peeking into the dining room where you and Yeosang were glaring at each other.

"Oh, please enlighten me, I'd love to hear the bullshit you'll spew now." Yeosang let out a dark laugh, his eyes narrowing into a glare to match your own.

You dropped your phone and fork onto the table, hands balling into fists as more annoyance bubbled in your chest. Was he actually being for real? As if he didn't already know why you always ignored him.

"Well, maybe for starters, you're acting like a complete and utter asshole, for no reason, mind you." You scoffed, throwing your hands up and the fruit before you long forgotten.

"No reason?" Yeosang's voice grew louder as he rose to his feet, eyes still fixated on you.

"Oh, so there is a reason?" A growl tore through your throat, "Then let's hear it."

"I. Don't. Like. You." He spat out the words as if they were poison on his tongue, "What about that are you not getting through that head of yours?"

"My god, I don't give two shits if you don't like me, that's not an excuse for you to act like a dickwad when you could just ignore me." You scoffed, standing up from your seat and leaning against the dining table, your gaze hardening. However, despite your words, deep down it did hurt to hear him say he didn't like you, but that pain only added to the bitterness you were feeling in that moment.

"That's funny because I don't give two shits if you don't like me either." Yeosang quiped, the corner of his eye twitching slightly as he watched your body start to shake in anger. He would be a fool if he said he didn't care because he knew he did, but just like you, he was far too prideful to actually admit it; rather, he'd continue to push your buttons just to get a rise out of you.

"Are you sure about that, because you're always the one instigating these fights." You raised an eyebrow, watching as he stalked towards you. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and your breath is hitching in your throat when he leans forward, his face merely inches away from yours.

"So you're blaming me for this?" His voice dropped an octave, causing your stomach to flip, heat rushing up your neck to paint your face a bright shade of red.

You weren't going to give the satisfaction of backing down, not if you could do anything about it. So you moved forward until your nose brushed against his, ignoring the growing need in the pit of your stomach.

"That's exactly what I'm doing." You sneered, eyes once again narrowing into slits, "None of this would have to happen if you weren't such an asshat."

Yeosang's upper lip pulled back into a snarl as he let your words sink in, heat from anger as well as something deeper festered in his gut and word flew before he could stop them, "no, none of this would have happened if you weren't up Mingi's ass all of the time pracatally begged him to let you live here." He growled, and your face grew warm, tears pricking at your eyes as you just stared at him in disbelief.

Inhaling deeply, you opened your mouth, getting ready to say something else; however, you didn't get the chance to when Mingi barreled into the room with wide eyes, worried that things might get physical.

"Hey, let's take a chill pill, guys." His eyes shifted between you and Yeosang, hoping things would calm down.

With a tight jaw, you moved away from Yeosang, snatching your phone off the table and storming out of the room with low mumbled curses. Once you were out of sight, Mingi looked over at Yeosang, who was still watching where you had disappeared to. Before Mingi could say anything, Yeosang pushed away from the table and grabbed his own phone from the table.

"I'm going to the gym." He grumbled, shoving past Wooyoung and Yunho, who were still standing in the doorway.

All three of the males watched as Yeosang walked out of the room, then as soon as the door slammed shut, Wooyoung looked over at the two taller males.

"Yeah, that's sexual tension if I've ever seen it," Wooyoung noted with a nod of his head, causing Yunho and Mingi to look at him, one with a raised eyebrow, while the other was in disgust. "What? I'm just stating the obvious, I mean, look at them."

"Yeah, I see that they're about to tear each other's throats out," Yunho stated, giving the younger male a deadpan stare.

"But not in the I hate you kinda way, more like the I wanna fuck your brains out but too pussy to admit it," Wooyoung said as if it were the most casual thing in the world, causing Mingi to grimace.

"Alright!" Yunho exclaimed, turning his head, trying to erase that mental image of two of his friends.

"I bet I can find a way to get them to just fuck it out and everyone will be happy." Wooyoung nodded with a satisfied smile while both Yunho and Mingi looked at him, horrified, but Mingi was the first to recover, actually taking what he was saying seriously.

