Spicy

a/n: ayeee guess who’s back! this fic won on the poll so here i am delivering. this is also my 3k followers thank you post hehe!! thanks to each and every one of you guys that have been reading and supporting my work 😘 keep an eye out i’ll be putting out another pole soon. as always comments, notes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy reading :3

𓂃

you and jake sim grew up three houses apart on a street where everybody's moms knew everything and everybody's dads pretended they didn't. you were the loud one—the kid who rang doorbells like you were collecting taxes, who demanded attention with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no.

which you hadn't.

meanwhile jake... poor jake. he was the sweet, soft-spoken boy who trailed after you like a golden retriever with a bowl cut and velcro spiderman sneakers. he always had crumbs on his face, always carried your backpack without being asked, and always—always—laughed at your jokes, even when they weren't funny.

they were rarely funny.

you'd yell his name across the street, and he'd come running. you'd shove the glittery lip gloss you stole from your cousin into his hand and say "hold this," and he would. you'd call him "my assistant" during your bossy childhood games, and he accepted the demotion.

once, you made him cry because he didn't run fast enough during tag. you didn't apologize—instead you loudly declared, "omg, relax, you got tagged ONCE. big deal."

jake sniffled, you stomped away. and five minutes later he followed you again, because that's just how he was.

but somewhere around the end of high school, the world started pulling you in different directions. you were busy being dramatic, discovering tinted lip oils, complaining about your parents rules, and posting instagram stories from the passenger seat of other people's cars.

jake was busy doing things like... assignments. group projects. extracurriculars. things you mockingly called "nerd behavior."

he didn't go out much. he didn't chase chaos. he didn't orbit your life the way he did when you were younger. and you—in a classic act of emotional immaturity—pretended not to care.

at eighteen, you chose a college far away purely because the campus looked "aesthetic in fall," packed up your entire personality into two suitcases, and left without saying a proper goodbye. you waved at jake from the car window as your mom pulled out of the driveway and yelled something ridiculous like:

"don't let anyone bully you except me!"

he laughed. that soft, warm, dimpled laugh that used to follow you everywhere.

and then you were gone.

𓂃

college turned you into an even worse version of yourself—aggressively iced-coffee-dependent, chronically late, allergic to responsibility, and thriving in an environment where chaos was practically currency.

your life became a rotation of parties, spontaneous shopping, soft-launching people you weren't even dating, and pretending every bad decision was "character development."

you went through roommates like seasonal flavors. every semester someone new moved in, and every semester someone new moved out with a complaint that you were "a lot" or "messy" or "kind of terrifying when woken up."

you didn't disagree.

jake became a distant memory, the boy who sometimes liked your posts from an account with a profile picture you swear was five years old. you'd smile for half a second when his username popped up, then go right back to ignoring three overdue essays and online shopping for shoes you absolutely didn't need.

your worlds didn't touch anymore.

until life, rude as always, decided to intervene

it started with your roommate announcing she was "basically moving in" her new boyfriend. you thought she meant he'd be around more. no, he was actually moving in. toothbrush, clothes, gaming chair, ugly LED lights—the whole infestation.

he hogged the bathroom. he cooked shirtless at inappropriate hours. he once ate your leftover pasta and shrugged, "it was mid anyway."

you saw red. you didn't commit a crime, but it was close.

you decided to move out.

your landlord, a man whose personality could best be described as "human expired raisin," decided this was the perfect time to raise your rent by five hundred dollars.

you stared at the email. then you screamed. not a cute scream—a guttural, operatic wail that made the downstairs neighbor bang on their ceiling.

you called your mom, pacing through the disaster zone that was your half-packed room.

"i'm going to die," you said dramatically. "i'm literally going to die. you're going to have to identify my body by my lash extensions."

your mom sighed the sigh of someone who'd raised you for twenty-three years. "sweetheart, calm down—"

"don't tell me to calm down, my life is in ruins. ruins, mother."

"you're not in ruins."

"i'm going to be homeless."

"you're not going to be homeless."

"i'm going to have to live in my car—"

"oh honey," she cut in, "why don't you stay with jake?"

you froze mid-rant. "...jake?" his name unfamiliar on your tongue.

"yes! jake sim! he's back from finishing his degree. he bought a nice apartment downtown. he told his mother he has a spare room."

you stared into space, horrified. "jake sim? bowl-cut jake? used-to-cry-when-i-yelled jake?"

"he didn't cry," she corrected. "he teared up. once."

"mom. be serious."

"i am. you two were inseparable."

"when we were twelve!"

"well, he's always liked you."

"as a person?" you asked skeptically. you seriously doubted that anyone who was sane liked you as a person. yes, you're a lot of things but one thing you definitely are is self aware.

she made a vague noise, you didn't like the noise.

"i'll text his mother," she decided, and you instantly regretted calling her.

two minutes later, your phone buzzed.

mom: jake says you're welcome to stay anytime.

you stared at the text. it felt unreal. absurd. borderline comedic.

but you were desperate. and dramatic. and the universe clearly hated you.

so you said yes. because of course you did.

you packed your things with the confidence of someone who absolutely believed jake sim was still the same soft, shy, easily-managed boy who used to trail after you in elementary school.

you were so, so sure.

and you were so, so wrong.

𓂃

you hype yourself up in the elevator.

it's just jake.you think to yourself, the image of 12-year old him fresh in your mind.

you've known him your whole life. he once cried because you told him clouds were solid and he fell off the playground trying to "sit on one."

you are not nervous. you are annoyed.

annoyed that your lease fell apart. annoyed that your mother thinks you're still friends. annoyed that jake, sweet, soft, bowl-cut jake, is your only housing option unless you want to sleep in your car.

the elevator dings.

you're ready to see scented-candle bachelor hell. dirty laundry. possibly raccoons.

you knock and the door swings open. and your soul leaves your body.

because the man standing there is definitely jake—but upgraded. taller, broader, stupidly handsome, and sporting a smile that used to be pure golden retriever sunshine. except now it's... toned down. slower. like he knows exactly what it does to people.

"hey," he says, his eyes dropping down to take in your form and your hot pink suitcases. "come in."

come in? come in? no shocked gasp? no "wow you're back"? no nervous babbling?

you narrow your eyes suspiciously. "wow. no bowl cut." you admit, not the best choice of first words to say to your childhood best friend who you hadn't seen in years. but it was fitting.

he laughs—actually laughs—and steps aside. and you walk into the biggest personal betrayal of your adult life.

his apartment is spotless.

not "i cleaned because company is coming" clean. "i am a fully functioning adult who alphabetizes spices" clean.

the air smells like sandalwood and laundry detergent. plants sit by the window like they've never known suffering. there are no pizza boxes, no dirty plates, no gamer chair.

this is not jake's apartment.

"is this staged?" you demand. "did someone professionally sanitize this because you knew i was coming?"

"nope," he says, grabbing one of your suitcases. "i live like this."

you blink owlishly. "on purpose?"

he snorts, looking at you with an unidentifiable expression on his face. "on purpose."

you want to throw something, no, you want to throw up.

but instead, you drop your bag on the couch like an entitled raccoon and flop dramatically across it. "i'm making myself at home."

he glances at your shoes on the carpet. "i can see that."

he takes a seat in the armchair across from you— calm, collected, not even a little frazzled— which is insane, because you're very clearly being a handful on purpose. you call that, asserting dominance. like the old days.

you clear your throat. "so. rules. house agreements. i assume you're gonna ask me to clean something? or, like... wash a dish? or close a cabinet? if so, i'll need written notice."

jake smiles. not the "aww she's being annoying again" smile you expect. no, this one is deeper. amused. knowing.

"sure," he says easily. "we can talk rules."

that throws you off. he's supposed to be flustered, scrambling to keep up. not leading the conversation like he owns the apartment—which, annoying fact, he does.

he leans back, forearms resting casually on his knees. your eyes almost pop out of their sockets when you notice how veiny his hands and arms were.

"okay," he starts, "rent is six-fifty a month. i already talked to your mom about it—she said she'd help out until you get settled again."

you cough on pure embarrassment. "she did what?"

he suppresses a grin. "it was cute, actually. she kept saying, 'jake honey, please don't let her be homeless, she can be... a lot.'"

you sit up. "i will literally burn my house down before i let you repeat anything my mother said about me."

"her words, not mine," he says, holding up his hands. his beautiful, god crafted, veiny hands. "anyway—utilities included. chores are pretty simple. i cook, so you can take trash and recycling. laundry we do separately. shared spaces stay clean."

"define clean."

"not a biohazard."

"rude."

"accurate."

you throw a pillow at his head. he catches it one-handed without breaking eye contact.

you actually stop breathing for a second.

since when can jake do that? since when is he coordinated? since when does he have forearms like that?

you scowl to cover the fact that your brain just short-circuited. "fine. anything else?"

he tilts his head. "yeah. don't steal my hoodies." you blink innocently. "why would i steal your hoodies?"

his gaze drops to your suitcase—where three of his old ones that you had 'borrowed' back in highschool are hanging out the side. proof that you struggled to pack all your belongings in two measly suitcases.

traitors.

"uh-huh," he says. "point is, don't steal them."

"i don't steal," you lie.

"you do."

"i borrow."

"indefinitely." you cross your arms. "well, maybe if you didn't buy hoodies that look good on me—"

"they look good on me," he corrects smoothly. "you're just annoying enough to steal them."

you're going to scream.

you stand, stalking toward the kitchen just to regain power. "i'm eating your snacks as payment for emotional damages."

he follows at a leisurely pace, because apparently he's immune to your chaos now. you yank open the fridge. it's organized. color-coded. there are vegetables.

"who are you?" you whisper, horrified. "where is the boy who ate a fruit roll-up off the sidewalk?"

"buried him," jake answers, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to you. "grew up. got a job. graduated. learned to mop."

you squint at him. "did you join a cult?"

he laughs again—warm and low. "no. i just stopped being twelve."

"you were twelve for like ten years."

"and you're still twelve," he shoots back calmly. "so at least one of us stayed consistent."

you gape. "you're so— so—"

"accurate?"

"i was gonna say insufferable."

he leans on the counter across from you, arms folded, gaze steady.

"you were expecting me to be exactly the same, weren't you?"

you freeze. he's right. he knows he's right and you hate that he knows he's right.

before you can respond, he adds—lightly, but with something underneath, "don't worry. i still remember everything."

your heartbeat trips.

"everything?" you repeat.

he smiles. slow. devastating. "everything."

you look away first. you hate that too.

you grab chips from the pantry—loudly, aggressively—and announce, "i'm gonna walk around in tiny shorts and leave my stuff everywhere."

"go for it," jake says, opening a cabinet above your head to grab a mug. "i don't scare that easily."

"i wasn't trying to scare you!"

"sure."

"i wasn't—!"

he takes a sip of water like he didn't just psychologically annihilate you.

you feel your face heat. you hate him. you hate that he's changed. you hate that he hasn't changed in the ways that matter. you hate that he's taller and calm and unbothered and smells like pine and laundry and maybe a little bit like heartbreak.

and you really hate the traitorous thought sneaking into your brain: you might be in trouble.

after the unexpected back forth between you and jake, jake kindly showed you to your room which was much nicer than the one at your old apartment.

"i'll let you settle in, i'll be back in a few. gym." and with that he slips through the door and out of your sight.

since when did he go to the gym? since those veiny arms blessed your sight.

you huff while unpacking, taking in the clean space as a foreign feeling takes place in your chest.

what the fuck are you going to do?

𓂃

you hear the door before you see him.

a heavy, warm thud of sneakers hitting the entry rug. the quiet clink of keys. then the low, tired exhale of a man who just returned from the gym and doesn't realize he's about to emotionally ruin someone.

you peek over the couch. and yeah, he's sweaty.

like—sweat running down his neck, shirt stuck to his chest, hair pushed back with a damp curl kind of sweaty.

your brain forgets basic motor functions. he looks up and catches you staring, a unrecognizable glint in his soft eyes. 

"hey," he says, voice rougher than usual. "you're still awake?" awake? you're clinically deceased, but sure.

you sit up, flipping your hair like you didn't just get jump-scared by his forearms. "yeah. couldn't sleep. your... stomping woke me up."

"i didn't stomp," he says, amused. "i walked in."

"well it was loud."

"you were watching tiktoks on full volume."

you glare, chucking your phone on the other couch. "stop knowing things."

he smirks and heads to the kitchen for water, pulling his shirt up to wipe his face.

you get a full view of toned stomach. abs. v-line. you stop breathing somewhere around ab #3.

okay. enough. you're not going to let him win tonight. this morning he made you flustered. tonight? you're fighting back.

you hop off the couch and follow him to the kitchen, wearing the tiniest sleep shorts you own and his hoodie—you know, for psychological warfare.

"so," you announce, hopping onto the counter, crossing your legs slowly. "long workout? you look... tired."

he opens the fridge. "yeah. leg day."

you hum. "maybe you should let me massage them. you know. as a housewarming gift."

he doesn't choke. he doesn't blush. he just closes the fridge, sets down the water bottle, and looks at you with that infuriating, slow-lingering gaze that makes your stomach flip like a dying fish.

"you wanna massage my legs?" he asks softly, his brow quirking up before his gaze drops down to your bare legs and your small frame which was swallowed by his hoodie.

your throat closes. "i— i mean— maybe— if you—"

he takes a step closer. then another. until he's right in front of you, standing between your knees, but not touching you. not even a brush of skin. just close enough that you swear you can feel the heat rolling off him.

your brain: DEAD. ABSOLUTELY GONE.

he places his hands on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in—without touching you once.

your breath catches. everything in you goes still.

"you offering charity massages now?" he murmurs, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth. "that doesn't sound like you."

your voice cracks. "why not?"

"you don't do things out of kindness." his tone is teasing, warm. "you do things because you want attention."

your entire nervous system sets on fire.

"i— excuse— i don't—"

"it's okay," he continues, leaning just an inch closer, his nose almost brushing yours. "i don't mind giving you the attention."

you swallow hard. "move."

"you sure?" he asks quietly. "you seem pretty comfortable."

you are not comfortable. you are a molecule vibrating out of your own skin.

you shove a hand at his chest—bad idea, he's solid—and babble stupidly, "i'm fine. you're weird. stop being tall at me."

jake laughs under his breath. it's warm. dangerous. affectionate in a way that makes your stomach curl.

he leans in like he might actually touch your cheek, lips, something and you freeze. but he doesn't. at the last second, he dips his head past yours and reaches behind you to grab a mug from the cabinet above.

you nearly scream. he pulls back slowly, the corner of his mouth tilted in a knowing smirk.

"relax," he says softly. "if i actually cornered you, you'd combust."

you glare at him, cheeks on fire. "i hate you."

"no you don't." he taps your knee with a finger, the only touch, light, teasing, devastating. "but you can keep pretending."

you nearly fall off the counter trying to escape.

he watches, amused, taking a sip of water like he didn't just send you through all five stages of grief.

"goodnight," he says casually, heading to his room.

you stare after him, emotionally damaged.

"i'm not massaging your stupid legs!" you call out.

his voice drifts back, "you offered."

you bury your face in your hands. you are so, so screwed.

𓂃

you wake up to the smell of something heavenly.

warm. buttery. slightly sweet.

you blink at the ceiling.

no way. no way jake is up early being...competent.

you stomp down the hall dramatically, ready to insult him for being a functional adult at 8:12 a.m.

and you freeze. because jake is shirtless. shirtless. in his kitchen. your now shared kitchen.

his back muscles shift as he flips pancakes. his sweatpants hang low. his hair is messy in the exact way that suggests he just rolled out of bed and looked inhumanly good by accident.

you forget why you entered the kitchen. or how to inhale.

he glances over his shoulder. "morning."

the audacity. “you—" your voice cracks. "you're— you're not wearing clothes."

he looks down, confused. "i'm wearing pants."

"that's not the point!"

"sounds like it is."

you hate him. you hate him so much your eye twitches. he plates a pancake and nods toward the stove. "there's extra batter if you want to make your own."

you puff up, offended. "i CAN cook."

jake raises an eyebrow. "do you want to say that again? slowly?"

you march to the fridge, grab random ingredients you probably won't need, and announce, "watch and learn."

"i'm watching." his voice is annoyingly amused. "not sure i'll be learning."

you ignore him, crank the stove on too high, and pour way too much batter in the pan. it spreads like a sad, beige puddle.

jake strolls over, sipping coffee, watching like he's observing wildlife.

"that's... thick," he comments.

"it's called fluffy," you snap back, your eyes finding his before dropping down to his chest and stomach. oh god why did you do that? jake catches your vision, a smirk playing on his lips.

fuck you.

"oh. okay. it's very... fluffy."

"shut up."

the pancake starts smoking aggressively. you start panicking aggressively.

"um— is it supposed to—"

WHOOSH.

flame kisses the edge of the pan. you shriek. "OH MY GOD—" jake moves instantly, reaching past you to turn down the burner.

and suddenly—he's right behind you. his chest against your back. his arms braced around you as he grabs the pan. his voice low, right by your ear, "hey. relax. i got it."

your brain vacates the premises.

his hands move with confidence, fixing your disaster pancake. his breath brushes your neck. he's close—too close—and yet he's acting like this is normal.

"you're gonna start a fire," he says softly, almost teasing.

"i— i didn't— the burner— your stove is— i— shut up," you whisper, mortified.

he laughs quietly, the sound warm against your skin.

"you're cute when you panic," he murmurs, not moving away. you seize up when you feel his warm breath brush against the shell of your ear, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

you clutch the counter for emotional support. "can you—can you back up?"

"why?" his tone is innocent. way too innocent. "you seemed fine last night when i was close."

you almost combust like the pancake.

"that was different!"

"how?" he asks, dipping his head just enough that you feel the brush of his hair against your cheek.

you have no good answer. because the truth is humiliating, last night you were flustered. now you're flustered and underprepared and wearing pajama shorts shaped like licorice strings.

you grab a spatula and use it like a weapon to push him away.

"move," you hiss, your face burning red.

he steps back, hands up, grinning like a menace. "yes, chef."

"don't call me chef."

"okay. fire hazard."

"JAKE."

he laughs a full, bright laugh that makes your stomach twist and heads back to his own plate. you plate your uneven, charred pancake with defeated silence.

and jake, the infuriating man, sets another golden, perfectly round pancake onto your plate.

you blink. "what's this?"

"a real breakfast," he says, pouring syrup for you like you're a child. "because you nearly burned the apartment down trying to prove a point."

you glare at him. "i was doing FINE."

"sure," he hums. "and i'm a ballerina."

you stab your pancake.

he watches you with that soft, amused smile again—the one with something deeper behind it.

then he adds, "you know... it's kind of nice having you here."

your fork slips out of your hand. "...what?" like you had said earlier, you're a lot of things but one thing you definitely are is self aware. you are not nice to have around, and you know it.

he shrugs, easy. "just saying."

you stare at him, face warming in a way you refuse to acknowledge. you mumble into your syrup, "i hate you."

he smiles, slow and knowing. "no you don't."

and the worst part? he's right.

the first week in jake's apartment goes... fine. dangerously fine.

it should've been easy to fall back into the old dynamic: you, the bossy menace; him, the soft puppy trailing after you with a shy smile and an unlimited tolerance for your nonsense.

except—he doesn't trail. he doesn't melt. he doesn't fold. and that pisses you off more than you'd ever admit.

the chaos starts small.

your makeup begins multiplying across the bathroom counter like it's staging a coup. lip glosses in a neat little line beside his toothbrush; your setting spray sitting directly in front of his razor; your glitter eyeshadow palette open—because closing it would've taken effort, obviously.

jake doesn't complain. he doesn't even sigh.

he just walks in one morning, towels slung over his shoulder, hair damp from the gym, and pauses at the counter.