"If you can get them to stop fighting, I'll buy you that game you've been eyeing." Mingi held his hand out, not fully believing that Wooyoung could do anything and that the two of you just genuinely hated each other's guts.

Wooyoung's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he quickly placed his hand into Mingi's, shaking it. "Just wait and see."

—

About half an hour later, you walked back into the kitchen with your headphones in, blasting music. The three men on the couch paused their game as they watched you start to clean, Mingi making a comment about how you gave in to Yeosang so quickly.

It wasn't like you wanted to let what he said bother you, but at the same time, you'd hope that you doing this would make him see you in a new light instead of hating your guts entirely. So you've got to work on cleaning, starting with the kitchen.

Wooyoung watched from around the corner, waiting for the perfect opportunity, and as if god was smiling down on him, he saw you move Yeosang's iPad from the dining table to set it on the counter next to the microwave.

He waited until you had your back turned to him once more, then rushed forward to snatch the device from the counter and made his way back towards the two taller males who were looking at him, confused. He waved the device in front of him with a smirk before peeking over his shoulder, seeing that you didn't have a clue in the world.

"What do we do now, smart guy?" Yunho asked, arms crossed over his chest, causing Wooyoung to roll his eyes.

"Now we leave—preferably for the whole night—and let them work it out," Wooyoung stated in a matter-of-fact voice and walking over to the front door with the iPad tucked under his arm.

"What if they kill each other?" Mingi asked, a hint of worry in his tone, but Wooyoung just gave him a blank stare.

"Mingi, I think the only thing we'll have to worry about dying is the sexual tension between them." He stated, shoving his feet into his worn-down Nikes, "Trust me, this'll work."

"I hope so…" Mingi's words trailed off as Yunho followed after Wooyoung and Mingi glanced back at you, but decided against saying anything and figured he would just shoot you a message saying that he was going out with the guys and probably wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

As you were wiping down the dining table, you could have sworn you heard the front door open and close, but when you peeked around the corner, you didn't see anyone. Shrugging, you figured that Mingi just went out with the guys and got back to cleaning.

By the time you were done cleaning, it was some time after nine, so you quickly rinsed your hands off before heading to your bedroom. You grabbed a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom in order to take a shower.

Walking back into your bedroom, you dried your hair some more with the towel while throwing your dirty clothes into the hamper. Humming softly to yourself, you walked over to your bed and sat down, grabbing your phone that was plugged in.

You swiped through the unimportant notifications while searching for the remote with the other. With a soft groan, you tossed your phone to the side before turning on the television, deciding that you would just finish the show you had been putting off for weeks. As the show played, you continued to dry your hair, but not even fifteen minutes into the episode, there was a harsh knock on your bedroom door, so you grabbed the remote and paused the show.

Standing to your feet, you threw the damp towel into the hamper before walking over to the door. Opening it, you instantly rolled your eyes seeing Yeosang standing there with an annoyed expression on his face.

"What do you want, Yeosang?" You let out a quiet sigh, 'So much for your quiet night in.'

"Did you take my iPad?" His accusatory tone got under your skin and fast, causing your eyes to narrow slightly.

"No, I didn't take it." You pinched the bridge of your nose, ready for this interaction to stop, because you were growing tired of it. You then started to close the door; however, he stopped it, pushing it further open.

"Then who took it? Caspar?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow as his fingers tightened around the wooden door. "Mingi said that you were cleaning the house, and it's not where I left it."

Utterly fed up, you threw your hands up with a scoff, heat racing throughout your veins, "I set it down by the microwave. If it's not there, then I don't know what to tell you. Did you even bother asking the guys if they saw it?"

"Yeah, and none of them have seen it, so…" He stepped closer to you and leaned down until his face was merely inches away from yours, causing your heart to jump at the close proximity. "That means you took it."

"Then I think you're just crazy." You hissed, eye narrowing and fingers curling into a fist at your sides, trying to stop the shakiness, but you were sure he could hear how your heart was racing underneath your ribcage.

Yeosang's eyes darkened, causing your stomach to drop and a lump to form in your throat. Worry that you might have pressed too far started to etch itself into your brain as you watched him stand straight.