"is this all yours?" he asks.

you don't look up from your phone. "hm? oh. yeah. i need space. don't be selfish."

jake nods slowly, like he's taking notes on you for a research study. "right. selfish. of course."

you ignore the way that makes your stomach twist.

you up the ante. you start asking—no, demanding—rides.

"jake," you call from your bedroom one morning, "can you take me to get coffee?"

"there's a café two blocks away," he says, leaning on your doorframe, wet hair dripping onto his hoodie.

you gasp like he's suggested you walk barefoot through snow. "that's uphill."

"slightly."

"jake. it's morning. i'm fragile."

he snorts and tosses you his car keys. "fine. you drive."

you blink at him like he had grown a second head. "i was... i was asking you to take me."

"yeah," he says, already walking away, "and i'm telling you to take yourself."

you stare at the keys like they've personally insulted you.

then there's the pizza incident. you take the last slice. obviously. you don't even feel bad. you're sitting on the couch when he walks in, box in hand, looking for the missing piece.

he lifts an eyebrow—that stupid, infuriatingly calm eyebrow—and glances at the empty plate on your lap.

"you didn't eat the last slice, did you?"

"no," you say immediately, even though the evidence is literally smeared on your mouth.

he looks at you. really looks. slowly. knowingly. lips tugging upward. "right," he says softly. "of course you didn't."

then he reaches forward, thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth—not touching, but close enough that the heat of him brushes your skin.

your body locks up.

his voice drops, warm and amused, "you've got sauce right here."

you nearly stop breathing. and then he pulls back, smiling like nothing happened.

you want to strangle him. or kiss him. or both.

but it's the blanket situation that finally pushes you over the edge.

his blankets are better. obviously they are. he's responsible and orderly and uses fabric softener. you're a tired disaster with a credit card.

so you drag his nicest throw blanket into your room one night without asking.

in the morning, he finds you on the couch wrapped in it like a human burrito, scrolling through your phone.

he laughs—this low, warm sound that makes something traitorous flutter in your chest.

"you know," he says, "you have blankets."

"yeah but yours are... softer."

he tilts his head, walking behind the couch. "so your solution was theft?"

"i don't see you complaining."

"i'm not complaining." he leans down behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath by your ear. "i'm just observing."

you freeze. again. you're starting to hate how often that happens.

"why're you so jumpy?" he murmurs, voice like honey.

"shut up," you whisper.

he only chuckles, watching your face turn a pretty shade of pink.

and then comes the night you push too far.

you're irritated for no real reason—maybe because he didn't react the way you wanted, maybe because he's not the boy you expected, maybe because his quiet confidence does something to you you can't explain.

you snap at him. something stupid. something about the air conditioner and his "stupid, organized, obsessive thermostat rules."

he's standing in the kitchen drying dishes when you say it. you expect him to fold, apologize, let you roll over him like you always have.

instead—he sets the plate down. slowly. carefully. like he's placing a piece in a chess game he's already winning.

then he turns and walks toward you. the air changes, it thickens, until you swear you can feel it press against your skin.

you retreat one step, he follows. you bump lightly into the counter. he doesn't touch you. he doesn't need to.

he braces one hand on the counter beside your hip, leaning in just enough that your heart slams painfully against your ribs.

his voice is warm, but the firmness beneath it is unmistakable. "don't talk to me like that."

heat crawls up your neck, "i wasn't— i didn't—"

"no," he says, soft and steady, "you did."

his eyes flick down to your lips for half a second—half a heartbeat—before meeting your eyes again.

"i let you get away with that stuff when we were kids," he continues. "but i'm not that guy anymore."

your pulse stutters. his face is close enough that you see the gold flecks in his eyes. "you don't get to talk to me like that," he says.

a beat.

"not anymore."

you swallow so hard it hurts. you open your mouth—to apologize, to argue, you're not sure—but nothing comes out.

jake watches you, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. not cruel. not mocking. just... knowing. then, gently, he pushes off the counter and steps back.

"good," he murmurs, turning away to finish the dishes. "i'm glad we understand each other."

you stand there, dizzy, cheeks burning, knees genuinely weak. you've never shut up so fast in your entire life.

and you hate—absolutely hate—how much you liked it.

𓂃

you don't realize when it starts.

or maybe you do, and you're just pretending you don't, because acknowledging it would mean admitting something absolutely unacceptable: that jake sim—golden retriever, former bowl-cut disaster, childhood doormat—is becoming the gravitational pull of your entire stupid life.

and you hate that.

you REALLY hate that.

it happens on a friday night.

you're out with a few friends—the fun, chaotic ones who think your bratty personality is "endearing" and "so girlboss of you." you're half-done a drink, leaning over the bar to talk to some tall, kind-of-cute guy who'd been eyeing you for the last ten minutes.

he's laughing at your jokes. you're flipping your hair and pretending you're not checking your reflection in the chrome beer tap.

it's going great.

until you hear the voice that's been in your dreams for the last few months, "hey."

you don't even have to turn around. your stomach recognizes his voice before your brain does.

jake.

you freeze, hand still hovering mid-gesture, and the guy in front of you lifts a curious eyebrow.

the asshole actually smiles at jake when he approaches, like they're suddenly in a friendly competition he's about to lose without knowing why.

jake leans against the bar beside you like he's been invited, like he belongs there—tall, warm, annoyingly good-smelling. his hand is on the small of your back, not touching, but close enough that you feel heat radiating through your shirt.

you hate that your heart triple-flips.

"hey," you say, pretending not to care, though your voice is a little too high. "what are you doing here?"

jake shrugs lightly. his eyes flick once—just once —to the guy you were flirting with. "came to pick you up."

"i didn't ask you to."

"your phone's dead."

you blink. you check your phone...your phone is, in fact, dead.

god, that's so annoying.

the cute guy clears his throat. "you two... know each other?"

before you can answer, jake does, with the most harmless, friendly voice you've ever heard, "yeah. she lives with me."

the guy's smile collapses.

your jaw drops. "jake—that's not—"

"roommates," he adds, finally throwing you a look that says better? but it's too late. the guy is already pulling back, suddenly very uninterested in continuing the conversation with a girl who apparently has a six-foot wall of muscle as a roommate.

"he's just—he's exaggerating," you say desperately, but the guy is already lifting his drink in a goodbye gesture. "nice meeting you," he says—to jake. not you.

he leaves. just like that.

you whirl on jake. "what the hell was that?"

jake looks genuinely confused. "what was what?"

"you—you scared him off!"

"i didn't do anything." his voice is maddeningly calm.

you shove his arm. it does nothing except hurt your hand a little. "you know what you did."

jake tilts his head, pretending to think, then steps closer, way closer, bending slightly so his face is level with yours. "if he got scared because i exist, maybe he wasn't that interested."

"you're insufferable."

"you're welcome for the ride home," he says, smiling like the world's sweetest problem.

you want to push him again.

you also want to grab him by the stupid lapel of his stupid jacket and kiss him until he can't talk like that anymore.

it's infuriating.

and it keeps happening.

you're out for brunch with friends and jake drops by to hand you the cardigan you "accidentally" stole again and suddenly the guy who'd been trying to get your number excuses himself.

you're buying ice cream at a street vendor, jake appears behind you because he was "in the neighborhood," and the guy working the cart instantly stops flirting with you mid-sentence.

you're at the bookstore, a cute grad student is recommending a title, and the moment jake walks up beside you to say, "hey, thought you wanted that coffee?" the grad student's smile just... dies.

every time, jake acts like he has no idea why.

every time, you want to scream.

one evening, you're sitting on the couch scrolling, pretending not to watch the clock, wondering when he's going to get home.

you hate that you miss him. you hate that his absence feels like silence filling the apartment too heavily.

the door unlocks. your heart jumps. you immediately scowl at yourself.

he steps in—hair messy from the wind, gym bag slung over his shoulder, wearing a fitted hoodie that absolutely shouldn't fit him that well.

"you're late," you snap, even though he isn't.

jake lifts a brow. "didn't know i had a curfew."

you huff. "whatever."

but he's already walking past you, and your eyes, traitors, follow him. the way his shoulders move. the way he reaches up to put his keys on the hook. the way his shirt lifts just slightly as he stretches.

you look away too fast and nearly drop your phone.

he notices. of course he notices. jake always notices.

he walks back toward the couch, slow, amused, hands in his pockets. you're about to make up some snarky comment when he stands directly in front of you, blocking the TV, blocking everything, and says gently:

"hey."

you blink up at him. you didn't even realize you'd been frowning.

"rough night?" he asks, voice warm, soft, impossibly soothing.

"none of your business," you mutter, crossing your arms.

but you don't move away when he leans down a little, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head—not touching you, just close enough that you feel caged in.

"you know..." he says slowly, eyes dropping to your lips for one devastating second, "you don't have to act tough with me."

your throat closes. your brain refuses to function.

then—as if that wasn't enough torture—he adds, quieter, "you know i'm not the kid you used to boss around. you see that now, right?"

you hate how hot your face gets. you hate how your pulse spikes. you hate that your breath catches in your chest like you've been punched. and you really hate how much you want him to say it again.

before you can fire back, before you can regain control, jake pushes off the couch and steps away, giving you space again.

like he didn't just ruin your entire week.

"i'm gonna shower," he says simply, like he didn't just mentally dismantle you. "order dinner if you're hungry."

you stare at him. you stare through him. then you finally breathe.

your voice comes out small. "jake?"

he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. his eyes soften in that way that makes your stomach flip inside out.

you swallow. "why do people keep assuming we're... y'know... together?"

he smiles—slow, deep, knowing.

"maybe," he says, "they're seeing something you're not ready to see yet."

your heart stops. you want to scream. you want to hit him. you want to kiss him until your knees give out. but you can't say any of that. so instead you throw a pillow at him. "shut up."

he laughs—warm, gentle, absolutely insane-making and disappears into the hallway. leaving you on the couch, heart sprinting, stomach twisted, entire world tilted sideways...

and realizing, for the first time, that you might be in very, very dangerous territory.

𓂃

you don't plan on getting jealous. you really don't. it just kind of... ambushes you, like a flying brick to the head.

the whole thing starts because your friend group decides to have a little saturday picnic in the park—very "we're adults now," very "bring something homemade," very "let's pretend our lives aren't falling apart."

you drag jake along because obviously. he has a car and you don't feel like ubering. plus, he always carries things for you without complaining, and you plan to bring at least four bags despite it being a two-hour outing.

he agrees without hesitation, because of course he does.

the morning of, he comes out of his room wearing a white t-shirt, grey sweats, a backward baseball cap, and that infuriating golden retriever smile that makes your stomach do embarrassing gymnastics.

you pretend not to notice. you absolutely notice.

"you ready?" he asks, grabbing the cooler like it weighs nothing.

you squint at him. "you're wearing that?"

he glances down at himself. "...yes?"

"to a picnic?"

"is this not... picnic attire?"

"you look like a catalogue model for 'athletic boyfriend who loves you.'"

he grins. "so i look good? i fit the part?" you blush furiously at his words, choosing to roll your eyes so dramatically it should win an award. "i didn't say that."

"but you didn't deny it."

"jake."

"yes?"

"shut up."

he just laughs and ushers you out the door with a hand on your lower back—casual, familiar, too natural.

you hate how your heart stutters. you want to be annoying on purpose, just to punish him. you succeed by making him carry every single one of your bags.

he still keeps that stupid gentle smile.

you hate it. you love it. you hate that you love it.

the picnic starts fine. your friends adore him—which annoys you for reasons you refuse to examine.

"jake's so sweet," one of them says while he helps set up the blanket.

"jake's so tall," another sighs dreamily.

"jake's so—"

"okay!" you cut in, a little too loudly. "we get it. he's perfect. shut up." everyone stares. you pretend you didn't say anything weird.

jake just throws you an amused little look like he knows exactly what's happening in your brain and is choosing to spare you.

which somehow makes it worse. then she arrives.

the problem. the villain. the enemy.

your friend's coworker—invited last minute—named mia, with perfect hair and a perfect smile and an offensively cute sundress. she spots jake instantly, like a moth to a glow-in-the-dark lantern.

"oh my god, hi," she chirps, stepping right into his space. "we haven't met yet. i'm mia."

jake stands, polite, warm, annoyingly charming. "hey. i'm jake."

you watch from your corner of the blanket, chewing a strawberry like you're trying to murder it with your teeth.

mia laughs at everything he says. she touches his arm at least twice. she calls him funny—funny, jake, the man who laughs at his own dad jokes and says "oopsies" when he drops things.

your eye twitches. and jake... doesn't pull away.

worse, he's being his usual self—easygoing, kind, listening fully, that soft focused attention he gives people when he genuinely likes them.

you have never hated being conscious more. your friends keep giving you meaningful looks.

you keep ignoring them. except then mia leans in closer, tiny sundress fluttering, and says, "so, are you seeing anyone?"

you nearly choke on air. jake doesn't seem fazed. "uh... i—"

"jake!" you snap, way too quickly, way too loud.

everyone stops. jake turns toward you with slow amusement raising his eyebrows. "yeah?"

"you— uh..." your brain abandons you. it packs its bags and literally leaves the continent. "you forgot to... um... help me with something."

he looks at the fully assembled picnic. "help you with what?"

"something," you repeat, sweating. "very important."

mia blinks. "oh, we can finish our conversa—"

"NOPE," you say, grabbing jake's wrist and yanking him off the blanket so fast he practically trips. "no need. bye. go touch grass or something."

you drag him behind a tree like a deranged cartoon burglar. he follows, mostly because he's trying not to laugh.

"you good?" he asks softly.

"i'm fine," you snap, glaring at him.

"you sure? because you look—" "if you say 'jealous' i'm going to drown you in the lake."

he smirks. "i was going to say 'cute,' but okay."

your brain fries like an egg on asphalt. "shut up," you whisper, but it comes out breathless.

he steps closer—not touching, but close enough that the tree is behind you and he's in front of you, warm and solid and taller than you remember.

"you dragged me away from someone mid-flirt," he murmurs, voice dropping into that low warm register that goes straight to your knees. "so i'm gonna need you to explain."

you glare up at him. "i did not. she wasn't flirting."

"she asked if i was seeing anyone."

"she was just being friendly."

"she touched my arm."

"maybe she's friendly with arms." god, you want to be friendly with his arms. "you pulled me across the park."

"i felt like walking."

"you growled." your face burns. "i did not!"

he grins—slow, devastating. "you definitely did." you shove his shoulder, which does absolutely nothing because he's built like a wall now. "you're imagining things."

"am i?"

"yes."

he leans in, inches from your face, eyes ridiculously soft and warm and knowing. "then tell me why you're mad."

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. your throat works around a sound that isn't a word.

jake watches all of it with that maddening patience—like he's been waiting years for this exact moment and can give you all the time in the world.

then, barely above a whisper, "you know i'd drop anyone the second you wanted me to... right?"

your heart stops. actually stops. you physically forget what breathing is.

and he smiles—that deeper, slower version he only gives you now—before stepping back, giving you space like he didn't just vaporize your entire soul.

"come on," he says, gentle. "before your friends think you murdered me." he starts walking back. you stare after him, stunned, furious, flustered, painfully alive.

you hate him. you really, really like him. you hate that you really, really like him.

and when mia tries to talk to him again later, he doesn't even notice—because he's too busy watching you out of the corner of his eye, like you're the only person in the park.

and that's when you know, you're doomed.

𓂃

the day starts stupidly normal, which should've been your first warning.

it's saturday. the sun is too bright. jake's already up—as always—making breakfast like some domestic prince charming he has no right to be. you stumble into the kitchen in one of his hoodies, hair a mess, mascara from last night smudged like war paint.

he glances over his shoulder, amused. "morning, trouble."

you roll your eyes because your heart does a weird little tap-dance. "you're loud."

"i haven't even said anything."

"you existing is loud."

he laughs—soft, warm, like he thinks you're hilarious even when you're being awful and goes back to cooking.

you sit at the counter, chin in your palm, watching him move around like he owns every inch of this kitchen. he does, technically, but you hate how good he looks doing it. the rolled sleeves that expose his delicious looking forearms. the concentration. the way he pushes his hair back when it falls over his forehead.

you look away before he catches you staring. he sets a plate in front of you a moment later, eggs, toast, fruit. stupidly wholesome.

you poke at it. "jake..."

"mm?"

"i need your car today." your car had been in the shop for the last few days, leaving you stranded at home majority of the day.

he pauses. not dramatically. not in a way meant to provoke you. just... pauses. "for what?"

"i need to run errands," you shrug. "grocery store, nail appointment, whatever."

he leans his hip against the counter, arms crossing. "you can take the bus. i need the car."

you blink. blink again. "...the bus?"you say it like he suggested you swim across the pacific ocean.

"yeah," he says simply. "the 14 stops right outside the building. it's not hard."

you stare at him and he stares back. somewhere deep inside your spoiled, bratty, slightly feral soul, a fuse lights.

"you're being dramatic," you declare.

"i'm being practical."

"you're supposed to help me."

"i do help you."

"not right now!" he exhales, patient but firm. "my car isn't your personal uber."

your pride twists sharply. you feel it—that hot, impulsive, immature spark that always gets you in trouble.

"wow," you snap, standing from the stool. "you get a couple muscles, a salary, and suddenly you're too good for me?" his brows lift, surprised—not offended, not angry—just surprised that you'd go for that. "i didn't say that."

"you're acting like it!"

you don't mean the words. not really. they spill out because you're flustered and embarrassed and you hate how stable he is when you're wobbling all over the emotional place. you fold your arms, chin lifted in that signature i'm-right-even-when-i'm-wrong posture.

"i'm asking for one tiny thing, jake. one. and you're giving me attitude? seriously?"

he doesn't flinch. "you're not asking," he says quietly. "you're demanding."

your pulse kicks up—defensive, stubborn. "because you're supposed to say yes!"

"why?" you hate that he says it without raising his voice. hate how calm he is while you're practically vibrating.

"because you always have!" you blurt. "you always listened to me! you always—"

"i was a kid," he says, tone low but steady. "you treated me like i didn't know how to have my own life. and back then? maybe i didn't."

you freeze. his expression softens—not pitying, not mocking —soft in the way someone looks when they finally decide to stop letting you run from something. "but i'm not that kid anymore," he says. "and you can't talk to me like i am."

your throat tightens—sharp, sudden. it's stupid how much it hits you, how fast your anger collapses into something hot and guilty.

he steps closer. not threatening. just... present.

closer than you expected. closer than your heart can handle without short-circuiting.

your voice shrinks. "i wasn't— i didn't mean—"

"yeah," he murmurs, eyes steady on yours. "i know. but you said it anyway."

you swallow. hard. jake looks down at you like he's seeing every version of you at once, bossy eight-year-old you, dramatic teenager you, chaotic adult you, and none of them scare him. none of them push him away.