A high-pitched yelp fell from your lips as he shoved you further into the room before stepping inside and shutting the door. You managed to catch your footing before glaring at the taller male, annoyance overtaking the worry that was once there.

Before you could get a word out, he grabbed your arm tightly, pulling your body closer to his, a sneer decorating his face. With gritted teeth, you tried to pry his hand off, but it was proven pointless; his grip was far too strong.

"Let me go, asshole!" You sneered, pulling on his wrist in a pointless attempt to get him to let go.

Your breath hitched in your throat once more when he tugged you closer, bringing his face closer to yours, his nose almost touching yours.

"Lose the fucking attitude and I might." His voice came out in a low growl, making your stomach flip, heat pooling in your core, but you weren't about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing he had that effect on you.

Your eyes narrowed into a glare as you stood your ground, "Maybe if you would stop being just a pain in the ass, I wouldn't have an attitude." Your tone was harsh as you pushed the words through your teeth.

Within the blink of an eye, Yeosang had his hand wrapped snuggly around your throat, squeezing just enough to elicit a gasp from your parted lips. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist as he tugged you closer to him, barely any room left between your bodies. His lips pulled into a sinister smirk as he felt you swallow underneath his palm.

"You really don't know how to use that pretty head of yours, huh?" He asked almost mockingly as his grip tightened a bit more, causing a choked whine to leave your throat.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it, huh?" Your voice came out hoarse as you looked at him, a challenging gleam in your eyes and a small smirk of your own tugging on the corner of your lips. You finally believed that you had him right where you wanted him, but you weren't going to give in just yet. No, your pride was too large for that.

Your smug smile faltered when his face darkened, the smirk fading away. Before you could even register it, he was shoving your body back, hand still fixed on your throat. A choked gasp fell from your lips when your knees hit the edge of your bed, and your heart dropped as he pushed you back. All of the previous annoyance that you once felt was starting to diminish into more sexual tension than anything else. However, you didn't get a word out before he had your body caged under his, the weight of his body making your head spin.

Your hands went to your shoulders in a futile attempt to push him away from you, but that only seemed to irritate him even more. His lips pulled back into a snarl as he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. You wiggled around in hopes of getting free, but his grip only tightened, and your whole body went rigid as he brought his lips just a hair away from yours.

"If you wanna keep acting like a brat, then I'm just gonna start treating you like one." His voice came out in a deep gravel, his warm breath fanning your face, making your heart skip a beat.

"Please, as if you can do anything." The words fell from your lips quicker than you could process them, but by the time you did, it was already too late. However, the dark gleam in his eyes only had more arousal pooling in your gut.

You choked back a groan when you felt his hips press against yours, suddenly aware just how close your bodies were. Your breathing started to come out ragged at the thought of just a few layers of clothes separating your bodies, and that turned you on to no end. Biting down on your tongue, you tried to gain some self-control.

You were rudely brought back to reality when he rolled his hips against yours, making sure you felt him against your clothed core. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down further on your tongue, trying to keep all of your noises in. However, the smirk that was spread out on Yeosang's face told you that he already knew what was going through your head.

"Maybe if you start listening like a good girl, I'll go easy on you." He flashed his teeth with a smug grin, leaning down more until he was merely a breath away from your lips. A shiver ran down your spine at the smell of mint and cherries on his breath.

Releasing your tongue, you allowed your lips to curl inward, wiggling your fingers once more, trying to get out of his grip, but failing once more, "In your dreams." Your voice was airy as you held his eye contact, your body burning hotter by the second.

A dark chuckle left his lips as he pulled away from you, releasing your wrists in the process, but you didn't move. Your eye watched as he stood straight, hand trailing down to his belt. Your heart started beating frantically under your ribs as you realized what was actually about to happen.

"On your stomach." He demanded, eyes narrowing as he watched you continue to lie there. You bit back a shiteating grin as your body tingled in excitement as you pressed his buttons some more, waiting until he finally snapped.

A sharp cry fell from your lips as he slapped the side of your thigh, but the pain only added fuel to the raging fire that was burning in your gut.

"I said on your stomach, or do I have to do everything for you?" He growled, his upper lip pulling back just far enough to see his teeth.