"i'm not the one who needs to grow up," he says, softer now. "and i'm not trying to fight you. but i'm not here to be ordered around." the room feels too quiet suddenly. the only sound is the faint sizzle of the pan cooling on the stove and your own uneven breathing.

"i... didn't know i was doing that," you whisper.

"yeah," he says again, but gently. "that's the problem."

you look away, frustrated with yourself more than with him. and then he reaches out—slow, careful—and hooks a finger under your chin to tilt your face back up. not forceful but impossible to ignore. his voice drops just a little. warm. real. a little too intimate.

"i'm not going anywhere," he says. "i never have. but you can't keep pretending i belong to you just because i used to follow you around."

the words hit you dead center. because the truth—the horrible, humiliating, painfully raw truth—is that you didn't treat him like he was below you.

you treated him like he was yours. and somewhere along the way, he learned to walk without trailing behind you. you blink fast, trying not to let your eyes shine too much. "i... i just thought..."

"i know," he murmurs. "but that's why we're having this conversation."

you nod, small. awkward. vulnerable in a way you hate being. jake steps back slowly, giving you space without breaking eye contact.

"you can still take the bus," he says lightly. "i'll even google the schedule for you." you glare. but it's weak. he smiles, that stupid warm smile that ruins you every time. and for the first time, your bratty instinct doesn't flare up. instead, something quieter settles in your chest.

you're not sure you like it. you're very sure it has everything to do with him.

𓂃

it starts on a lazy sunday afternoon—the fake kind of lazy where you're doing nothing but somehow jake is doing everything.

he's folding laundry, humming, looking offensively good in a plain white tee, while you lie on the couch upside down, legs over the backrest, scrolling on your phone like a disgruntled cat.

you're bored. dangerous.

"jake," you call, voice dramatic, "i'm craving entertainment. entertain me." he doesn't even glance over. "i'm folding your shirts. that's entertaining."

"no, that's domestic," you correct. "you're like a husband in a detergent commercial."

"at least i smell nice?" he shrugs. you pause. he does. annoyingly so. you ignore the flutter in your stomach and point your toes at him from the upside-down position.

"tell me a story," you demand. "like bedtime story vibes. something juicy. something chaotic. something where i'm the main character—" "—which you always are," he finishes for you, snorting. "okay. fine. let's do memory lane."

you lift your head just enough to squint at him. "that sounds suspiciously sentimental."

"you're the one who asked." you flop your head back. "proceed, peasant."

he finally looks at you—that slow, amused, golden-retriever-who-knows-your-game look. "alright. remember grade four?"

"i choose not to."

"too bad," he says, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, folding the last shirt. "you announced to the whole class that we were getting married."

your phone drops onto your face. "i what—?"

he laughs, warm and full, like it's a memory he's kept safe. "yeah. you stood on a chair during recess and yelled, 'jake is gonna be my husband because he listens!'" you bury your face in your hands. "oh my god."

"you even made me a ring out of twist ties."

"stop talking."

"and then you made me swear an oath—"

"NO YOU DID NOT JUST SAY OATH—"

"—that i'd carry your backpack forever because i was 'stronger' and 'built for it'." you groan so loudly that he laughs again.

"you loved bossing me around," he says, softer now. "i still do," you shoot back, kicking his shoulder lightly with your foot. he catches your ankle. not tight, but just enough for your breath to hitch.

"i know." his voice is lower. "you were kind of terrifying."

"i was adorable," you argue, rolling his eyes.

"you were a tiny tyrant with pigtails."

"and you followed me everywhere," you retort, letting your foot rest in his hold because pulling away feels too much like losing.

"yeah," he says quietly, thumb brushing just once over your ankle before he realizes and lets go. "i did." you freeze. he doesn't look flustered, but the way he moves—slow, controlled, pretending nothing happened—tells you he definitely felt something too.

so you clear your throat and switch the subject recklessly. "well, remember when you glued your hand to a desk?" the corner of his mouth twitches. "you told me it would make me smarter."

"and you believed me!" you cackle.

"you said the glue had 'knowledge properties,'" he defends, pointing an accusing finger at you. "you said einstein invented it!"

you're laughing so hard you almost fall off the couch. he tries to stay serious, but your laugh is contagious and he ends up leaning back against the couch, head tipped against your knee as he laughs too.

you go still. his head. on your leg. like it's natural. like it's always been that way. your laugh fades into a stubborn little silence you can't name.

he notices. he always notices. "hey," he murmurs, chin tilting up just a little so he can see your upside-down face. "what's with that look?"

"what look?" you whisper, too fast.

"the one where you pretend you're annoyed but you're actually... i don't know." he searches your expression. "thinking."

you scoff. "i don't think."

"yes you do."

"nope."

"you definitely do."

"stop accusing me of intelligence!" he laughs again, but this time something softer lingers under it — something warm, something knowing. the air shifts. you hate it. or maybe you don't, maybe that's the problem.

"okay, next memory," you say quickly, tapping his forehead with your foot to break the moment. "tell me something where i look cool."

he smirks. "that never happened."

"JAKE—"

"kidding, kidding." he nudges your leg. "there was that time you punched a boy in the nose because he called me 'jakey-wakey.'"

you blink. "oh yeah. classic me."

"classic you," he echoes, smiling to himself in a way that makes your chest feel tight. and then, quietly, "you always had my back." the room goes still. your heart stutters—because he means it. because he remembers it. because he says it like it mattered.

"don't get sentimental on me, golden boy," you mumble.

"too late," he says, voice warm, teasing, but edged with something real. "you brought up memory lane. i'm just walking it."

you swallow. the dynamic tilts again—just slightly, just enough to make you feel like you're standing on the edge of something big.

so you do what you do best. you kick him lightly in the shoulder. "get up. i'm bored again." he stands, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt.

"fine," he says. "let's go get ice cream."

"you're paying, right?" he sighs. "i always do."

you grin. and he does too, like he wouldn't have it any other way.

𓂃

it starts stupidly. you're not even fighting.

you're tipsy—not blackout, not sloppy, just warm and giggly after a night out with friends. you called jake because your uber bailed and your phone was dying, and he showed up in ten minutes flat, hair messy from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, looking unfairly good for someone dragged out of bed at 1 a.m.

you slid into the passenger seat, all smug. "aww, jakey. did i wake you?"

he didn't even look at you. "put your seatbelt on."

ugh. infuriating. for the entire drive, you tried to poke at him— literally and figuratively—but he kept dodging with that maddening calm.

by the time you walk into the apartment, and by walk you mean jake carrying your flailing body—you're buzzing with irritation that isn't... really irritation.

not exactly. you kick your shoes off dramatically. "you didn't have to come get me, y'know."

he locks the door behind you. "you called," he says simply, shrugging off his hoodie. "i wasn't gonna leave you outside alone."

"i can take care of myself." he gives you a slow, deliberate once-over—the skirt, the smudged makeup, the slightly-wobbly stance.

"sure you can." you make an offended noise, fully ready to start something stupid—but he walks past you toward the kitchen.

which pisses you off more. so you follow him. obviously. he's pulling a water bottle out of the fridge when you step right into his space, eyebrows raised, chin tilted up like a challenge.

"you're ignoring me," you accuse.

"no," he says calmly. "i'm choosing not to indulge you." your stomach actually drops. oh, that tone. that new tone you still haven't learned how to handle.

you scoff. "wow. someone got confident."

"someone had to," he says. and then—god help you—he steps closer. not touching you, just closer.

your back meets the counter, cold through your shirt. he sets the water bottle beside you but doesn't move away. he's right there—warm, solid, taller, broader than he ever was as a kid—and he's looking at you like he can see every thought you're trying to hide.

"you good?" he asks softly. that should be a normal question. but it isn't.your throat goes tight. "i'm fine." he inhales once, slow, like he's counting to five because of you. "you're doing that thing again."

"what thing," you snap too quickly.

"pretending you don't want something," he murmurs, "just because you don't wanna admit i'm the one you want it from."

your breath actually stops. you hate how your hands grip the counter; you hate how your pulse stutters; you hate that he can hear it, probably feel it, with how close he is.

"you think i want something from you?" you manage, trying to sound bored. he leans in, not touching. but close enough that his breath brushes your cheek.

"i think," he says quietly, "you wouldn't have called me tonight if you didn't." your voice comes out small. "i called because my uber bailed."

he smiles. slow. knowing. devastating. "sure," he says. "if that's the lie you wanna stick to."

you actually shove him. well—you try. your hands hit his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. he just looks down at you with that infuriating calm, like you're cute for even attempting it.

"don't—" your voice breaks, and you hate that too. "don't talk like you know everything."

he corners you fully now, one hand resting on the counter beside your hip, the other lifting—slowly, giving you time—until his fingers hover under your jaw. not touching. just waiting.

"i'm not the one pretending here," he says softly. "i'm not pretending anything."

"yeah?" he whispers. "then look at me." you do. you shouldn't have.

his eyes are warm and dark and unbearably sure of you—like he's known this moment was coming since you were both twelve and you bossed him into giving you the last popsicle on the block. like he's been waiting for you to catch up.

"you can be a brat to everyone else," he says, barely above a murmur. "but you don't get to lie to me." your chest pulls tight, breath shaking, and you don't realize you've gone still until he tilts his head, studying you.

"there it is," he whispers. "finally." finally what? finally you stop running? finally you stop pretending you don't want him? finally you admit you're not the one with the power anymore?

you don't know. you just know your voice is barely a whisper, "...jake." something changes in his face. not anger. not triumph. just... relief. warm and deep and terrifying.

he leans closer, his forehead almost touching yours and his voice drops, low and steady, "i'm not gonna kiss you tonight," he says. "you're drunk."

you swallow hard, embarrassed and grateful and furious all at once. "but tomorrow?" he adds, eyes flicking to your mouth for half a second.

your knees actually go weak, tomorrow? "tomorrow," he says, "you don't get to run." and he steps back. leaving you breathless, cornered by nothing but your own heartbeat.

you wake up with your skull splitting in two, your mouth dry, and the horrifying, slow–motion realization that you remember every single thing that happened last night.

the way jake lifted you off that sidewalk like you weighed nothing. the way he held you steady while you tried to unlock the door and failed miserably.

the way he said it—low, warm, devastating, "you can be a brat to everyone else. but you don't get to lie to me." and worst of all, the way he looked at you afterward. like he was two seconds away from kissing you senseless against your own doorway.

you roll onto your back, throw an arm over your face, and groan.

"oh my god i hate it here," you mutter into your pillow. "i should move out. i should join a monastery. i should fake my death."

a soft knock hits your door. your entire soul leaves your body. "hey," jake's voice calls, maddeningly gentle. "i made breakfast." you consider leaping out the window. instead you croak, "i'm... busy."

"you're hungover."

"busy being hungover." he laughs—that warm, breathy laugh that you hear way too clearly through the door.

"come eat. i won't bite." liar, you think, dragging yourself out of bed. you almost did. you trudge down the hall in an oversized hoodie and socks, praying he looks terrible so you can at least feel morally superior.

he does not look terrible. he's standing at the stove in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, hair damp, shoulders broad, forearms flexing as he plates food. the apartment is stupidly bright, the sun hits him like it's personally in love.

you want to die. you try to sneak to the fridge for water and pretend he doesn't exist. he turns just in time to catch you.

"morning," he says. you nearly drop the bottle. "...hi."

he raises an eyebrow. "that's it? no yelling? no demands?" you glare at him weakly. "i'm on sick leave."

"mhm." he sets a plate in front of you. "how's the headache?"

"big."

"water's on the table."

"i know."

"you didn't drink it."

"...i was getting emotionally prepared," you mumble. he smiles—soft, amused, slightly pitying—and sits across from you.mthe silence is unbearable. you poke at your eggs like they personally offended you. "so. about last night."

"yeah," he says calmly, sipping his coffee. "about last night." you brace yourself. you don't know what you're expecting—a lecture? a joke? him pretending it didn't happen?

what you don't expect is him leaning back in his chair, eyes flicking over your face like he can see every thought you're trying to drown.

"you were pretty honest," he says softly. you choke on air. "i— what— honest how?" he tilts his head. "you kept grabbing me."

"NO I DID NOT—"

"you did," he says, annoyingly unbothered. "kept saying i 'smelled stupidly good' and that i 'ruined guys' for you." you want the earth to open up and swallow you. "i was drunk," you whisper.

"i know." he nods. "that's why you didn't lie." your heart stutters. his voice drops, the same tone he used last night—warm, steady, too real.

"you don't have to freak out," he murmurs. "i'm not asking for anything." you stare at him. "you're being... weirdly nice."

"i'm always nice to you."

"you're being extra nice." his lips twitch. "you're hungover."

"i don't trust it."

"that says more about you than me," he says, and you actually consider throwing your fork at him. but then... he pushes his chair back. stands. walks around the table. you freeze as he stops right beside you. not touching you, he never touches first, but close enough that your entire body tenses.

"look at me," he says quietly. you do, because what other choice do you have. his eyes hold yours, steady and dark and impossibly sure.

"what i said last night wasn't because you were drunk." a beat. "i meant it." your breath catches. your fingers curl around the edge of your chair. "jake..."

he leans down just a little—not enough to cross the line, but enough that you feel him, warm and solid at your side. "you can avoid me all you want today," he murmurs. "hide in your room. glare at me. pretend you don't remember."

your heart is hammering so loudly you're scared he can hear it. "but we're not going back," he finishes. "not after last night." you can't speak. you can't move. you can't breathe. he straightens slowly, like he knows exactly what he just did to you, and steps back.

"eat your breakfast," he says lightly, already turning toward the sink. "you need your strength." you stare at his back, absolutely feral with confusion and panic and want.

because he's right. everything has changed and you're the one who feels ruined.

the rest of the day is... hell. you hide in your room because you're a coward with a hangover and a heart that won't stop doing gymnastics. you scroll on your phone. you pretend to nap. you dramatically throw yourself on your bed like a victorian widow.

unfortunately, your bedroom shares a wall with the living room.

which means you hear everything. you hear jake laughing softly at his phone. you hear him moving around, cleaning, humming, doing dishes. you hear him existing like the universe didn't tilt on its axis last night.

and every time he shifts, every time the floor creaks, your stomach flips like it's auditioning for a reality show.

around 5 p.m., you crack. you storm out of your room under the noble excuse of "checking if he replaced the Brita filter," which is a lie, but you're committed to the bit.

jake is on the couch. hair damp again from the gym. black t-shirt stretched over his shoulders. sweatpants hanging too low for god's favorites, let alone you, god's forgotten middle child.

he looks up the second you appear.

"hey." so casual. so normal. so illegal.

you fold your arms. "why are you acting weird?"

he blinks. "...i'm literally sitting."

"you're sitting weird." he bites back a smile. "okay. how does one sit weird?"

"like that!" you snap, gesturing vaguely at his whole body. "all... confident."

"i'm sorry?" he laughs, leaning back. "you want me to slouch more?"

"i want you to stop—" you choke on your own words. "—being like... this."he tilts his head. "like what?" you should walk away. run. escape. join witness protection. instead you stomp closer. "stop being smug about last night." his eyebrows lift. "i'm not smug."

"you are," you fire back. "you're doing the eyes."

"...the eyes?"

"yes! the—" you wildly point at his face "—'i know something you're not admitting' eyes." his lips twitch. "maybe because you are avoiding something."

you freeze. he didn't say it sharply. or cruelly. just... plainly. softly. like he's stating the weather.

"i'm not avoiding anything," you lie.

"okay." he pats the couch. "come sit, then." you scoff. "no."

"why not?"

"because." because you don't know what will happen. because you don't trust your own body around him. because his voice last night is still echoing in your bones. "because?" he repeats gently.

you glare. you hate him. you hate that he's winning. you hate that he's not even trying to win. "fine," you snap, and drop onto the couch beside him.

the space between you is legal... but barely. jake doesn't move. doesn't lean in. doesn't touch. he simply turns his head and looks at you.

slowly. openly. like he's reading a book he's already memorized. your pulse stutters. "what?" you demand.

his voice is quiet. "you still look upset."

"i'm not upset."

"you're doing the eyebrows."

you gasp. "I DO NOT—"

"you do," he murmurs, and the tone—god, that tone—almost makes you shake. "you always do when you're overwhelmed." you hate how he knows that. you hate how he knows anything. you hate how safe he makes it feel to be known.

"jake," you say, trying to sound sharp. "stop... looking at me like that."

"like what?"

"like you're—" you swallow "—waiting for me to break." he's quiet for a beat. then, "i'm not waiting," he says softly. "you already are."

your breath catches. he doesn't smirk. he doesn't tease. he just watches you—steady, patient, unbearably gentle. and something in you snaps. "you think you know everything," you whisper.

"no." he shakes his head once. "i just know you."

your throat tightens. you push up from the couch —too fast, too dramatic, too you—but before you can escape, his hand closes around your wrist.

not hard. not forceful. just enough, enough to stop you. enough to pull a tiny gasp from your mouth. enough to make your knees weaken embarrassingly fast.

you stare at him and he stares right back.

"don't run," he murmurs.

"i'm not—"

"you are." his hand slides down, fingers brushing yours. "why are you scared of me?"

"i'm not scared of you," you whisper.

"then look at me." you do and that's your mistake. because he stands and steps into your space. not touching, but close enough that your breath stumbles. your legs buckle beneath you and you find yourself sitting on the sofa again.

your back presses into the sofa without you thinking, his body following, not pinning you, but caging you all the same—one arm braced above your head, the other still holding your wrist like he's reminding you he could've touched more, but chose restraint instead.

his breath ghosts your cheek. "this is what you wanted last night," he says quietly.

your stomach flips so violently you almost fold.

"i— you— i was drunk," you manage.

"you're sober now."

you hate him. you want him. you hate that you want him. his forehead drops to yours—barely touching, barely there, but it feels like a strike of lightning.

"say it," he murmurs, voice dropping to that devastating low. "just once. stop lying to me." you swallow so hard it hurts. "jake..."

his thumb skims the back of your hand—the first real touch—slow and devastating and enough to make heat coiling in your stomach spike.

"say it," he repeats, even softer now. "and i won't make you wait anymore." you gasp. you could feel your chest press in and your thigh clench together, an action that doenst go unnoticed by jake's sharp eyes.

your whole body trembles under his breath, his closeness, his voice and he feels it, oh he absolutely feels it. he smirks, barely. and then, in a tone that is not patient anymore, not gentle anymore—a tone that is pure control, "don't make me ask again."

your mouth parts. your pulse jumps. the line is right there—the moment before the moment—and you know if you speak, if you admit one more thing, everything you've been holding back is going to break wide open.

and he's waiting. breathing with you. holding you still. letting you fall on your own.

your mouth opens, but the only sound is a shaky, pathetic little gasp. your brain is screaming at you to shove him, to run, to do something—anything—but your body is a traitor. it's melting. sinking into the wall of the couch, arching just the tiniest bit toward him, like a flower leaning into the sun.

his thumb presses into the soft skin of your inner wrist, a slow, deliberate circle that feels like a brand. "i'm waiting," he murmurs, and his voice isn't gentle anymore. it's low. rough. it's the voice of someone who's done waiting.

"i—" you try, but the word dissolves. your pride is a flimsy shield against the sheer force of him. he's not just jake anymore. he's the boy who memorized your every whim, who learned your tells, who grew up and sharpened all that quiet observation into a weapon aimed directly at your defenses.

"look at me," he says again, and you do. you have to. his eyes are dark, pinned on yours, and there's no escape in them. there's only the truth. "say it."

"i hate you," you whisper, and it's the most honest thing you've ever said. a slow, vicious smile spreads across his face. it's not triumphant. it's relieved. "no you don't," he breathes, and then he closes the last inch of space.

the first kiss is a collision. it's not soft. it's not hesitant. it's a punishment. his mouth is firm on yours, bruising, and before you can even process it, his teeth are sinking into your bottom lip, a sharp, stinging bite that makes you cry out.

he licks over the hurt immediately, a hot, possessive swipe, and then he's kissing you again, all teeth and tongue, a messy, hungry claim. he's devouring you, and you're letting him. you're arching into him, your free hand fisting the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

he breaks the kiss, leaving you panting, your lip tingling. his forehead rests on yours, his breathing just as ragged. "see?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "not so hard, was it?"

you want to snap back, but all you can manage is a weak, breathless glare.

he chuckles, a dark, warm sound. "still got that look in your eye," he says, his thumb stroking the side of your neck. "like you're planning my murder."

"maybe i am," you whisper, dazed out of your mind.

"good luck with that," he says, and then he's manhandling you. his hands grip your waist, and he's spinning you, pushing you forward until your knees hit the edge of the couch. he bends you over the arm, one hand flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down. the position is obscene, your ass in the air, face pressed into the couch cushions.

"these," he says, his voice low and rough as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts, "have been driving me crazy for a week."

he tugs them down, slowly, deliberately, and you lift your hips to help him, a silent surrender that feels more powerful than any argument you've ever won. he tosses them aside, his gaze dropping to the thin lace of your panties.

"so much for being subtle," he murmurs, and you flush, because he knows. he knows you wore them for him. you always do.

then his hand is gone from your back for a second, and you hear the sharp sound of it cutting through the air before it connects with your ass. a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp into the cushions.

"that's for being a fucking tease," he growls, his hand rubbing the sting into your skin. another slap, this one on the other cheek. "and that's for making me wait."

he yanks your panties down, and the cool air hits your dripping pussy. you're so wet it's embarrassing. "look at this," he breathes, and then you feel it—a sharp, stinging slap right against your folds. you jolt, a choked moan tearing from your throat. it's a different kind of pain, sharper, more intimate.

"so fucking wet for me. you wanted this just as bad as i did, didn't you?"

he doesn't wait for an answer. he's on his knees behind you, his hands gripping your ass cheeks and spreading you open. you feel his hot breath a second before his mouth is on you. he doesn't start slow. he licks a broad, flat stripe from your clit to your entrance, a messy, hungry taste before his lips close around your clit and he sucks. hard.

your knees buckle, but his grip on you is iron. he's a man possessed. he eats you out like he's starving, his tongue fucking into you, his nose pressing against your ass, his teeth scraping your inner thighs. he bites down on the sensitive skin there, hard enough to leave a mark, and you sob, pushing back against his face. he's obsessed. he's consuming you.

he groans at the taste of you, his tongue messy yet precise as he slide down your folds making your squirm. "jake, please," you gasp, your hands fisting the couch cushions.

he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice muffled by your cunt. "please what? beg for it."

"please, i need—"

"need what?" he demands, landing another sharp slap to your pussy. the sting mixes with the pleasure, a dizzying cocktail. you feel his fingers tease your clenching hole, not quite pushing in but instead dip in slightly before running over to rub at your swollen clit.

"your cock," you sob, completely broken. "please, jake, i need your cock."

he groans, a deep, guttural sound of victory. he stands up, and you hear the rustle of his jeans. then he's grabbing you, flipping you over onto your back on the couch like you weigh nothing. he looms over you, his shirt gone, his chest heaving. his eyes are wild, feral.

"open your mouth," he commands, his hand reaching between your legs to rub tight circles around your clit while you struggle to keep your legs open.

you do, without thinking. he leans down, spits directly onto your tongue. it's filthy, degrading, and it sends a bolt of pure lust straight through you. "swallow it," he orders, and you do, your eyes locked on his.

his expression morphs into one of pure bliss, his hand wrapped around his thick aching cock as he jerks himself slightly. he watches your needy mouth pull into a whine when his fingers press harder on your clit, pleading for him to fuck you.

originally, he was going to tease you. have you begging and crying for his cock, but he overestimated his ability to hold back when he realized how good you looked fucked out.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then he's lining himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. he doesn't wait. he pushes into you in one hard, deep stroke, and you both groan. he's big, stretching you, filling you completely, and it's overwhelming in the best possible way.

he starts to move, his hips slamming into yours, a brutal, punishing rhythm. each thrust is deep, deliberate, designed to break you apart. he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft skin where your neck meets your shoulder, a hard, possessive bite that you know will leave a dark bruise.

"mine," he growls against your skin, his pace quickening. "you've always been mine." his hands fumble to pull up your shirt, eyes bright when he realizes that you weren't wearing a bra. his greedy hands grab at you tits, pinching and squeezing as he watched your face scrunch in pleasure.

"so fucking pretty." he mummers, his cock pounding into you strong before his mouth reach's down to take in one of your nipples—sucking hard.

you whine in response, hands clawing at his shoulders as you arch unnaturally against the couch.

"been waiting for this day for years." he confesses, between kisses that he's leaving on your chest. your heart beats faster at his sudden confession, moaning louder when his cock brushes against that all get area that many of your ex's had trouble finding.

the coil in your stomach tightens, impossibly fast. he can feel it too, can feel the way you're clenching around him, and he reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles.

"cum for me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "now."

you shatter. a blinding, all-consuming orgasm rips through you. you scream his name, your body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. he follows you over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, spilling himself into you.

you shudder at the feeling of his warm cum in you, feeling him twitch inside you as he helped you ride out your high.

he collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck. you're both panting, your bodies slick with sweat, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing.

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you just lie there, tangled together, the aftermath of the storm settling around you.

finally, he pushes himself up, his arms braced on either side of your head. he looks down at you, his expression soft, his eyes filled with a terrifying amount of adoration. he leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to the bite mark on your neck.

"still hate me?" he murmurs, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

you look up at him, at the boy you've spent a lifetime fighting, and feel something inside you crack open. "no," you whisper, and it's the truest thing you've ever said.

the room is still warm.not from the heater, not from the blankets—from him. from the way he touched you. from the way you touched him back.

you're lying on your back, hair messy, chest still rising too fast, your skin flushed in a way you hope isn't obvious... but you know it is. jake's spread out beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily resting across your stomach like he claimed the space there without even thinking about it.

you don't speak at first. neither does he. your breathing gradually falls back into something human, and eventually something soft and unbearably embarrassing curls into your voice.

"so," you mumble, staring at the ceiling because looking at him might actually kill you. "um. that happened."

jake turns his head toward you slowly—so slowly your pulse skips like it's trying to escape your body.

he doesn't tease. he doesn't joke. he doesn't even smirk. he just looks at you, eyes dark and soft and deeply certain in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"yeah," he says quietly. "it did."

you swallow. his fingers move—not leaving your stomach, just tracing lazy, slow circles like he's memorizing the shape of you now that he's allowed to.

"are you..." his voice dips, warm and low, "okay?"

you shut your eyes for one humiliating second before answering.

"i'm fine."

"you sure?"

"yes."

"positive?"

"jake, please," you groan, dragging your hands over your face. "i'm fine, you're fine, everything's—whatever."

he laughs, soft and breathy, and his hand slides higher on your torso—warm palm resting just beneath your ribs without pushing, without restraining, just there.

and the worst part? you lean into it without thinking.

he notices—of course he notices—because his thumb presses lightly, intentionally, like he's acknowledging the way you reacted.

your voice comes out embarrassingly small. "stop acting like you know everything."

"i don't," he murmurs. "i just know you."

you turn your head sharply, finally meeting his eyes—which was a mistake, because he's already looking at you like he's been waiting for you to do it.

and he holds your gaze. fully. openly. no hesitation left whatsoever.

god, he's bold now. not arrogant. not smug. just... sure.

sure of you. sure of himself. sure of what he wants.

"i meant what i said," he says, the slightest rasp in his voice. "you don't get to lie to me anymore."

you swallow, throat tight. "i wasn't—"

he cuts you off with nothing but a look. a look that tells you exactly what he heard in your voice earlier, in your breathing, in the way you clung to him.

"you don't have to pretend," he adds quietly. "not here. not with me."

your chest squeezes.

no one has ever said that to you before—not like that, not with that kind of certainty, not with that kind of gentleness that feels like he's handing you permission you didn't even know you craved.

so you whisper—barely audible, "i'm not pretending."

his breath catches. barely, but you hear it. then he shifts—not climbing over you, not pulling you in —just rolling onto his side, facing you fully, his leg brushing yours under the blanket that he has pulled over you two.

his voice drops to something dangerously soft.

"good," he murmurs. "because I'm not pretending anymore either."

you blink. "pretending what?"

he leans in, just enough that you feel his breath against your cheek, his nose brushing the corner of yours.

"that I don't want you," he says simply.

your stomach drops straight through the mattress. he keeps going, voice steady, tone low but honest in a way that shakes you more than anything else tonight.

"i'm done acting like I don't think about you all the time," he whispers. "i'm done holding back because I thought it was what you wanted."

your lips part, but nothing comes out.

his thumb grazes your hip under the blanket— slow, barely there, but intentional. grounding. claiming. reassuring.

"i'm done pretending you're just my friend."

your pulse jumps so hard you swear it echoes.

you stare at him—dazed, breathless, overwhelmed.

"jake..."

he just watches you, eyes soft, voice steady.

"you don't have to say anything tonight," he murmurs. "you don't owe me anything. i just need you to know."

you whisper, "know what?"

he holds your gaze like he's anchoring you in place.

"that I want you."

your breath stops.

"that I'm not scared of it."

his fingers tighten just slightly on your hip. "that I'm not scared of you."

you tremble.

"and that I'm not going anywhere."

the room feels too small. too warm. too full of everything you've been running from.

you look at him, really look, and something cracks open in your chest. you don't know what to do with it. you don't know how to breathe around it.

but he does. he reaches up, cups the back of your neck with a gentleness that ruins you more than anything else tonight, and he tugs you in just a little—not kissing you, just touching foreheads, sharing breath.

"we'll talk tomorrow," he murmurs. "when you're less in your head."

you want to argue. you want to push him away. you want to pull him closer.

you end up doing none of those things—instead you melt, slowly, helplessly, into the space he holds open for you.

he pulls the blanket up. shifts closer. lets your head rest on his chest when you finally, silently, give in.

his hand stays on your back.

steady. warm. sure.

and for the first time, it hits you—painfully, beautifully, terrifyingly, you're not the only one who fell.

𓂃

you wake up before him.

which is unfair, honestly, because you absolutely deserve to sleep in after what he did to you.

your legs ache in that humiliating, delicious way. your throat is dry. your body is warm, too warm, because jake's arm is still around your waist, lazy and heavy and possessive even in sleep.

his breath ghosts the back of your neck. your, his, hoodie that he had helped you slip on last night was now halfway off your shoulder because of him. your pulse is still not normal.

you lie there, staring at the ceiling of the divining room, trying not to combust.

you should be embarrassed. you're not. you should be panicking. you are.

but underneath all of that—buried under the adrenaline and the dizzy aftershocks—there's this new, terrifyingly soft awareness sitting in your chest.

you want him.

in a way that isn't just physical. in a way that isn't just bratty competition. in a way that makes your stomach twist because you know it didn't start last night.

it started way, way before that.

your brain drifts—uninvited, unstoppable—right back to the beginning.

flashback — age 9, the playground

you're wearing a sparkly t-shirt and a crooked ponytail because you cut your own hair with safety scissors. jake is sitting in the sandbox, building something horrifyingly ugly but he swears it's a castle.

you stomp up to him, hands on hips, full attitude, even back then.

"you're doing it wrong," you announce.

he doesn't even look up. "hi to you too."

"jake. that's not a castle. that's a blob."

"it's abstract."

"it's ugly."

he sighs—that tiny, patient sigh that would become his trademark. "okay. what do you want me to do?"

"move over."

you don't wait. you physically shove him two scoots to the left and plop down beside him like you own the sandbox.

he moves. he always moves.

you grab his bucket. "we need more water."

he blinks at you, confused. "um... then go get some?"

you fix him with the most dramatic stare your nine-year-old face can manage.

"...i don't want to."

he laughs—that same soft little huff he still does —and stands up, brushing sand off his shorts.

"fine. i'll go."

"thank you," you say, like you're the queen of england.

when he comes back carrying a wobbly, half-filled bucket, you beam. you don't say thank you again, but he sees it in your face.

he hands you the bucket. but you don't take it.

you tilt your head and say, completely serious, "you pour it."

he should argue. he should tell you to do it yourself. he should tell you you're bossy. instead, without hesitation, he kneels and does exactly what you want.

and you lean closer—too close—watching him work, feeling weirdly fluttery and warm because jake listens to you in a way no one else does.

you don't know what it means at that age.

you just know it feels special.

later, when a group of older kids tries to take over your half-finished castle, you puff up, ready to argue—but jake steps in first.

"this is ours," he says firmly.

the kids back off and you stare at him like he's a superhero.

you don't understand your feelings, not then. but years later, lying in his bed with his arm around you, remembering the way nine-year-old jake defended your ugly sandcastle like it mattered?

you finally get it. it started there. it always started there.

back to present

you wake fully with a heavy breath and a heavier realization, you want to tell him. you want to admit it. you want to say something terrifyingly real like i think i've liked you since we were kids or i don't want last night to be a one-time thing or i want you.

and that's the problem.

because wanting is easy. saying it out loud is not.

so when jake shifts behind you, murmuring softly into your hair, "morning..." in that gravelly, post-sleep voice.

you panic. full feral panic.

you slip out of his arms, ignore his sleepy protest and practically flee the room.

you don't make eye contact during breakfast. you don't sit near him. you don't let him touch you, even though he tries—a hand on your waist, a brush of his fingers, small things that make your breath hitch.

he notices. of course he notices. he doesn't push, though. he just watches you with that calm, frustrating, evolved-from-childhood patience.

"everything okay?" he asks at one point.

you say, "yep!" like an idiot and then walk away before you faint.

cowardice: 1 you: 0

you're on the couch later, pretending to scroll your phone, doing a terrible job of acting normal. jake is in the kitchen, on speakerphone, fixing something near the sink.

you're not listening. until you are. because a girl's voice floats through the speaker—bright, flirty, familiar.

"so you're free this weekend?"

you freeze. jake hums. "yeah, probably."

the girl laughs. "good. i was hoping we could go out again."

again? AGAIN??

your vision goes sharp. hot. you sit up so fast your neck cracks.

jake notices the sound and glances over his shoulder—but you're already looking at him with an expression that could kill crops.

he mouths, 'what?' you don't answer.

the girl keeps talking. "my friends keep asking about you," she giggles. "they think you're cute."

you go still. silent. dangerously silent.

jake's eyes flick to your face and something about your expression makes him stand up straighter, makes his brow pull slightly together.

"uh—" he clears his throat. "can i call you back?"

"sure! text me later."

he hangs up and the kitchen goes too quiet. he wipes his hands on a towel and steps toward you slowly, cautiously, the way someone approaches a wild animal that might bite.

"hey," he says softly.

you don't respond. you just stare at him, jaw tight, heat ticking under your skin in a way that feels feral.

"that was... a friend," he offers.

you blink once. just once. but your eyes are sharp and possessive and nothing like the bratty irritation he's used to handling.

he stops walking. "what's going on?" he asks gently.

and that's when it hits him—the realization flickers across his face.

your posture. your eyes. the way you're holding your phone like you want to throw it at the wall.

you're jealous. not playful jealous. not the type of jealousy you showed at the park when mina, mona, mia whatever the fuck her name is was hitting on him. not petty jealous. real, territorial, chest-tightening jealous.

and jake has never seen you like that. his breath changes. his shoulders straighten. his whole energy shifts—calm, sure, controlled, like something in him clicks perfectly into place.

"come here," he says quietly.

you don't move. your throat is tight. your stomach is hot. everything in you is wound too tight to speak.

"come here," he repeats, firmer this time but still soft.

you finally stand. slow. tight. bristling with emotion you don't know how to name yet.

you walk toward him until you're only a foot away, eyes burning into his. he looks down at you—and there's something in his gaze you've never seen before.

something knowing. something claiming. something like, finally.

and then—you can feel him watching you. that stupid half-smirk, that stupid relaxed posture like he didn't just back you against the counter a few days ago, hands on your waist, voice warm enough to melt your spine. like he didn't murmur things that have been replaying in your head nonstop.

and what makes it worse? he looks so unbothered. like he knows something you don't. he always does.

"you're awfully quiet," he says from the couch, leaning his head back like he's bored. "you only shut up when something's bothering you."

you glare at him. "nothing's bothering me."

"mm." his eyes drag lazily up your legs, slow enough to make you want to throw something at him. "so it's just your attitude that's loud today."

"jake."

"what?" he grins. "you get weird whenever someone gets too close to the truth. you always have."

you cross your arms, heat rushing to your cheeks. "don't start."

he sits up like he's been waiting for that. "start what? pushing you?" a shrug. "you like when i do that."

you hate how your pulse jumps. you hate how he hears it. "you're so full of yourself."

"no," he says softly, "i just know you."

and the way he says it—warm, sure, familiar—makes your stomach twist in that embarrassing way you can never hide from him.

you turn away, but he laughs under his breath.

"see? there it is." he shuffles and steps in front of you, tilting his head. "that little flinch. the one you get when you're about to run your mouth but you don't know how to without admitting something."

"i don't have anything to admit," you snap—too fast, too sharp, too obvious. he raises a brow.

"okay," he murmurs, stepping closer, "then tell me why you've been avoiding looking at me since i had you pinned against that sofa with my cock deep inside of you."

you almost choke at his vulgarity.

"i— that— that was—"

"yeah," he says, eyes dropping to your mouth, "exactly."

you push his shoulder, out of pure panic. "shut up."

he laughs, catching your wrist midway, gentle but firm. "that's what i mean."

your breath stutters. "you've always been like this," he says, voice low. "bratty, loud, impossible. acting like you're the one in charge. you'd push me around, yell at me, boss me around—" his thumb brushes your pulse. "—and i loved every second of it."

your heart stops. you meet his eyes, stunned, and he smiles like he's been waiting years for that reaction.

"you liked that?" your voice cracks.

"of course i did." his tone warms, softens. "i loved that you treated me like i was yours without even realizing it."

your face burns and you whisper, "then why won't you let me do it anymore?" he steps in—close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

"because," he murmurs, "i finally realized something." your throat tightens. "what?" his eyes drop to your mouth, slow... deliberate.

"it's fun being pushed around by you," he says, "but it's even more fun watching you fall apart when i push back."

your knees go weak. he notices—of course he does—and his hand slides to steady your hip, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch.

"see?" he whispers. "this is why i don't mind waiting for you to confess." you swallow hard. "i'm not confessing."

"you already are."

"no i'm—"

"you are." he smirks. "and you'll say it any minute now." your eyes narrow. "you're impossible."

"mm. and you like me."

your face flames. "shut up." he leans in, lips brushing your cheek—not a kiss, but close enough to ruin you.