Reluctantly, you rolled over until you were lying on your stomach, swallowing thickly as you waited to see what he would do next. You didn't have to wait too long, though, because he roughly grabbed your arms, pulling them behind your back.

"Let me show you what happens to brats who can't follow directions and talk back." Yeosang's jaw was tight as he started to wrap his belt around your smaller wrists. A whine fell from your lips as he tightened the harsh leather, lips opening to start complaining, only for you to shut them when he tugged on the belt. "I don't wanna hear another word from you." He hissed as he finished fastening the belt, making sure it was tight.

Moving your arms, you knew within seconds that you weren't going to be able to free yourself, and your stomach fluttered. Yeosang's hand wrapped around your bicep, flipping you over onto your back once more, your arms snug underneath the weight of your body.

Your breath hitched as his fingers glided over the skin on the outside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His movements were slow, but his eyes were locked on your face, watching your reactions. You willed yourself to keep a straight face, not wanting to give him that satisfaction. It was easy to tell that it was getting to him because you could see the edges of his lips twitching every so often.

A playful smirk found its way onto your lips as you watched him, which seemed to really annoy him, and he pinched the side of your thigh. Hard. A pitiful squeak fell from your lips as you glared up at him, wanting nothing more than to slap that smug look off his face.

Even if your face wouldn't give him the reaction he wanted, both of you knew that your body would betray you at some point. Your underwear was already starting to become uncomfortably soaked with your arousal, and you needed to get the clothes off your body before you went insane. However, the feeling of Yeosang's hands on your body once more sent your brain into orbit, lust slowly clouding every inch.

When his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your sleep shorts, he didn't have to say a word as you lifted your hips off the mattress. A cocky smirk spread on his lips, knowing he had you in the palm of his hand. He then pulled off your shorts and underwear in one go, and the moment the cool air of the room hit your heated core, your body started to tremble.

"All that back talk for nothing, huh?" He mocked you, throwing the articles of clothing off to the side before slotting his body against yours once more, "Now look at you, listening so well." He leaned in closer, relishing in the way your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, "sadly, that won't save you from your punishment."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him with hazy eyes. The sight, however, left you breathless, your need growing tenfold. The dim lighting of the room made his almost white hair glow, like a halo—the perfect example of a devil in disguise.

Yeosang grabbed your legs, just under your knees, and pulled your body closer to the edge of the bed. A gasp left your parted lips as he situated himself further between your legs, leaning down once more.

"Don't you think you deserved to be punished for your attitude?" His voice was deep, a borderline sinister smirk spreading across his lips. His hands gripped your hips tightly, sending shockwaves all throughout your body, and his eyes watched you closely, "Hmm?"

You shook your head softly, tears of overwhelming need pooling along your waterline. He chuckled, tilting his head slightly and moving his face just a bit closer. His lips were just a breath away from yours as if he were going in for a kiss, but he stopped short.

"You're gonna regret acting like such a brat doll." His voice dropped an octave, and the smirk faded away, causing a chill to run down your spine.

The scent of him being so close was intoxicating, and you needed his lips on yours. So if he weren't going to kiss you, then you'd take it into your own hands. You leaned forward, ready to seal your lips over his; however, he moved his head away and looked down at you with a cocky smirk.

His hand that was once on your hip trailed up until his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling back harshly. A strangled moan escaped your lips as you glared up at him, heart racing frantically.

"Needy little brats don't deserve to be kissed." He hissed, his breath fanning your face, and your jaw tightened, annoyance bubbling with your arousal.

"As if I want your dirty lips on me any— fuck!" You cried out when he suddenly pressed against your aching clit, sparks shooting throughout your entire body. His hands were rough as he worked against your bundle, and your body started to shake.

"You're drenched, doll, pathetic really." He chuckled darkly as he straightened his body, releasing your hair in the process; however, he grabbed your knee to keep you from snapping your legs shut as he slid down to your entrance.

You bit your bottom lip to keep from letting any noises slip as Yeosang mercilessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. His pace was anything but slow, and every time he brushed over that spongy spot deep in your walls, your whole body jolted, eyes rolling slightly.