"say it," he murmurs. "c'mon. you've been holding it in for years." you shove him again—weakly this time. "god, jake, you're so—"

"annoying?" he offers.

"cocky."

"you like that too."

you groan in frustration. "fine! okay? i like you. i've liked you for a long time. happy now?"

his breath hitches—barely—but you feel it. then he smiles—slow, victorious, soft around the edges.

"very."

you try to look away but he catches your chin with two fingers. "hey," he whispers, "look at me."

you do and his voice drops—deeper, rougher. "you think i didn't know?" a slow shake of his head. "i've always known."

your pulse pounds. "and i didn't say anything," he admits, "because you... being like this? all flustered and mouthy and stubborn? it's the cutest thing in the world."

your knees actually wobble and his grip tightens.

"and now that i know you want me too..." he leans in, lips barely brushing yours—never quite touching. "...i'm gonna enjoy every second of this."

and then he kisses you. not careful. not patient. like he's been holding himself back for years and finally lets the dam break.

your back hits the counter, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head exactly the way he wants. he drinks in the little gasp you make, smirking against your mouth like he knew it'd happen.

you try to kiss him harder, try to take control, but he catches your wrists—pinning them lightly above your head, just enough pressure to make your stomach flip.

"see?" he murmurs against your lips. "told you. it's fun pushing you around." you whimper—quiet, involuntary. his lips curve. "there she is."

he kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, his mouth warm and sure and maddeningly steady. like he wants you to feel every second of it.

when he finally pulls back, your wrists are still caught in his hand, your chest rising and falling too fast.

he brushes his nose against yours, smiling softly—smug, but affectionate. "you can push me around later," he says, "but right now... let me have this."

you bite your lip, trying not to melt.

"jake?"

"yeah?"

"don't stop."

his smile is lethal. "wasn't planning to."

“you’ll be fine!” you boyfriend said, a grin etched on his face as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. you let him, bottom lip puckering out slightly. “are you sure? i’m so nervous though,” you murmured, covering your face with your palms as you let out a muffled groan. 

he always looked so annoyingly calm—while you felt ridiculously jittery. excitement twinned with dread twisting in your stomach. for the first time ever, you’re finally meeting his team. like all the eleven players. the famous football players. the ones everyone gravitated toward on campus… 

those loud, tall, shining, charming boys who slapped backs and laughed with their chests. 

jay pried your hands down gently, holding them in his. “they’ll love you,” he said, so certain it almost hurt. “you could walk in and say nothing the whole time and they’d still love you,” he continued with a hum, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “because my girlfriend is so lovable like that.”

because you were his. that’s what he didn’t say, but you heard it. 

you swallowed, lips pursing. “what if they don’t?” 

“then that’s their problem,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead—soft, reverent, protective in that way that made your knees go weak. “you’re amazing, don’t worry.”

you exhaled, tension beginning to melt just a little—right as the restaurant door behind you swung open. a couple walked out, then the noise behind spilled out—laughter, shouts, someone joking. 

jay nudged you forward gently. “perfect timing. c’mon.” giving your hand a playful squeeze, you let your boyfriend guide you inside. the restaurant hummed with various noises, the team’s voices rising from the back corner in chaos. 

“jay–ah!” jake said, waving his hand so enthusiastically he might knock over a glass. “here!” your boyfriend laughed, lifting the other hand to wave back. “sorry, sorry, parking was insane.” 

“excuses,” another boy chimed in, grinning. “who’s that?”

heat rushed to your cheeks immediately. jay’s arm slid around your waist, casual but proud. “this is my girlfriend,” he announced, gently guiding you towards an empty seat. “come on, let’s sit.” 

before you could even think, he guided you to the nearest open space at the long table. you slid in, keeping your eyes down in what you hoped was a polite, sweet–girlfriend way instead of a terrified baby deer entering the forest.

jay took the seat on your right, the end of the table. he never lets you sit at the end. you took the seat on the right, pulling your chair closer under the table. his arm brushed yours as he sat, ensuring you’re comfortable. 

the conversation quickly spilled around you, voices overlapping: “coach made us run suicides again—”

“‘m going to skip weights this week,”

your boyfriend laughed, throwing an arm over the back of your chair as he engaged in the topic. you sipped the cold drink that’d been put in front of you, hands wrapped around the glass so you’d stop fidgeting.

it’s so awkward and so… out of place for you. you just sat there quietly, content to just listen. jay was in his elements, laughing with his dearest teammates, so full and bright and warm in a way you liked seeing.

a glass clinked near your left, and you glanced that way. 

“hi,” 

next to you, sunghoon leaned slightly in your direction—holding his drink loosely, fingers around the condensation–slick glass. he wasn’t loud like others—just listening as well, eyes flicking between his friends, lips curved slightly at every joke.

you gave a small, sweet polite smile back. “hi.”

it came out airy, barely above the hum of the table. not shy, just soft. sunghoon nodded once, almost gentle. he didn’t move his gaze away, no such thing as social rules of not staring at someone else’s girlfriend too long applied to him, not when said girlfriend is probably the prettiest little thing sunghoon has ever laid his eyes on. 

he seemed calm. and yes—objectively very good–looking—the kind that would normally make you flustered (it worked) if you didn’t have a boyfriend.

“first time meeting the team?” he asked, voice steady and calm. you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before nodding. “yeah… jay’s been… talking about this for a while.”

sunghoon’s lips ticked up—into something of a slight smirk. “jay talks a lot about you too,” he said, low enough as if it’s meant to be for you. “i was starting to think he made you up. but i guess not, a girl like you does exist.” 

you blinked, warmth pooling low in your stomach—jay’s name in someone else’s mouth, from the reality of just how much he must gush when you’re not there.

your breath caught in your throat—not because it was overly charming, but because it was so smooth. you blinked, barely managing a tiny laugh. “well… surprise.” you shrugged, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“lucky him,” he murmured, then lifted his glass slightly in a casual half–cheers gesture. “i’m sunghoon, by the way.”

“yn,” you placed your hand in his when he offered it, his palm warm against your cool ones, grip firm and brief. “nice to finally meet you,” you said, offering the sweetness you always have on. 

“yeah,” sunghoon replied, giving your hand a light squeeze before he pulls away with a lingering heat, leaning back in his seat as he tapped the rim of his glass with his thumb, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

your boyfriend laughed beside you, nudging your knee under the table by accident. you looked away, warmth blooming in your cheeks as you leaned slightly towards jay, placing your hand on his thigh. 

still, you could feel sunghoon’s gaze linger on you. 

——

after that night, you went home warm with relief—jay’s team liked you, like he said, jay was happy, and you’d managed to get through dinner without spilling anything on yourself or make a fool. 

just a few days later, a notification slid from the top of your screen. you’d just finished showering and sank into bed, getting comfortable to face another night. 

p.sunghoon just followed you.

you blinked. once, twice—oh? you pursed your lips, thumb hovering stupidly over the screen for a moment. you weren’t sure if you remembered exchanging usernames—actually, you were positive you didn’t. 

jay definitely didn’t mention giving it. he wasn’t the “here’s my girlfriend’s instagram” type; if anything he really tried to protect you from the eyes of men. 

and yet… there it was. sunghoon’s follow notification. 

“let me just stalk you…” you murmured, humming to yourself as you tapped on his profile. his display picture sharp even in the tiny circle—a mirror selfie of him in his white tank. his feed was curated—football, track pants, icy expressions, candid flashes.

everything about him just screamed he knew exactly how attractive he was without ever needing to try.

and fuck, he was.

before you could hit the follow button, another notification popped up. sunghoon had liked a picture of you from a couple months ago—the one where you were visiting the alpaca world in gangwon. 

then another—a summer picture of you and your friends, wearing a bikini top underneath sheer cardigan, and a pair of shorts. 

a quiet instinctive oh sat low. he was stalking your instagram, the same time you were stalking his. 

you followed him back, tossing and turning on your back on the bed, getting ready to close the app. but before you could do so, sunghoon sent you a message.

p.sunghoon: hey there

you cocked an eyebrow at the message, fingers lingering above the keyboard.

yn.ln : hi 

p.sunghoon: you showed up in my suggested by the way

p.sunghoon: totally wasn’t searching you up or anything

you bit down a smile, his sarcasm threading clean through the screen—light warmth crawled up your neck despite every rational cell in your brain telling you stop that. 

yn.ln : oh right that’s so believable 

another bubble appeared almost immediately. 

p.sunghoon: you gotta trust me.

p.sunghoon: but i guess i got lucky too

yn.ln : how so?

a second, then two passed—before the bubbles appeared again. 

p.sunghoon: i got to talk to you, didn’t i?

your heart skipped in your chest. not romantic, not sweeping, not anything that should matter… but awareness that this felt wrong, and to an extent it probably was wrong—but it’s not like the two of you were doing anything aside from talking, right?

your fingertips hovered above your keyboard, stomach pulling tight. dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, you thought of a reply that could come off as neutral. 

yn.ln: you give me too much credit lol

p.sunghoon: guess so. 

p. sunghoon: coming to heeseung’s party tmrw?

p.sunghoon: heeseung is the guy in jersey num 01 btw

you pursed your lips, sucking the inside of your cheek as you stared at the messages. a party… jay hadn’t mentioned it yet—but jay would want you there. his girlfriend, on his arm, at his friend’s party. 

yn.ln: ohh i remember himm.

yn.ln: i’ll ask jay!! wld be awkward going without someone i know

you rolled on your stomach, legs swinging in the air.

p.sunghoon: well we can get to know each other

p.sunghoon: then i can be the other person you know

you chuckled softly, tapping your index on your lips before replying,

yn.ln: let’s see :p 

then, you tossed your phone onto the pillow, buried your face, and groaned into the sheets—a muffled, frustrated sound because this felt messy already and you hadn’t even done anything bad.

rolling over for the nth time of the night, you hugged your pillow and stared at the ceiling again, breathing out slowly like maybe if you exhaled long enough, you could convince yourself that this wasn’t as big of a deal as you were making it inside your head.

later, just before bed, you’d ask jay about the party. you’d go with him, hold his hand, stay close, and be good—and be there because you wanted to know the people in jay’s life.

totally not because someone had asked you first.

——

the music thumped—deep, heavy bass vibrated through the walls, the floor, your ribs. coloured lights strobed across a sea of bodies, cups raised, laughter spilling louder everywhere you went.

jay’s hand was warm at your lower back as you stepped inside. he’d kissed your temple before you walked in and said, "you're so perfect. gosh, can’t believe you’re my girlfriend,” in that sweet, earnest way that always made your heart skipped joyfully. 

“come, let’s greet heeseung first,” jay leaned in, murmuring in your ear as he guided you towards the living room—where most boys (and girls) were gathered. you nodded, letting yourself melt into his side as he steered you through the crowd—arm instinctively looping around his middle, the clean scent of his cologne filling up your nose.

the living room was alive—boys yelling over some game, girls cheering, people dancing and swaying at the sides. jay fit into it all effortlessly—but in a good way, so easy and loved and respected. 

and you were right there next to him, jay’s pretty, smart, proper, lovely little girlfriend, tucked perfectly against him like you belonged—his world, afterall. 

jay spotted heeseung across the room first. “ah, there he is,” his hand squeezed you waist softly. “ready?” 

you nodded, jittering nervously. 

and then, in the corner of your eye, you saw him.

park sunghoon.

leaning against the arm of the couch, cup in hand, body half–turned to you—until you looked, and he instantly looked right back. as if he could sense your eyes on him. 

sunghoon’s lip curled into a small smile, but he didn’t nod. just a flick of his gaze—deliberate—travelling from your kitten heels, up your bare legs, the curve of your hips and breasts, lingering at your neckline where you wore a necklace of your first initial, before meeting your eyes with a subtle acknowledgement, like a secret. 

like a secret.

your breath caught in your lungs—just for a second—heat skimmed your skin. you felt so self–conscious, not in the insecure way, but in a way where you’re aware. you swallowed, turning fully back to jay as he waved and called out heeseung’s name, grounding yourself in the warm firmness of his hold. 

you loved jay, you really did. 

and yet…

“hey,” sunghoon said softly, leaning against the countertop where you were just getting yourself a can of soda. one hand in his pocket, the other holding his cup lazily. 

you blinked, then smiled, hooking your finger into the tab and pulled it back, letting out the short and sharp hiss of the gas. “oh, hi sunghoon,” you hummed, turning your body his way so you were facing him. 

sunghoon huffed a laugh, a small one, “you made it.” his gaze swept over you again, quickly, but not quick or subtle enough to pretend it didn't happen. you shrugged, sipping your soda through the straw.”mmhm, i told you i’d ask jay.”

sunghoon nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line momentarily before he smiled. “you look nice. silver looks really good on you, don’t they?” your brows listed slightly, amused. glancing down at your dress, you suppressed a smile, biting the inside of your cheek.

“you think so?”

sunghoon’s eyes flicked down your figure again—properly taking you in now that there was a reason to. “yeah,” he said, voice low like the compliment was meant just for you. “i do.”

you felt a flutter in your stomach—the sharp pinch of attention you weren’t supposed to enjoy. 

fiddling with your straw, a soft laugh slipping out. “you… look nice too, i guess. for a pair of jeans and white shirt.” you teased. his jaw ticked, barely, like he was trying not to show how much the words pleased him. or maybe irritated him.

with sunghoon it was hard to tell; everything he felt passed like shadows under water, there and gone before you could name it.

“you guess,” he echoed, leaning one shoulder against the counter, head dipping closer. “i complimented you, said you’re pretty ‘n all, and all i get is a you guess?” sunghoon feigned offense, raising an eyebrow like he’s curious. 

you giggled, shaking your head. you rolled your eyes playfully, circling the soda can in your hand. “hey—that’s good enough,” you shrugged, pressing the straw between your lips. “and you said i look nice, not that i’m pretty.”

sunghoon scoffed playfully, the corner of his lip turned into a smirk. “a pretty girl like you don’t need to be told that you’re pretty, yn,” he hummed, taking a sip of his drink as he watched you through the rim. 

“you know that better than anyone else.” 

huh, weird—it’s not the alcohol but something tighter, hotter, wrong in a way that pulls you forward like gravity. you blinked at him, throat doing that useless little swallow. “you’re just saying anythin’ now,” you hmph–ed, shaking your head.

sunghoon’s brows lifted in the smallest, laziest arc, like he was amused you thought he was saying anything unusual. he dipped his head toward you, voice calm, steady, too confident for how casual it should be. 

“why not?”

a beat.

“you are pretty.”

there it was again—that thrumming pulse, that quiet guilt slithering along your ribs. “okay well,” you murmured, keeping your gaze on him. “now you’re just milking it.”

sunghoon chuckled, his pretty canines flashing through. “well,” he murmured, swirling the liquid in his cup lazily, “before you accuse me of milking it—” he smirked, “you’d have to be spoiled first.”

your mouth parted in outrage—confusion, or something warm and electric you didn’t want to acknowledge. “did you just—” you whispered, half–laughing, half–aghast, “that’s not even—that didn’t even make sense!” 

you giggled, and sunghoon just watched. so pretty—how did jay bag someone like you? gosh, he should’ve met you earlier. 

“well, whatever you say,” your giggled died down, straw pressed against the corner of your mouth as you sipped again, still looking at him through your lashes you swore you weren’t fluttering on purpose.

your gaze flicked toward the living room—where your boyfriend’s laugh carried faintly over music and shouts. “oh,” you cleared your throat, placing your empty can on the counter. “think i should go now, i left jay alone for too long.”

sunghoon hummed, nodding as he watched you. “right,” he said, lips curving slow. at least you weren’t leaving him because of the way he was. “yeah, wouldn’t want him to get worried.” 

you nodded with a shrug, already turning your body halfway when sunghoon called you out, 

“see you around, then.” 

you looked back against your shoulder, offering him a smile as you lightly waved your hand. “see you around, sunghoon.” 

his eyes dipped, watching as you disappeared between the bodies of people. 

baby steps.

——

you and sunghoon’s friendship was… strange. too light to call it anything, but too charged to call it innocent. 

it was harmless, really! you and jay were still together, still held hands and smiled and he still brought you flowers, and you still melted every time he kissed your forehead. 

but there was also… space where sunghoon existed—it’s soft and subtle and it threaded through your days before you realised he’d already made a place there.

it’s just little moments, but those little moments were big.

“oh gosh, it’s so sunny,” you hissed, covering the sunlight with your hand in front of you. jay was laughing with his friends, too busy recounting a play to notice your discomfort. this was like the first time ever that jay was unattentive, but you just let it pass since they’d just won their latest match, with your boyfriend being the valuable player.

let him have his moment.

sunghoon next to you, however, noticed. he didn’t say anything at first, just watched you tilt your forehead, lashes fluttering against the glare. his gaze flicked upward, catching something you couldn’t see.

“hold still,” he murmured. before you could ask, he leaned in. sunghoon’s hand lifted—not to block the sun, though part of his shadow fell over your face anyway—but to gently brush something from your hair. 

a tiny petal clung to his fingertip before drifting away on the breeze. 

his fingers didn’t leave right away.

they lingered from your hair, down to tuck a strand behind your ear. his thumb ghosted your cheekbone, like he was checking just how far he could go before you pulled away. 

you didn’t.

you breath caught, just for a second, a fragile heartbeat suspended between you. his eyes stayed on your face. finally, he dropped his hand, shifting slightly on the picnic mat so he absorbed most of the sun. 

“better?” he asked softly. you swallowed, forcing a tiny, shy smile. “mmhm.. just bright…”

“oh—crap, sorry baby,” jay’s voice cut in, warm and full of genuine concern. you turned just in time to see him breaking the conversation, already tugging off his cap. “sorry baby,” he apologised again. 

before you could tell him it’s okay—he leaned down to settle the cap gently over your hair, adjusting the brim with his fingers so your hair wouldn’t get messy. 

“there,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone—so close to where sunghoon was just grazing. “don’t want my girl burning up.”

you laughed softly, cheeks warming as you leaned in toward his shoulder shyly. “so cheesy,” you murmured, pressing your cheek against his forearm. 

sunshine bright, golden affection.

at the corner of your eyes, you saw sunghoon’s gaze slide back to you before he looked away, a small scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head. 

it wasn’t just that.

another day, after a dinner together with his friends, jay excused himself to the restroom, leaving you and just a few others outside the restaurant. it’d gotten chilly these past few days, and you cussed yourself for not wearing something warmer. 

you shifted your weight, exhaling a shaky breath that left a cloud in the air. 

“cold?” 

you hadn’t even noticed sunghoon watching you until his voice cut through the chatter. he stood slightly apart from the group, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. you blinked, caught. “what? nah, i’m fine,” 

a thin puff of white lip left your lips. 

sunghoon’s brow lifted just a little, one corner of his mouth tugging into a teasing smirk at your stubbornness. “yn, you’re shivering,” he chuckled, ruffling the back of his head. 

you shook your head again, but you were hugging yourself and that was already proof that you were lying. with no hesitation, suddenly his varsity jacket was draping over yours. heavy, warm, smelled so strongly of him—of sunghoon, one of your boyfriend’s bestfriend.