"Ya know, for someone who was complaining so much, you sure take my fingers so well, don't you?" He mocked you, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spots once more, causing your hips to buck, a moan vibrating in the back of your throat. You glared at him, inhaling sharply through your nose, and Yeosang just smirked as he pressed his thumb against your clit. Your breath caught in your throat as your head fell back against the mattress, a few tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

He brought his head down, latching his lips onto your neck right over a tender spot. You bit down harder on your lip as you felt yourself start to slip, and you were sure that you had broken skin at this point. With a peculiarly harsh thrust, your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest into Yeosang's, causing him to chuckle. The sound alone was enough to make your head spin, your walls tightening around his fingers.

"It's hard to hate you when you're under me like this, so submissive and so breathless," His tone was teasing as he watched your eyes roll, "Gorgeous sight really." The vibrations of his voice against your skin sent tingles down your spine.

Your eyes rolled back, legs beginning to twitch on either side of his hips as his fingers coaxed your climax closer. Yeosang smirked, knowing that you were close from the way your body started to tremble and your walls tightened around his fingers.

However, right before your high came crashing down, he pulled his fingers from your needy cunt, leaving your climax to ebb away. A whine fell from your lips as you glared at the white-haired male, who only looked down at you with hooded eyes, his head tilting slightly as he grinned smugly.

"You didn't believe I'd just let you cum that easily, did you? After acting how you've been." He chuckled darkly, "Not a chance in hell, sweetheart." He then brought his face down to yours once more, eyes burning into yours, "If you wanna cum so bad, you better start begging for it."

You finally released your swollen lip, saliva, and blood coating it as you spit out, "In your fucking dreams."

Without another word, he slipped his fingers back into your soaping core, his pace rough. Your jaw clenched as you bit down on your tongue to keep from letting any moans slip out, the glare never leaving your features as he leaned over you.

"You'll break eventually." He stated as if he was so sure of himself, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew he was right. You would give in to him at some point.

"Y-Yeah, right." Your eyes screwed shut as he added more pressure to your clit, fingers curling at just the right angle. He chuckled knowingly as he latched his lips onto your neck once more, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your skin. A choked gasp fell from your lips when he bit down.

—

This pattern kept up for a while; he would bring you to the edge just to rip it away from you. Tears were spilling from the corner of your eyes from being edged so many times, as well as the pain from your swollen lip.

"We can keep going all night, doll." Yeosang's voice was taunting as he brought you close to the edge once more, only to rip it away from you. Your eyes squeezed shut, pushing more tears out as you tried to keep yourself from screaming. Heavy breaths left your burning lungs as you finally let air back in from trying not to cry in frustration.

A sharp cry fell from your parted lips when he unexpectedly pressed down on your throbbing clit once more, keeping his pace slow but harsh, leaving your brain to spiral.

"That's it, let it all out. Let me hear you." He growled as he bit down on the junction of your neck, eliciting another moan from your swollen lips.

His pace was harsh and calculated, easily bringing back that same tightness in your gut, the coil threatening to snap at any moment. But just like all those times before, he stopped right before you tipped over.

You let out a weak cry, frustration and overwhelming need filling your senses. At this point, you were willing to finally swallow your pride so he would give you what you wanted. Letting out a shaky breath, you opened your eyes, meeting Yeosang's lustful and hooded eyes, tears trickling down the sides of your face. Your eyes search his for a moment.

"Are you getting frustrated?" He gave you a faux pout, a gaze full of lust and knowing. He could see your resolve cracking, and it was a matter of time before you gave in.

"Y-Yeosa—" You choked on his name as he started pumping fingers into your swollen cunt once more, a strangled moan replacing your words. At this rate, he was quick to bring you close to your release, but you knew that he wouldn't give in. Not unless he got what he wanted. Not unless you begged.

"Fuck Yeosang— please, please don't stop." Your words came out as a mixture of whines and moans, your back arching off the bed as the coil tightened to unimaginable levels. Your lips moved, spelling out all kinds of pleas in hopes that he wouldn't stop this time. However, even though your teary vision, you could see the smirk that spread on his lips as he pulled away.