“sunghoon—” you started, holding the collar with awkward fingers, heat prickling up your neck. “you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he cut in simply, hands sliding back into his pockets like nothing happened. “just take it.” 

he shrugged lightly, eyes returning to the street. “just don’t get sick,” his gaze slid to you again, lingering just long enough. with a raise of his hands, sunghoon buttoned the top buttons of his jacket. “jay would feel awful.” 

you nodded, pursing your lips. “yeah, he would.”

——

you should’ve woken jay up and left when you felt your boyfriend’s head slowly drooping on your shoulder. heeseung sat on the floor with a pillow, already halfway gone, blinking slower and slower between scenes. 

sunghoon lounged on the other end of the couch, next to you, his legs rested atop of the coffee table. stretched back, black tee, fingers absentmindedly tapping the armrest. 

and you? 

you were indulging the movie. some romcom from 2004 about a girl navigating her way in the city, and a boy who wants to leave the city—you weren’t aware of the quiet and the closeness. 

at some point, jay’s head landed softly against your shoulder, his hands resting on the pillow on his lap. your heart warmed instinctively, and you adjusted the blanket over him just a little—out of muscle memory of love.

suddenly—breathless moans, bare skin, tangled limbs on screen.

“oh my god—” you gasped, too loud and sharp in the room. your hand flew to your pillow where you brought it up against your face, covering it. your other hand fumbled the remote where you smacked pause, making the audio cut mid–whimper.

jay stirred, but didn’t wake.

you could feel the heat rushing to your face, ears, everywhere, mortified. 

“what?” sunghoon murmured, voice low and almost confused, eyes on you rather than the frozen image on the screen. it didn’t help that the actor was obviously on top of the actress.

you shook your head. “nothing, nothing, just um—” your tongue felt clumsy, the silence pressed, soft breath of two sleeping boys, and the sharp awareness of the one awake beside you. 

raising a brow, sunghoon glanced at the screen, then back to you—before finally realising what was up. “ahhh,” he breathed, barely above a whisper, full of knowing. your cheeks burned, fingers tightening around the cushion, shoulders tensing. 

“stop,” you muffled, even though he hadn’t said anything else yet. 

“i didn’t say anything,” he chuckled, leaning back again. but his eyes didn’t leave your face. they stayed on you—amused. you swallowed, toes curling the sofa fabric. 

sunghoon’s grin widened as he propped his elbow on the backrest and his chin on the heel of his palm, now facing you. “are you getting shy over a sex scene?” he teased, tilting his head slightly. 

“you have a boyfriend, yn, don’t tell me a little sex movie makes you flustered.” he finished, voice dipping just low enough. 

slowly, you pulled the cushion away, shooting him a warning glare that was more like a kitten glare to him. “i’m not shy, i—i just didn’t expect that scene, okay?” you waved a hand helplessly at the paused screen, “it’s different watching it.”

sunghoon blinked slowly, eyebrows furrowed as he processed your phrasing. “...watching it…?

you nodded, rolling your eyes. “like—when it’s not theoretical, or—whatever.”

a beat of silence.

then, sunghoon’s lips parted, breath catching in a tiny laugh that slid right down your spine. 

“you mean,” he said softly, leaning closer like a predator humoring prey that hadn’t yet realised it was cornered. “when you haven’t done it yet?” 

you froze. 

your throat worked and nothing came out—you’re not good at lying.

you whispered, barely breathing, “...i wouldn’t know.” 

sunghoon still. then, slower than hunger, his head tilted and his lashes lowered. “right,” he murmured, gaze locked on your mouth. the room didn’t feel like a living room anymore. two boys slept inches away, but it felt like just the two of you breathing. 

“aren’t you curious?” 

you swallowed, pulse fluttering. “i mean… isn’t everyone?” you whispered, eyes fixed somewhere near his collarbone instead of his eyes. “at one point of their life? it’s not like i—” you exhaled, glancing briefly at jay’s hands on his lap. “it’s everything… and i respect his choice.”

sunghoon’s brows lifted. “his choice,” he tasted the words at the tip of his tongue. “and yours?” 

you blinked at him, “mine?” 

“you respect his,” he leaned just enough that your knees brushed against each other. “but what about you? anyone ever asked you what you want?” 

you breath caught, you shifted on your seat, pulling your legs closer to your chest. “that’s not—” you murmured, eyes dropping to sunghoon’s hand playing with the drawstring of his sweats. “i don’t… i don’t want to do anything wrong.”

sunghoon smiled faintly, like he’s coaxing a kitten from under the table. 

“wrong?” he echoed, “yn, i’m not talking about… cheating.” he shrugged, brushing the cushion by your knee. “i’m asking if you ever think about learning. understanding, not because you were lacking—” his gaze flicked down to the bobbed in your throat, “but because you’re curious. you deserve to know your body, not just wait for someone else to figure out first.” 

your heart skipped.

holy shit.

then sunghoon continued, “there are ways to… explore. to feel without crossing lines you don’t want to cross.” 

you stared at your boyfriend’s friend, helpless and burning, brain blank except for the pounding rhythm of your heart, and the heat slowly pooling in your stomach. 

“...what are you saying?”

sunghoon’s smiled curled, his fingers pinching and releasing his locks. “i’m saying," he murmured. “you respect him. that’s why you don’t do anything.”

he breathed a soft scoff at the thought—a girl like you existed, perfect in all edges, and yet jay couldn’t give you that one thing you probably wanted in a relationship. his eyes cut toward jay sleeping by your side, before returning to you.

“but if you’re holding back for him…” he leaned in just a fraction, and your pussy twitched—you swore you felt your panties getting wet. 

“...what’s stopping you from learning with someone who isn’t asking you to wait?”

your lips parted, breath shaky. 

“with me, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

lies.

“hngh, mhh,” you whimpered against his lips—sunghoon pressed his lips against yours, muffling your little moans and whimpers and mewls, one hand sliding down your tummy and beneath your panties. 

he slipped his tongue inside yours, tangling and twirling and dancing with your tongue, breath warm and heaty. his rough hand grazed your clit, just airy and barely there bit it elicited a hitched sound from you. 

using two fingers to stroke and rub your clit in circular motion, sunghoon dipped his fingers between your labia where he scooped your juice to lather over your cunt. “you’re so wet,” sunghoon murmured, nipping at your earshell. 

you shifted on his lap, throwing your head back against his chest, heart shuddering where his hand rubbed your wet pussy. “fuck,” he breathed, feeling his painfully aching cock pressed between your asscheeks. 

“are you wet for me, baby?” he continued, licking the curved shell before kissing your concha. you nodded pathetically, both hands holding sunghoon’s other hand that rested on your tummy, anchoring yourself down on his lap.

the way he worked with your cunt left you breathless, fingertip grazing and flicking the little pea, ring and middle fingers dipping just at the entrance where it teased—contemplating if you deserve to be fingered or not. 

“d—don’t tease me, sunghoon,” you gasped softly arching your back, which made your ass pressed harder on sunghoon’s bulge. the boy hissed, nipping at the soft skin just below your jaw. “no baby,” he murmured warmly. 

again, sunghoon dipped the second crease of his ring inside your pussy, teasing. “call me hoonie and i’ll finger you,” he continued, lapping his tongue on the spot he’d just bitten. you let out a soft moan, squeezing his hand. 

nodding, you wanted to rock and buck your hips against his palm, but not sure if that was the right thing to do, so you opted to let sunghoon take the lead. “hoonie, hoonie, please?” you pleaded adorably, just the way sunghoon liked it.

with a light chuckle, continuing a little rubbing on your pussy, sunghoon slid one finger inside your cunt, already making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “hngh,” your body responded nicely, back arching as sunghoon began pumping his finger in and out.

just one and he’s got you folded like origami? 

“baby, relax,” he whispered, one hand (still being gripped by your hands) moved to lift your top, letting it rest above your collarbone. sunghoon hooked one finger underneath your bra as he pulled it up, your pretty tits bouncing lewdly. 

running his thumb over one perky nipple, it distracted you enough for him to slide another finger in, two fingers already stuffing his tight cunt full. “oh, oh god, hngh—” you whimpered like a kitten, fingers curling around his palm. 

sunghoon began moving his fingers to his knuckles, in and out, back and forth, biting his bottom lip at the faint wet noises from your slickness coating his fingers. instinctively, you started rocking your hips against his palm, burying his fingers deeper inside.

“fuck, your pussy’s gripping my fingers,” he moaned as you grinded on his cock. sunghoon didn’t know if that was on purpose, but fuck that felt good. his fingers made a scissoring motion inside of you, stretching you good and nice for something bigger—his desperate, throbbing cock. 

leaving a hickey just behind your ear, sunghoon then curled his fingers inside of you, pressing against your gummy soft spot. you whimper a broken moan, head tipping back against his chest. “hoonie, oh there,” you breathed out, guts twisting in your tummy. “right there, please, feels s’good there,” 

knowing you were close, sunghoon picked up his pace, fingers started thrusting into you faster and faster, pressing the spot harder as his thumb circled your clit mercilessly, you were making a mess out of his hand, wetting your pants. 

his other hand tugged on your nipple where he rolled the bud between his fingerpads, pinching and flicking with his index. “oh shit, hngh, think ‘m cumming, mhh,” you cried out softly, the pressure building up inside of you. 

the orgasm hit—you arched your back and squirted on sunghoon’s hand, legs shaking and trembling in sunghoon’s lap. “mh—oh hoonie, ah,” sunghoon gave your pussy a couple more pumping, helping you ride out your high.

once you’ve weakened on him, he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, your pussy twitched and clamping around nothing—the sudden emptiness. he brought his hand to his mouth and licked it clean—just his ring finger. 

then, he brought his middle, the one that’s still coated with your squirt and juice over to your lips, where he parted them. “taste yourself baby,” he murmured, slipping his finger inside your mouth where you sucked on it.

you rolled your tongue around his finger, bobbing your head—and god if it weren’t for the situation and the place the two of you were going to fuck, sunghoon would definitely make you suck his cock sloppy.

but your boyfriend and heeseung were sleeping just a few feet away—and as much as sunghoon fucking loved—and loved to fuck you—he also loved his position in the team. 

besides, there’s always next time.

this wasn’t going to be the last time sunghoon fucked you.

“take out my cock, baby,” he hissed, pulling both your pants and panties down. you shivered at the cold air that made contact with your puffy, wet pussy, shivering under his touch. sunghoon was desperate, there’s a wet patch on his grey sweats from his precum, and he couldn’t be bothered with the foreplay but fuck—

it’s you.

his girl—but you didn’t know that yet—that’s going to get her cherry popped by him. so of course he needed to treat you gently. full of love—prove that he’s better than your boyfriend.

nodding, you backed a little to settle his clothed tent just in front of your pussy. lifting yourself up a little to pull down sunghoon’s sweats and boxes, your eyes widened as his throbbing, angry, needy cock sprung out, slapping your cunt. 

precum oozed and trailed down from the tip along the side and it looked scary—scary at how that thing will be stretching and pounding your pussy. you swallowed the lump in your throat, heart thumping. “h—hoonie, you’re so…” 

sunghoon chuckled, one hand still toying with your nipple. “yeah, baby,” he groaned, his cock twitching. “i’m gonna mold your insides to the shape of my cock.” he teased, using his free hand to guide your soft hands, making you wrapped your them around his shaft.

it’s so… textured, and so big. “jerk me off a little, baby,” he murmured against your ear where he once again, rolled his tongue around the curve. “pump me a little, make him feel good.” 

you nodded obediently, beginning to stroke it. behind you, sunghoon’s breath hitched, you’re lathering his precum around his cock, and using it as lube to make it more slippery. but that wasn’t enough—”spit on it, babe.” 

you gathered a blob of saliva in your mouth, letting it fall past your lips as the warm thick liquid landed straight on the head, before it dripped down along your knuckles. “ahh, fuck, so warm,” he rasped, bucking your hips slowly to your grip.

you’re feeling confident at his reaction—you felt good. pumping his cock up and down, up and down, you gave it occasional squeezes where it’s soft, eliciting a rough moan from his chest. his heavy breathing reverberates against your back as your stroked him from the base up to the head.

“feels good, hoonie?” you bit down your lower lip, picking up your pace, his veins dragged against your soft palms. sunghoon nodded pathetically and eagerly, using both hands to fondle your tits like stressballs. “so fucking good, baby just do your thing,”

god, that boosted your ego. you pressed your thumbpad against the tip, rolling around where he’s sensitive. sunghoon bucked his hips instinctively. “there, fuck, there babe,” he breathed out, thrusting into your grip. languid strokes filled the living room, wet and sloshy. 

you played around the mushroom head, twirling your thumb, while the other hand stroked him back and forth. sunghoon felt it building up—as he quickened his pace, one last stroke of your hand made him ejaculate, shooting ropes of cum over your knuckles. 

“fuckkkkk,” he hissed, as quiet as he could and his balls pumped cum, squeezing your tits like he’s holding himself sane. you let out a soft gasp, this was the first time you’d ever seen a guy cumming up close. 

sunghoon tipped his head back as you released your grip around his dick, letting it fall limply and tapping against your pussy. slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. “hoonie… now what?” you murmured so softly and so cutely, sunghoon felt his cock twitch again. 

his spine straightened as he leaned forward, pressing his back against you. “what do you wanna do baby?” his lips ghosted over your lips. “tell your hoonie.” he continued, pecking your lips. heat rushed to your face as you bit down your bottom lip. 

“i… want your cock inside my pussy,” you whispered shyly, leaning to take his lips in yours. sunghoon grinned, “whatever you want.” he wrapped his hand around his cock to guide it to your pussy, teasingly rubbing the wet head between your pussy lips.

you moan softly, whimpering, “you’re such a tease,” the sensation was not the ideal amount of friction, but teasing felt so good—like the rising action before the climax. sunghoon chuckled, watching as his head collected and mixed with your juices. 

“if you let me fuck you like a boyfriend, i’ll fuck you stupid,” he murmured into your ear, teasing you as he slipped in the head, then pulled out. you couldn’t take it anymore—nodding and turning your head to kiss sunghoon on the lips, you were about to do just anything to lose your virginity tonight.

“mmhm—mmhm, please, you can be my boyfriend hoonie,” you pleaded, grinding your pussy along his cock. fuck—that was all that sunghoon’s ever wanted to hear. he’s done playing the side bitch for the last two months. 

grabbing ahold of your hip, sunghoon’s cockhead pushed past your entrance where it stretched her again. 

“hah—!” you half–whispered, half–gasped, feeling sunghoon’s cock slowly getting buried deeper, and deeper until the curve of your ass made contact with his pelvis. “my fucking goood,” he whined, letting it still for you to adjust yourself, walls clenching at the sudden fullness. “so tight, baby, holy shit,” 

you knew he was big, but fuck did he grow inside? you should’ve seen this coming the second his cock sprung out of his sweats.

“i’ll let you move first, baby,” he nipped your jaw, one hand circling your pussy to help you loosened, the other fondling your tit. fuck sunghoon loved your boobs. “don’t wanna hurt my pretty girl,” 

you nodded, slowly began grinding back and forth, stirring your hips in circle. “s’big hoonie,” you whimpered, going in all directions. the pace of your grinding gradually picked up as sunghoon started rocking his hips too in short and deep thrusts.

he shifted in his seat, sitting up right and comfortably. then, his hands slid under your things, fingers curling possessively as he lifted you easily, guiding you higher on his lap. 

sunghoon began thrusting his cock back and forth, in and out of your wet pussy. so wet it slipped back in perfectly with no resistance. “ah fuck,” he rasped, laboured breathing at your back combined with the wet sounds connecting from where your skins met.

he hefted up your legs, almost pushing them to either side of your head, but your flexibility could only go so far. sunghoon drove into you at a pace, balls slapping wetly against your cunt with every thrust. 

you moaned, playing with your own tits as you tried muffling your moans with one hand. this new angle allowed sunghoon to reach and hit deeper inside, knocking on your cervix that it jerked your body upward. 

it also just hit you that you were displayed so erotically in front of your sleeping boyfriend and his friend. the second jay fluttered his eyes open—he’d instantly be greeted with the sight of his girlfriend being fucked reverse cowgirl by his own bestfriend.

alcohol couldn’t even be blamed. 

“harder, hoonie, deeper,” you drooled, tits bouncing with each pound of sunghoon’s cock. sunghoon obeyed, picking up his pace, his cock was barely seen before it disappeared again, engulfed by your needy pussy. 

“shit, i love you so much,” he confessed, licking your saliva that slipped at the corner of your lip. it’s disgusting, but it’s you, so who gave a fuck, really?

sunghoon was pounding into you so hard it felt like he was going to tear your body apart. your g–spot was being stimulated with every graze of his cock. while he felt like his cock was going to burst if you kept clenching and gripping around it like a vice. 

his grip on yours was like iron, not letting you move an inch as he did all the work—slamming his cock deep inside you that you swore he was trying to rearrange your guts.

“oh my god, oh god,” you cried out, arching your back as you tipped your head on sunghoon shoulder. his speed increased, and rapidly reaching at a pace he didn’t know existed. “you’re gonna cum baby?” he hummed, mixed with panting and heavy breathing as he kissed your temple.

you nodded, the air was being fucked out of your lungs that it’s hard to even form a simple yes—you squeezed your eyes shut, eyelids fluttering with each time sunghoon’s cock pistoned into you.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum too,” he hissed almost painfully, your walls spasmed around him unforgivingly as you rode out your second orgasm. sunghoon’s hips began to stutter, and so were his grip on your thighs. 

“uh huh, hoonie, please, please, cum inside—are you going to cum inside me?”

sunghoon cocked a brow, before a chuckle left his lips. “yn baby,” he licked a long stride of your cheek. “if i give you a creampie, you’ll get knocked up with my baby,” he groaned softly at the thought, slamming his cock. 

“smart girls like you should know that we should get married first.”

gosh—you weren’t in your right mind anymore. it was as if sunghoon’s cock had messily scattered all the knowledge inside your brain, he truly was fucking you dumb and stupid. 

the tip of his cock kissed your cervix—and with one brutal slam that knocked the air out of your lungs, sunghoon immediately hefted you up, his cock sprung out wobbly and almost instantly, shot out a second round of cum ropes on your tummy.

decorating your pussy with thick white semen, you let out a gush of wetness on sunghoon’s pelvis—your moans being muffled by sunghoon’s hand. he knew you would let out the sexiest sound known to man, but he couldn’t risk you being caught and humiliated. 

your legs trembled as sunghoon milked every drop out of his pulsing cock. twitching as they softened on your cunt. 

chests heaving and exhausted, you collapsed on sunghoon’s chest. he gently let go of your legs, settling you between his legs as his cock pressed against your bag. “oh my god,” you panted, resting your head against sunghoon’s chest.

he pulled down your shirt before wrapping his arms around your waist, lifting you up slightly closer. nuzzling into the warmth of the crook of your neck, sunghoon gently kissed your skin, rubbing circles on your tummy. 

“how’s that. baby?” he hummed, getting all giddy and jittery. you lolled your head lazily, holding his hands that rested on your stomach. “feels s’good…” you mumbled, slowly feeling your eyelids growing heavier. 

sunghoon kissed your cheek with a soft mwah—”don’t sleep on me yet,” he murmured, lips grazing your flesh. “still gotta get my girlfriend cleaned up.” 

in front of you, jay groaned softly, getting comfortable on the sofa—still not awakened.

you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.

you’d been on dates.

enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.

enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.

enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.

you’d slept with some of them, too.

sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.

you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.

you just didn’t have it in you anymore.

the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.

so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.

you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.

you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.

maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.

being alone didn’t scare you.

what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.

every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.

it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.

you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.

tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.

your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.

you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.

until it buzzed again. then again. and again.

you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.

mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.