"Yeosang." You whined, but quickly snapped your mouth shut when a dark chuckle fell from Yeosang's lips.

The borderline psychotic gleam in his eyes caused a chill to run down your spine, but you still tried to roll your hips. A soft moan fell from your lips as you felt his fingers deep in your cunt, unmoving. Yet that little bit of pleasure was cruelly ripped away when his free hand grabbed your hip, halting your movements and keeping you pinned in place.

A whine of his name fell from your lips, and Yeosang watched in sick satisfaction as you started to fall apart before him. The tears that were cascading down your flushed face had his dick twitching in his sweats.

"Please, Yeo…" You whined, back arching, trying to entice him to move his hand, "Please let me cum, please, please, please." You weren't sure how many times the word 'please' fell from your trembling lips.

The corner of Yeosang's lips curled upward, "Okay, sweetheart, I'll let you cum since you asked so nicely." His voice was strangely sweet, which left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You tried to move your hands as much as you could because your shoulders had started to go numb from the uncomfortable position they were placed in. However, your movements stopped, and your nails dug into the palm of your hands once he started fucking his fingers into you once more.

"Yeosang!" A scream tore through your lips as your head fell back, eyes screwing shut. His pace was harsher than before, not letting up on your sweet spot even a bit, and your legs started to shake uncontrollably. His thumb pressed down on your swollen clit, sending your mind into orbit, and that knot in your stomach appeared once more.

Your back arched, pushing his fingers further into your tight walls, a flurry of incoherent moans falling from your parted lips. However, you braced yourself for him to stop when you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

"Go ahead, doll. Cum all over my fingers." He cooed against your skin as he kissed the column of your throat. White spots clouded your vision as you felt the coil tighten, on the verge of snapping. It wasn't until he added more pressure to your clit that it finally snapped, and you came undone with a soundless scream.

"F-Fuck!" Your eyes rolled back, your nails digging into the palm of your hand, threatening to break skin. However, his movements didn't stop, much less slow down, easily throwing your body into a state of overstimulation. "Wait, Y-Yeo—" The words caught in your throat when he brushed over your sweet spot again, your whole body tensing as you felt another orgasm building rather quickly.

A loud moan tore through your lips as he started kissing your neck once more, his fingers going at a punishing pace. Trailing down to your collarbone, he bit down on your skin, surely leaving behind marks, causing your back to arch against him.

"Maybe I should just tear off your shirt." He groaned, not liking the restriction to the rest of your body as he hovered over you, watching pleasure contort on your features.

Your teary eyes stayed locked on him as he looked down to where his fingers were gliding in and out of your slick folds. Then, with another curl of his fingers, he pulled another, unexpected orgasm from your sensitive pussy, but just like before, he didn't stop.

"H-Hold on, Yeo! Please!" You cried out, trying to scoot away from his hand as he continued to abuse your throbbing clit, fingers still knuckle deep in your pussy.

"You were begging to cum weren't you?" His chastising words only added more fuel to the raging fire that burned in your gut. You had begged him to let you cum, but not like this. This was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't nearly enough. You wanted—needed—more.

You could feel your muscles tense as another orgasm threatened to topple over, quiet sobs and pleas falling from your lips. Yeosang chuckled before pulling his fingers from your twitching hole.

"F-Fuck, no…" You whined, completely missing the sinister look that crossed the white-haired male's face.

Just as another whine was about to fall from your mouth, his hands gripped your hips, flipping your body effortlessly. A choked gasp fell from your lips when he tugged on your hips until you were on your knees and your back was arched. Without your hands, you weren't able to see what was going on behind you, your face smooshed in the comforter. However, the sound of his zipper was loud, and it sent a thrill of excitement through your body. The thought of having him buried deep in your weeping cunt was enough to have your mind spiralling.

"Yeosang…" His name fell from your lips in a breathy moan, subconsciously wiggling your hips, enticing him. Not even a few moments later, you felt his hands on your hips, tugging you closer to him. You opened your mouth to tease him, but all words died on your tongue the moment you felt the head of his cock slide against your soaked folds. A whimper fell from your lips when he brushed against your clit, and you wanted nothing more than to push back and have him inside you, but his grip was far too tight.

"So desperate for it, aren't you?" He mocked you, sliding his dick over your slick until the tip caught your entrance, "Well, if you want it so bad, you'd better start taking it." He growled before thrusting deep into your walls, causing your body to jerk forward with a pitiful squeak.

"Y-Yeo—" Your words caught in your throat as he gave you no time to adjust to his size before he started plowing into you at a bruising pace. His grip on your hips was tight enough to leave bruises, his nails creating crescent shapes in your skin.

Another choked moan spilled from your lips when he snaked his hand around your waist, his fingers finding your sensitive clit. He circled the bundle of nerves with a ruthless pace, causing your body to jerk, a muffled cry falling from your lips.

You buried your face into the comforter, trying to muffle some of your moans, realizing that Mingi might be in the other room. It felt like your whole body was lit ablaze, and the thought of anyone hearing made heat bloom across your cheeks.

With another snap of his hips, Yeosang moved his hand away from your clit, giving you a slight second to breathe. However, it didn't last too long before his hand wrapped around your bound wrists, pulling your body up. He pulled your face out of the comforter, your moans now bouncing off the walls.

"Listen to you, so pathetic. Just needed some dick to set you straight, huh?" He gritted his teeth when your walls tightened around him and you let out a choked sob.

"Yes— fuck, yes! Yeosang, please!" You screamed as he brushed over your sweet spot, bringing you close to your climax.

"Gonna cum already, doll?" He mocked you, hips snapping into yours harshly, hitting deeper than anyone ever has. Your head was starting to spin due to the overwhelming pleasure that he was giving your body. The groans falling from Yeosang's lips went straight to your pussy, your walls clenching down on his cock.

His fingers around your bound wrists tightened as he switched his angle, allowing him to hit deeper and right over that spongy spot that left you seeing stars. A weak cry of his name tore from your lips, your head hanging, and tears dripped from the tip of your nose, staining the sheets underneath you. Your whole body started to tremble, muscles screaming for release as they tensed once more.

"Yeosang! God, please don't stop." You cried out, looking back at him, and the sigh nearly had you toppling over the edge. His platinum hair was sticking to his forehead as sweat beaded down his clenched jaw.

He let out a guttural growl as he pulled your body up until your arms were pressed against his chest. Your eyes rolled back with a silent scream at the sudden change in position, head falling back onto his shoulder. His hand moved from your bound wrist to your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.

"F-Fuck, Yeosang!" You choked out as he continued to plow into your abused cunt, but when he tilted your head to seal his lips over yours, your brain turned to mush.

The kiss was anything but neat, a mixture of saliva and a bit of blood from your cut lip. He swallowed all of your sweet sounds when his fingers found your clit once more, rubbing over it in slow circles. His chest swelled up in pride when your eyes rolled back, your walls clamping around him as you neared the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart, give it to me." He groaned against your ear, warm breath fanning your cheek, "cum like the pathetic brat you are."

The pressure in your gut coiled tightly, and it felt like you were about to explode, but you weren't given a chance to warn him before your orgasm tore through you. Your vision blurred as your release gushed out of you in waves, coating his dick and fingers and drenching the sheets underneath your body.

"Y-Yeosang!" Your whole body convulsed as he continued to coax more of your release from your body, eyes fixated on where you were drenching his hand.

"You just squirted." He growled against your ear, and you wanted nothing more than to hide, but he didn't give you a chance before his lips latched onto your jaw, nipping at the skin. "So fucking pathetic, but fuck, I need you to do it again."

Sobs of his name racked your lungs as he kept his relentless pace, fingers still snug around your throat. His teeth sank into your covered shoulder as he felt his dick twitch in your walls, knowing he was close to his own high. He vowed that he would get you to squirt again for him later, but for now, he wanted nothing more than to cum in you and claim you as his and his alone.

"Shit, I'm almost there, hold on." The switch in his tone made your head spin; his once harsh and rough tone turned into breathy groans and borderline whines. Then his once ruthless pace was starting to become erratic and sloppy, a telltale sign that he was close. As he was chasing his own, he was bringing you to yet another one of your own.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yeosang!" You let out a high-pitched whine, hands pressing against his abdomen, and tears streamed down your face.