“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.

“you sound like shit,” mingyu replied, warm and easy.

you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”

fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.

“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.

“mm,” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”

a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”

you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”

“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.

your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you for a moment. “he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”

despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”

the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.

“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”

“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.

“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.

his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”

the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.

his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.

“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight, though. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”

“mm,” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.

his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.

“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.

“because you picked up,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.

you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”

there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.

“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”

your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you are such an asshole.”

“tell me i’m wrong,” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.

you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.

“yeah. that’s what i thought,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“and correct,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.

you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”

“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.

“gyu—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.

“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”

“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”

“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”

you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”

his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”

you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”

“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”

“that was emotional,” you defended.

“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”

“you’re actually unbearable,” you muttered.

“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”

you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”

his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”

he ended the call before you could get another word in.

you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.

your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.

eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.

you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.

the soft outline of mingyu’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.

you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.

you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.

the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.

piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.

none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.

you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.

you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.

you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.

you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.

it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.

the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

“yo,” mingyu called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”

you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said flatly. “i told you not to come.”

“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”

he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.

it was just shoes. nothing more.

except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked them halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.

the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.

you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.

with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”

“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.

he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”

he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.

“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”

“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.

he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”

“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”

“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”

“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”

he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.

there was no hesitation. no second thought.

only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.

if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.

yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.

he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.

without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.

he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly as he pulled it free in one smooth motion.

you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.

the water slid over his veins as if it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.

every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and each flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention towards you instead.

before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.

he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.

he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.

it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.

yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt the dampness pool against the cotton of your shorts.

you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt, but there was no denying it.

your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than just leaving it.

your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, his muscles shifting with every pull.

it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.

he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.

when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.

the fabric of his sweats pulled tightly across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.

a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.

a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.

there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.

too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.

you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.

the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.

most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.

with mingyu, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.

something in you gave way the longer you watched him.

it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.

suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.

you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.

the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.

by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.

“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”

you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.

he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”

“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.

he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”

your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”

“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”

your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.

he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.

the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.

you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.

“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”

you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.

he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.

you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “soonyoung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”

your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”

“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”

“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.

“seungkwan even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.

your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.

“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.

“it gets worse,” he assured, “seokmin told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.

your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s actually insane.”

mingyu’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.

you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.

the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.

even if he didn’t, it still left you warm and restless, your shorts clinging tighter as your pulse tripping over itself.

you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.

without any warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.

you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.

every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.

your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”

“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.

“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”

he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate it when it does.”

your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”

“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”

you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.

your shorts clung even tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.

by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes still hadn’t left him once.

his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.

“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.

“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”

you shifted slightly, tugging your knees in closer as the words spilled out before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”

he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”

“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, trying to find the words. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”

he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”

“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”

he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”

“it’s not nothing, gyu!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”

he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.

at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”

he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”

“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”

his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”

“shut up,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

“no fucking way,” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone? the boys have to hear this—”

your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”

his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”

you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. no. absolutely not—”

he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.

he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.

“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.

“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”

his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.

you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”

he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”

you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.

“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.

he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”

“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”

his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.

“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”

“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.

he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.

you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”

he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.

your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.

the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. silence settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.

you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.

he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.

the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.

your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.

your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.

the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.

the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.

every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed directly against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.

his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.

a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.

the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension snapped.

you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.

he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.

his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.

the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.

the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.

his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.

every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.

his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.

his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slowly over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.

his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.

the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.

“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”

your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.

you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.

“gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”

his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.

“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”

the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.

his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.

your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.

he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around him.

your back met the mattress before you even realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without once breaking the kiss.

he hovered above you, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”

“still with you,” you whispered.

he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.

he caught the details no one else ever did; every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.

his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.

he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.

the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.

“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”

your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.

his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.

his mouth traced you in reverence, each touch tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.

his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.

he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.

he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.

your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.

his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.

you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.

he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.

your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.

your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.

“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”

you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”

his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”

you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”

he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”

you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”

his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”

he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.

his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.

his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them a little further apart, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.

you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled himself lower, kissing along your jaw.

“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck.

your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.

“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”

his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.

his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.

he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.

he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped towards him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.

he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.

“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.

his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.

the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.

every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.

his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.

his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.

“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”

his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.

your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.

“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly even touched you.”

your voice broke apart on his name. “gyu—”

he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”

the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.

“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”

his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.

“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”

instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.

“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”

“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.

he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.

“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”

your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.

“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.

his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.

“oh, baby,” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.

he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”

you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.

“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”

his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.

the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.

his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.

he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.

he gently lifted your leg, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.

each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.

your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.

“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”

your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.

he didn’t let you finish it.

his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.

the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.

your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.

“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.

he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.

the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.

your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.

he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.

heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.

you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.

“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—gyu.”

he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.

he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.

your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”

another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.

pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”

your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.

his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.

“gyu—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.

he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”

your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.

when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.

your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.

your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.

each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.

by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.

his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”

a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “gyu, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”

his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.

“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”

he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”

his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.

what began tender turned restless in seconds.

his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.

his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.

it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.

a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.

you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.

“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”

“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.

you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.

he huffed a laugh, his eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.

“shut up,” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.

your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.

heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”

“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”

a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.

your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.

“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.

as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.

before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.

“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”

you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”

his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.

“gyu—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.

“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”

he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.

a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.

“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”

he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.

his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.

“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”

your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, gyu—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.

his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”

your thighs quivered, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”

he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”

he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.

the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.

after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.

“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.

your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, gyu, don’t—”

he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.

“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”

your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.

“gyu—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.

he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.

“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”

your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.

the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.

he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”

he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “gyu—w-why…what are you—”

“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”

desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips back onto the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.

you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.

he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.

his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.

“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.

your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.

his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.

your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”

the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.

he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.

“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.

“gyu—” his name slipped from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”

his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.

“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”

your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.

“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”

your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—gyu, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”

“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.

“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “mingyu, i—fuck—i can’t—”

his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”

you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “gyu—”

“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”

your third release tore through you, carrying his first with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.

he stilled for a moment, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.

there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.

when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice.

he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.

his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs; each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.

“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”

your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

he lingered a second longer, his thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.

he bent down to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.

the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.

by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.

the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted.

at first it was just silence, but eventually, that silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.

you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.

sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.

a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. the excuse about an early morning.

sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.

your heart sank.

what if this was that moment?

what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?

what if you’d just ruined everything?

before the thoughts could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.

“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.

you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you.

his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, and a warm cloth in the other.

your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”

you tried to smile, but it wavered.

“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you already woke all of the neighbors up.”

a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.

he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”

his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.

you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.

no one had ever done this for you before.

the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.

but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.

“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”

he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.

he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.

as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.

he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.

“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.

you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.

you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”

your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”

you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”

the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.

“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”

you froze, but he continued nonetheless.

“you don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”

“you never said anything,” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.

his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away. “never felt like my place.”

“gyu…” you whispered.

he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.

“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.

“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face for any clues on what he could be referring to.

his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.

“how easy you are to love.”

you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d completely forgotten how to work.

“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”

your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, completely undone by the gentleness in his voice.

“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”

he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose them.”

you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”

“i meant what i said, you know,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years. “and i know my feelings aren’t one sided, either, ms. choreplay.”

tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole, kim mingyu.”

“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”

he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “my god, you’re always so full of yourself.”

his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”

You're bored. You've been bored for the past hour, maybe more. The restaurant is the typical high-end quiet place that whispers luxury and closed society in ways people who don't come from wealth—especially old money—would totally miss. The music here is a suggestion, not an obvious presence. Somehow you're glad today isn't a live band day; you'd develop a migraine faster.

You sit at a round table—your dearest mother and father on your left, and this guy with his family to your right. You don't even make an effort to memorise his name. It's either Nathan or Henry, but you couldn't care less.

It's a familiar routine with you and your parents. For the past couple of years, the closer you get to thirty, the more insistent they become on using you as an ace card in your father's business game. Finding you a match that brings the most prosperous deal to the table. Every time you think too deeply about the fact that your own family is trying to sell you off in hopes that some wealthy son will think with his… secondary brain and want to marry you, you shut the thought down. It makes you want to puke.

This one is the worst so far, you think. Not a single attempt at conversation from him sparks even a hint of interest. And the more distracted you become, the more often you catch your father's infuriated stare and your mother's hand subtly pinching your thigh or side every few minutes. They've been more insistent, less patient recently, exhausting their options with increasing speed the more you sabotage them.

You think you've been somewhat smart about your tactics. Sometimes it's as obvious as today. Sometimes you give them false hope—a smooth dinner, maybe even one date—but it never moves past that.

Tonight, as you subtly observe the young man beside you, the urge to shut him down grows stronger. Actually, you hate men, period. Well, most of them. But you hate these ones most of all, the kind who try so desperately to look like they mean business, masking how badly they want to be respected, to climb. You often imagine men like him taking orders from those above them, or how in secret they might want to be pegged.

The thought makes you chuckle quietly as you trace the stem of your glass with your index finger.

"Something on your mind?" a voice cuts in. It's him—Henry or Nathan, as you continue to wrack your brain between two options—leaning slightly toward you with a smile that is supposed to be charming or even private but is just empty.

You glance at him, your own smile thinning. "Just appreciating the crystal." Your voice is flat, devoid of invitation.

He blinks, off balance for a second, then recovers. "It is fine quality. My father imports these from a family-owned studio in Munich."

You hum, noncommittal, and take a slow sip of water. Of course your daddy does.

The conversation doesn't go anywhere else from here. Your thoughts of this guy being pegged real hard are interrupted and your smile is wiped from your face quite a few minutes later the moment your father calls your name, drawing the table's attention to you. You look up, an eyebrow arching—a habit you picked up from someone your father would hate to know hangs around you quite a lot.

"Did Henry say something funny, sweetheart?" The lighthearted tone is deceptive. You see it in his eyes, that silent warning to behave.

You couldn't care less. Your expression turns impassive. So, it is Henry.

"No, he didn't," you say evenly. At least not to me remains unsaid. You haven't been listening at all, trying to entertain yourself with your thoughts. But your parents read between the lines anyway. You hate that they choose to put you on the spot as reprimand. Maybe they think it's right, getting back at you for embarrassing them. You're not sure how they expect silent compliance when they raised you to be sharp, or how they expect obedience after violently attempting to take away the only thing that ever made you happy. There's not a chance you'll trust or listen to them again after that.

"Care to share with the table what you were giggling about, then?" your father presses, his jaw tight beneath the pleasant facade.

Your expression hardens, challenging him silently. This, like many other things with you and your parents, is a familiar dance. He built you like a son—independent, opinionated—but hated it every time you turned on him. Now he wants you docile. Quiet. Probably dumb. He should know he's treading dangerous territory when he pokes you like this.

You feel your entire body lock into fight mode.

"Darling," your mother whispers under her breath, a barely audible plea. It's meant to placate you, to stop you from rising to the bait, from making a scene. And just for her—because while she's had her moments, she's endured enough of your father's bullshit, and she doesn't deserve more, certainly not because of you—you force your shoulders to relax. You plaster on a polite smile.

"Sorry, Dad," you say, your tone saccharine sweet. "It was rude of me to drift off. I apologise." You offer a brief, contrite smile to Henry's parents. His mother looks intensely uncomfortable, her eyes darting between her son and your father. You pity her, though you pity yourself more.

Henry's father clears his throat, attempting to steer the conversation back to safe, tedious waters. "As I was saying, the merger prospects in the southeast sector are quite promising, provided the regulatory…"

His voice fades into a dull buzz. You tune it out, focusing on the cool weight of your fork in your hand. Henry, emboldened by your supposed apology, tries again.

"Do you follow the art scene? There's a new exhibition at the National Museum I was planning to attend this weekend."

You turn your head toward him slowly. "I find most curated exhibitions to be a little… sanitised. I prefer art with teeth. The kind that makes people uncomfortable."

He stares, his smile stiffening. "I… see."

You don't elaborate. The silence between you stretches until his mother gently asks your mother about the floral arrangements for a spring charity gala. The script resumes.

It's all good, though. It has to be over soon. You take a slow, deep breath and brace yourself.

However, as you let your eyes wander beyond the table, before you can even exhale, something catches your attention—and your breath. You look behind your father and fully freeze, forcing your expression to remain neutral so it doesn't raise any alarms in your parents.

There, a couple of tables away, you spot Seungcheol. He's just finished shaking hands with some suited man and is sitting back down as the other leaves. You wonder how long he's been there. Probably a while; it looks like he just concluded a business dinner. Has he noticed you yet?

Your question is answered almost immediately. Seungcheol looks up from the glass of whisky he's tapping lightly on the tablecloth, and his gaze lands on you—smouldering, knowing. He's been here for long enough. He's been observing. To any outsider he looks unreadable, calm, but you see the way his eyes blaze, the way they briefly flicker toward the man on your right. To you, his quiet possessiveness is so glaringly obvious it burns through the distance and right into your skin. It makes you want him more than you should in this moment. Far more.

You swallow hard, suddenly salivating. He looks so good in his black suit and shirt, the top button already undone. And just to make it worse, he slowly reaches up and undoes another one as he holds your stare, the corner of his naturally downturned plush lips quirking up just barely. Fucking tease, you think, but force your expression to stay blank.

You don't even notice you're sitting up straighter, tauter, breathing shallowly, until a polite laugh from your right snaps you back. You feel pulled out of water—disoriented, breathless, lost. You down the rest of your wine, grab your clutch, and excuse yourself from the table with a placid smile, your voice impressively steady as you speak up.

Your mother gives a tight, approving nod. Your father's eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing. Fortunately, neither of them has noticed Seungcheol, who is already standing, moving casually in the direction of the bathrooms that are thankfully absolutely out of sight.

He's there when you round the corner, leaning against the wall opposite the restroom doors, watching your every step. You move past him as if he isn't there, pushing into the women's lounge.

The faint ambient music is slightly louder here in the quiet. You walk toward the counter with its several sinks and wide wall mirror, setting your clutch down. A tremor runs through you in anticipation as you watch the door in the reflection. You're not disappointed. It opens, and Seungcheol steps through, locking it behind him with a soft click. His eyes sweep the space, checking the open, empty stalls. You hear him hum in satisfaction before his footsteps approach.

"Hi, beautiful," he murmurs, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. His lips go to your neck, planting a kiss that makes you shiver and grab the edge of the counter. "You look splendid, baby."

"Ain't so bad yourself," you respond, a cheeky smile playing on your lips as his eyes meet yours in the mirror. Amusement dances in his expression. "What are you doing here? Didn't expect to see you," you add, changing the topic briefly even though you can guess.

"Had to close a deal with a new supplier for my father. Nothing interesting." Seungcheol explains, his voice a low rumble near your ear. You hum in understanding as he lands another soft kiss, this time on your shoulder, before turning you around to face him. "You, however," he says, his eyebrow raising inquiringly. "What was that?"

You have to bite the inside of your bottom lip to suppress a smile—both because he looks so hot when he's possessive like this, and because his eyebrow thingy is one of the little quirks you find the most charming in him.

"Just the usual. My parents trying to set me up to land them a generational business deal," you shrug with an eye roll. Your hands come up and begin picking at the lapels of his jacket absentmindedly. You're tired, and Seungcheol can tell. He knows. After all, your parents tried desperately to ruin your relationship with him five years ago.

They were fine with you doing whatever you wanted during college, and you really thought it was possible to stay with Seungcheol. He had everything on their list: an old-money background, a family business that promised a ridiculously prosperous merger with your father's company. And on top of that, you were happy. You actually loved him. But as soon as you had your degree, they did everything to pull you apart. It's because you suffered so much under their relentless pressure that Seungcheol suggested you pretend to finally break up and see him secretly instead. Whether your parents think they fully succeeded or they know you're still seeing your "ex" and are simply choose to ignore the truth for now, you don't know and don't care—as long as they don't try to lock you away again.

You still don't fully understand what triggered your father's hostility toward the Choi family, but you have a hunch. It likely had something to do with his huge, fragile ego being lethally bruised by Seungcheol's father in some way. Why your mother supported him so fiercely on this matter—is a real mystery you can't seem to solve to this day.

"So wound up," Seungcheol coos, bringing you back to the present. You blink, looking up from where your fingers have been beginning to trace the open collar of his shirt. "Do I need to help my baby relax?" he asks, brushing your cheekbone with his knuckles in a feather-light touch. You lean into it—a reflex you can't control. His tone is suggestively soft, and you feel yourself shiver, a familiar warm heaviness settling low in your belly. "Yeah?" He smiles knowingly when your fingers unconsciously clutch the fabric of his lapel.

You shake your head, forcing your body to relax. "No, Cheol, we don't have time for that. They'll grow suspicious if I'm away too long," you say, brushing the fabric to straighten it out before removing your hands from him, feeling regretful that you have to leave, and turn around to grab your purse.

But before you can, Seungcheol comes half a step closer, pressing you gently into the counter and bracketing you with his arms. You startle briefly, your hands flying to the front and pressing onto the marble edge for support, before you look up to see him in the mirror, behind you.

"Sorry, princess. Can't let you go without marking you up properly," he whispers, his lips pressing softly right beneath your ear—that sensitive spot he knows quickly makes you weak in the knees. Your updo is working against you, giving him far too much access. He nuzzles there afterwards, and you notice your breathing already turning shallow. "I really don't like the idea of you going back out there there all stiff and tired and nervous, hmm." He purrs. You see him watching you through the reflection, not a hint of serious sympathy on his face.

His warm brown eyes, framed by those long, fluffy lashes and heavy lidded with intent, are hypnotising. He lifts his head just enough so his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "Want you to reek of me when you head back."

You swallow thickly, attempting to grasp some control, but you know there's none left. "Cheol," you try, appealing to a conscience you know is absent when his greed for you is stoked. Seungcheol isn't controlling, isn't toxic, but he hates sharing what's his. And you are his.

Over the past couple of years as your parents grow more insistent, Seungcheol's patience for staying secret thins in geometrical progression to their efforts. Seeing you in the company of another man, even against your will, only stokes that primal need to mark his territory.

However, you've been deranged for a long time now when it comes to Seungcheol. Because it turns you on to know that people around you will see that you're his, whether it's subtle or obvious. The thought alone makes your skin flush hotter under his mouth.

"Just a little," he coaxes, his voice a velvet promise. "Enough so only you and I know." His teeth graze the spot, not biting, just threatening, and a helpless sound escapes you. "That's it," he murmurs approvingly, one hand moving from the counter to your hip and up over your curves until he gently tilts your head to the side. "Let me take care of you. Let me remind you who you belong to."

You close your eyes for a second, surrendering to the sensation, to the feeling that always comes with being in his arms. The feeling that you're at the right place.

Seungcheol's lips are warm and soft when they press over the spot his teeth just grazed.

You feel both his hands settle on your hips again, their heat seeping through the silk of your dress. His palms caress and squeeze the flesh there, eliciting soft sighs from your lips.