He tore another orgasm from your spent body, your vision turning white for a few moments, and you thought you would pass out. You turned your face towards him, lips brushing over his jaw, causing him to look down at you.

"Fuck." He cursed before his lips crashed into yours, his hips studdering as he came, painting your walls white. The new warmth left goosebumps littering your skin, a whine falling from your lips only to be swallowed by his.

His hips jerked a few more times as he rode out his high before coming to a halt, burying himself deep in your walls. He broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his hand falling from your throat to lay against your sternum to keep you anchored to his body. You let your head fall back against his shoulder as you catch your breath, trying to focus your vision.

"Are you okay?" His voice was hoarse as he kissed up your neck before stopping at your ear, the sweetness in his tone making you shiver.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked over at him before nodding, not fully trusting your voice. Then that same smirk spread across his lips as he leaned in, lips brushing over yours, causing your breath to hitch.

"Was this just your elaborate plan to get me into your bed?" He asked, and your eyes grew wide, heart racing under your ribs, and his smirk widened as he felt it under his palm.

"Yeah, because I totally took your iPad to make you snap." You rolled your eyes, voice still hoarse, and turned your head away from him.

"Hmm, don't give me attitude, doll, I'll just fuck it out of you again." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper from your throat when he grabbed your jaw. Turning your head, he searched your eyes as you looked at him. "Next time you need dick, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart."

You swallowed thickly your stomach flipping and the words were spilling from your lips before you could stop them, "It's more than just needing your dick Yeosang," The words stunned the white-haired male, and you swallowed thickly, knowing it was far too late to turn back now, "I want you, all of you."

Yeosang was stunned, not having expected you to say that you actually liked him, his grip on your body growing tighter. He buried his face in your neck once more, lips ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver.

Then he undid the belt, letting your arms fall free, and despite the soreness, you brought your hand up to cup the back of his neck. However, in the blink of an eye, he pulled out of you and laid you flat on your back, slotting his body over yours.

"Fuck doll, you don't know how long I've waited to hear those words." He groaned, sealing his lips over yours once again, but this kiss was far sweeter than the rest. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his hands smoothed down your sides, finding purchase on your hips.

A sharp gasp fell from your lips when you felt him prodding at your leaking entrance once more, still hard. You knew it was about to be a long night, but this time all your feelings were out on the table.

—

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed and shouting coming from the living room. Looking around, you noticed that Yeosang wasn't in the room, so you shoved the blankets off your body. You got out of bed, ignoring the ache in your core and legs, as you grabbed a discarded shirt off the ground and your sleep shorts.

Rushing into the other room, you found Yunho and Mingi standing on one side, Wooyoung hiding behind them as Yeosang glared at the younger male.

"What's going on in here?" You asked, sleep still heavy in your voice as you looked between the four males.

"See, I told you it would work!" Wooyoung exclaimed, pointing at you, which left you confused until flashes from last night crossed your mind, and your eyes grew wide. Then you noticed the iPad that was still resting in his hands, and your eyes narrowed.

"You were the one who took it?" You nearly shouted, anger and annoyance bubbling in your gut once again. Mingi shoved Yunho to the side as you started walking towards them, leaving Wooyoung standing there. "Oh, I am so gonna kill you, Jung Wooyoung!"

Wooyoung yelped as you started chasing him around the apartment, "You should be thanking me! I helped y'all figure your shit out!"

Yeosang walked over to the two taller males, watching the events unfold as you caught Wooyoung, tackling him to the ground. Mingi whinced as you grabbed his arm to pry the device out of it.

"Congrats by the way." Yunho nudged Yeosang's arm, causing the white-haired male to look at him with a raised eyebrow, "Finally worked things out, and now we won't have to worry about you two tearing each other's head off."

Yeosang swallowed thickly, nodding his head as he looked over at you. He figured that what Wooyoung did was truly a blessing in disguise, otherwise you two would still be at each other's throats. However, he wasn't about to interfere with what you were doing. Nope, he'd have no part in that.

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