A hum builds deep in his throat, low and approving, as his mouth moves again—slow, leaving a wet trail over your skin until he tugs on your earring with his teeth. It's just enough to make your pussy clench needily around nothing, and you moan in a whisper. "Cheol.."

He smiles at you through the mirror, lazy and satisfied, when you press back into him reflexively, seeking. "Bend over for me, princess," he murmurs, and gently presses his palm between your shoulder blades.

You comply, leaning over the cool marble counter, holding yourself up on your forearms.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice thick. He begins to lift the slip of your dress, bunching the cherry red fabric up over your waist.

You watch Seungcheol in the reflection, seeing his eyes run over your legs and ass appreciatively. Extra so, since you're wearing his favourite colours. "So pretty," he murmurs, his voice rough. "This colour against your skin... fuck." His fingers trace the dip of your spine until he hooks a finger into the waistband of your matching red lace. He tugs, seemingly fascinated. "Wearing my colours to a dinner with another man? My little rebel," he chuckles, and lets go, allowing the band to snap against your skin.

You flinch, biting the inside of your lip to stifle a whimper. He hums in satisfaction, continuing his path of exploration as if he hasn't done it a hundred times before. Seungcheol's touch is loving in its thoroughness, murmuring praises as he reaches the backs of your thighs. But his next action is pure degradation. He kneads the swell of your ass for a moment, and then his palm lands on your bared skin with a sharp, stinging slap. The sound echoes crisply in the tiled room. You gasp quietly, your fingers splaying against the counter. Heat blooms instantly, contrasting with the cool air.

"One more," Seungcheol says softly, relishing the way his handprint flares red on your skin.

He delivers another, a fraction harder, on the other cheek. Your body jolts forward, and a quiet, punched-out mewl escapes you. "Good girl. Taking everything so well." He pats your butt affectionately as you wiggle slightly.

You hear the clink of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper, and the shuffle of fabric as he slips out of his suit jacket. He folds it neatly by your purse before meticulously rolling his sleeves up. More rustling, and then you feel him pressing against your backside—the warmth of his body, the way his hardening cock presses into your skin.

His fingers hook into the side of your flimsy lace panties, peeling the material off your wet cunt and simply pushing it aside. The air hits your now-exposed folds, making you clench involuntarily. Seungcheol runs two fingers through your slit, gathering wetness, and lets out a gratified groan right by your ear as he leans over.

"Soaked already," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He presses the pads of his fingers against your clit in slow, circling pressure that makes your knees threaten to give out. "All this for me? Just from sitting there, knowing I was watching?" He continues stroking through your folds, smearing and collecting your arousal. He slips a finger inside you, just to the first knuckle—a tease rather than relief—and you whimper, pushing back against his hand. "Greedy little thing. Does your pussy miss me this much, baby girl? Hmm?" Seungcheol asks, and sinks his finger deeper, making you melt and clench around the invading digit.

"Yes, Daddy," you sigh, and your whole body shudders when he adds a second finger. "Please..." You know you need to be quiet, but you can't. If he continues teasing you like this, you're going to have a hard time keeping it down.

"Please what, love? Use your big girl words," he encourages, his voice dripping with both malice and adoration for the way you're coming undone so easily.

"Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad," you breathe, your eyes bleary and desperate when you meet Seungcheol's in the reflection. The corner of his mouth quirks up in approval.

He doesn't play with you for long after that. Withdrawing his hand, you hear him spit into his palm—the sound lewd and thrilling. The slick, rhythmic sound of him fisting his cock follows, working himself to full hardness, spreading the spit as a crude lubricant. His other hand returns to your hip, holding you firmly in place.

Seungcheol guides himself to you, the rounded, hot head of his cock nudging against your entrance, catching. He swipes through your folds slowly, once, twice, coating himself in your arousal for good measure, teasing your quivering hole until you're pushing back against him in silent plea.

"Shhh," he soothes, though he's the one torturing you, dragging it out. "I've got you."

Before the begging can fully form on your lips, he snaps his hips forward, rough and unceremonious, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust. The force jerks you forward, your forehead nearly touching the mirror. A ragged gasp is torn from your throat as you're stretched, filled, conquered. He wraps a hand around your throat and pulls you against him, making you arch and present even more so he can go deeper. His other hand slides over your mouth just in time to muffle the small cry that escapes you as your eyes roll back.

"Good fucking girl," he rasps, his breathing already growing heavier. He pulls almost all the way out and snaps his hips forward again, bottoming out in one swift motion that knocks the air from your lungs. You moan into the hand still covering the lower half of your face.

"Take it, baby."

Seungcheol picks a slow, forceful pace that sends an echo of slapping skin through the tiled bathroom with every thrust. His hand moves from your mouth to your neck, squeezing lightly, making your head spin. His hips snap into you in a grinding motion, the tip of his cock reaching deep enough to kiss your cervix every time.

You feel his hands move again. He manhandles you gently, making you brace against the mirror instead of the counter. His hands find your waist, just beneath the bunched-up dress, as he continues to grind into you, slow and deep. Your body moves with his, pushed into the counter with every snap of his hips. Your vision swims as you watch him through the mirror—eyebrows pinched in concentration, lips slightly open, the tip of his tongue just visible with the effort. He'd look adorable if he weren't taking you apart in a restaurant bathroom, making your entire body jolt, your breaths coming in lewd sighs and soft moans.

Seungcheol catches you watching him and sends you a half-smirk before leaning over your body. One hand fondles your braless breast through the fabric of your dress; his lips find your skin, leaving a sloppy trail of kisses on your neck.

When he straightens again, the hand that isn't on your waist goes to your already dishevelled updo. He pulls out the pins holding it up, allowing your hair to spill across your back. "Much better," he murmurs, low and satisfied, before gathering your hair in his hands. He makes a makeshift ponytail, yanking your head back against his shoulder for just a moment before letting go. "Such a pretty slut for me, aren't you?" He lands a sharp slap to your ass, and then another.

Then he picks up the pace, fucking into you with abandon. All you can do is take it, breathing heavily and doing your best to stay quiet while your pussy gets dicked down so good. He makes you pant like a dog with the pace he sets, your tongue sticking out because he hits your spots and makes your brain melt away.

An insistent buzzing registers somewhere in the back of your mind—your phone. It's most likely your parents, trying to figure out where you went, if you walked out under the guise of a ladies’ room. Too bad you can't let them know you'll be back. Not when Seungcheol reaches around you, his hand splaying over your lower belly to press and feel the way he pokes into your insides. You mewl, clenching around his length.

"Cheol, please... I'm gonna cum," you manage breathlessly.

He helpfully moves his hand to stimulate your clit. "Then cum, baby. Want you to cream all over my cock," he grunts, beginning to rub your sensitive nub just the way he knows you like it while continuing to spear into your sopping cunt.

The sounds become wetter, sloppier. You're barely holding up when your walls begin to clench and contract around his fat dick. Your pleasure crests, spilling over, engulfing your body in warm, tingling waves as you shudder violently, struggling to keep yourself upright.

You hear Seungcheol cursing behind you, his pace picking up in force and speed, using the way your greedy cunt tries to milk him to bring himself to his own climax.

It doesn't take long. His hips stutter, and you feel his cock pulse, filling you up with his seed. His pace turns sporadic until he presses deep within you, heaving against your back while you lean on your elbows on the marble countertop, unable to hold yourself up without his hands gripping your waist.

"Fuck," he whispers, stroking your back soothingly before leaning over and pressing soft, sucking kisses to your shoulder. They won't leave bruises, but they feel nice.

Your brain is mush. You can't think straight; your consciousness is swimming somewhere, grounded only by the contrast of the cold marble counter and Seungcheol's warm body pressing against you. You hear him whispering something—sweet, meaningless comforts—before he pulls out, leaving you empty and gaping. You feel his cum drip down your thigh and whimper, disturbed.

"I'm onto it," Seungcheol says softly. You hear him grab paper towels. He returns quickly, wiping most of the mess clean and pulling the lace of your underwear back into place, sealing whatever didn't leak. You bite your lip, forcing yourself not to moan. His hands are reverent and gentle when he fixes the hem of your dress, though you could do it yourself.

You finally find the strength to stand straight, though you still feel a bit like a newborn deer.

You turn, using the counter for support, and watch Seungcheol briefly clean himself and put his pants back on properly. He notices you watching him, notices the dazed look on your face, and smiles. He comes closer and wraps his arms around your waist. You don't have to be perceptive to see how amused and full of himself he is right now for ruining you so thoroughly. "Did I overdo it?" There's not an ounce of remorse in his voice.

You brace yourself on the counter behind you and roll your shoulders and neck, giving yourself time to clear your head. You've been away from the table too long. Staying here another couple of minutes won't make much difference.

When you open your eyes, Seungcheol is watching you, his eyes warm and affectionate.

Before you can stop him, he leans in and litters the column of your throat with gentle kisses, almost apologetic for getting carried away. But you know he's not really sorry. Not when he pulls on your already low neckline and latches onto your breast, sucking a hickey right by your nipple.

"Cheol, no-" but it's too late. You feel the tingling on your skin as he detaches with a soft, smooching sound and looks at his handiwork with a sense of full accomplishment. The neckline of your dress does cover the mark, but you can't help but wonder if it will bloom too soon and possibly peek out for anyone to see.

"Much better," he says, nosing the spot right under your ear, turning extra tactile and clingy. You know Seungcheol—he thrives on providing thorough aftercare, from physical closeness to literally taking care of you. And you know he hates that he can't do it properly right now. So he takes what he can before the two of you have to inevitably part for the rest of the night.

"You should go," you whisper, your voice still a little unsteady. "'ll be okay."

He pouts, a genuine, boyish expression that contrasts wildly with the man who just had you bent over a bathroom counter. "Do I have to?"

You smile, despite everything, and kiss the pout away. "Yes. Before my father sends a search party."

It turns into the two of you continuously chasing each other's lips—soft, lingering kisses that speak of reluctance to part more than passion. He holds your face between his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"Tomorrow," he murmurs against your mouth. "My place. I'll cook."

"No, thanks. Last time you almost burned the kitchen," you whisper back, smiling.

"Then we'll order in. Just be there." His tone leaves no room for argument, but his eyes are pleading.

You nod, and with one last, searing kiss, he releases you. You watch as he slips his jacket back on, becomes the Choi Seungcheol, heir and businessman, once more. With a final, smouldering glance, he unlocks the door and disappears.

You're left alone with the scent of him on your skin, and the quiet hum of the restaurant waiting beyond the door.

Somehow—composed and recollected—you return to the table where your parents, Henry, and his family are still seated. Unfortunately. A part of you had hoped they'd believed you'd just walked out, that the dinner had been wrapped up in your absence. No such luck.

Your parents don't look impressed with your reappearance, not outwardly at least. You play your part, offering a soft apology for your extended absence, citing a sudden wave of nausea and needing fresh air. Your father's eyes assess you with cold scepticism.

"Your hair is down," he states, the observation a quiet accusation.

You touch the loose waves self-consciously. "The pins were giving me a headache," you explain, your voice smooth. "I had to take them out."

You don't think they believe you. You also don't really care. You just want this pantomime to finally end. Though, the desperate urge for it to be over has dulled. You're too sated, too relaxed, thrumming with a deep, secret security under the phantom weight of Seungcheol's claim. Henry's presence on your right is still an irritant, but now it's laced with a perverse, smug satisfaction. You notice him frown subtly, his nostrils flaring just a bit as if catching a new scent. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, puzzled.

"Is something wrong?" you turn to ask him, innocence perfected as you bat your lashes.

He startles, clearing his throat. "No, not at all." He quickly turns back to the dry conversation about market fluctuations between your fathers, suddenly eager to re-insert himself, to look important.

You barely suppress a smirk and take a sip of water. It nearly goes down the wrong pipe when you see Seungcheol walking toward your table. Your eyes widen, sending him a silent, frantic question. What the fuck? He was supposed to leave.

The second person to notice him is your mother. Her sharp intake of breath is quiet, but it shifts the energy. Soon, the entire table's attention is on the man striding confidently toward you. You tense, bracing. Your father's posture turns rigid, his irritation now simmering visibly.

Seungcheol is utterly unbothered. He greets the table with an effortless, polished politeness, shaking hands with the men, offering a charming, respectful nod to the women.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lynn, a pleasure. I didn't mean to interrupt." Of course he did. His eyes land on you and then on Harper's son sitting on your right. This is when you know that whatever he's going to do next is fully dictated by his fierce unwillingness to share. It seems that today the last strand of his patience snapped.

He comes to your side, his hands resting on your upper arms in a squeeze that is far too intimate for casual company. He leans down, his lips brushing your cheek in a kiss that lingers a heartbeat too long. "Just a brief business thing, baby, relax," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble meant only for you, though you know your mother catches it. Her face is a mask of stunned confusion.

If you were wondering whether your parents knew of your remaining connection to Seungcheol—now you know that they certainly didn't.

He straightens, but his hands slide to your shoulders, his thumbs digging into the knots near your spine with sure familiarity. He doesn't leave your side as he addresses Henry's father. "Mr. Harper, I won't take much of your time. Regarding the shipping lanes we discussed—my father wanted me to convey his thoughts personally."

He doesn't monopolise the conversation. He's succinct, professional, powerful. It doesn't take longer than five minutes, but for you, time distorts. You observe the tableau unfold from within the circle of his possession.

Your father is quietly seething, his knuckles white around his wine glass. Your mother's gaze flicks between Seungcheol's hands on you and your own carefully neutral face, as if seeing you for the first time. Henry, to your right, radiates a humiliated annoyance. Here is a man his own age, from the same world, who commands the room—and his own father's fawning attention—without even trying.

Yes, this is Choi Seungcheol for you, you think, a sense of fierce pride swelling in your chest. The Choi heir. Their dynasty is arguably the most formidable in your circles. They have enemies like your father, allies, and then they have people like Henry's father—men who are willing to bend over backwards, to swallow their pride and serve, just to be in their graces. You see the sycophancy now, the desperate gleam in the older man's eyes. You can guess that the moment Seungcheol leaves, that same man will likely mutter curses about the "Choi brat." It's pitiful. You think it's better to be like your father, to despise openly, than pretend not to but still allow them to own your ass and be salty about it. You hope, in some twisted way, your father thinks the same. After all, you are your father's daughter.

You don't even realise you've leaned back into Seungcheol until your head comes to rest lightly against his abdomen. He doesn't pause his conversation, his hands a steady, warm anchor on your shoulders. You don't listen to the words about tariffs and logistics. Your mind wanders, circling a question that has haunted you for years: What are you still so afraid of?

You don't have an answer. Not a clear one.

But sitting here now, with the man who loves you more than life itself standing tall at your back, his presence a shield and a declaration, you suddenly feel... untouchable. Protected.

Your father's silent wrath ceases to feel like a tsunami meant to drown you. You are not the terrified girl from five years ago, flinching at threats of being hidden away, of being broken until you were compliant. You have been remade, in part by him, in part by your own stubborn will.

You're distracted when Seungcheol gives your shoulders a final, telling squeeze and removes his hands. The sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver. You watch, your heart sinking, as he rounds the table, shaking hands with Mr.Harper, then with your father. He's leaving. He's really leaving you here with them. You watch him, feeling a surge of panic, like he's abandoning you to the sharks. Your eyes must betray you, because you want to call out, to tell him to wait.

It's unnecessary. His rich brown eyes find yours just as he's half-turned to go. He stills completely. His eyebrow arches a fraction, a silent question, but his expression softens almost instantly. Seungcheol can't stand you looking so heartbroken, so abandoned, when he would never willingly leave you in distress. He'd meant to go, to avoid causing you more trouble with your family, whom he knows—despite everything—still hold a complicated piece of your heart.

But your eyes are pleading, and there is nothing in this world that could make him turn his back on that look.

He moves.

His eyes stay locked on yours, watching the way the desolation in them shatters, replaced by a dawning, luminous hope with every step he takes back toward you. How could he have even considered leaving you now? His baby. His love.

He stops beside your chair and extends his hand down to you, palm up. It's not a request. It's an offering. An exit.

"I'm stealing her for the rest of the evening," he says to the table, his tone leaving no room for debate. It's polite, but it's a statement of fact. He's not asking your father. He's telling him.

The silence that settles over your table is ringing. Your father's face darkens. Your mother places a subtle, warning hand on his arm. And you're too distracted to process the fact that for once she seems to be standing on your side.

You look from Seungcheol's sure, waiting hand, up to his face. He gives you the barest nod, his gaze steady. It's time.

The familiar fear tries to claw up your throat. The old programming whispers in your head. Of consequences, of scenes, of retribution. But a newer, stronger voice that you've been secretly honing, reminds you of warmth, of safety, of love that doesn't barter or hide. Of tomorrow, and Seungcheol's apartment, and the life you've built in the shadows, yearning for the sun.

You place your hand in his.

His fingers close around yours, firm and encouraging. He pulls you gently to your feet. You don't look at your parents or anyone else really. You keep your eyes on Seungcheol, on the proud, tender smile touching his lips.

"Once again, my apologies for the interruption," he says to the table, his voice the very picture of courtesy, even as he commits the ultimate discourtesy. "We'll see ourselves out."

You pick up your purse and he leads you away. Not with the hurried pace of an escape, but with the confident stride of a man claiming what has always been his. You walk beside him, through the hushed restaurant, past the tables of the silently judging elite—that will no doubt spread the news across the globe by tomorrow morning—and you don't feel a single pair of eyes upon you. You only feel his hand in yours, the ghost of his touch on your skin, and the terrifying, exhilarating freedom of walking out of this restaurant with the man you love.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

He should be used to that kind of welcoming from people like her. Still, he stuttered and stumbled over his words right there on the threshold, one arm still outstretched, the other clutching a couple of his books. When she rose a questioning brow, he finally snapped out of it, pushing his glasses up with his free hand. "I- I'm tutoring y/n." He stared down at his watch. "We set to meet at 4:30. This is her dorm, right?"

That seemed to have piqued her interest, before she grimaced and brushed him off. "Second door on the left. Her room." Without another glance, she walked past him and left, closing the door behind her.

He stood by the entryway lamely for a couple minutes, nervously looking around and clutching the class' books in his arm. It wasn't a big deal. He'd just be in the same room alone with the girl he had a slight crush on since first year. Emphasis on slight, okay? Her room that's filled with everything her, and her smell is bound to be everywhere overwhelming his senses. Totally fine. He gave a last glance around the small living room before walking over towards the second door to the left.

It was open, able to see inside only through a tiny gap. And for the second time in less than 10 minutes, his hand froze on its way to push it open, eyes blown wide behind his glasses.

You were on your bed, damp panties pushed down, a pillow between your legs as you grinded over it lazily. He swallowed, though his mouth had gone really dry. He really should've looked away instantly, but he couldn't move, eyes zeroed in on the scene in front of him. The only sounds he could hear were the tiny puffs of air coming out of your mouth turning into gasps whenever the pillow beneath you caused a delicious friction against your clit, the rustle of your bed sheets. When you bent slightly forward and your skirt riled up your ass, it gave him a complete view of your pussy.

"Fuck". He mouthed, still unable to tear his eyes away, voice lost and face growing hotter. It wasn't the only thing growing. He bit his lip hard, an almost painful expression in his face at how his pants were starting to feel really uncomfortable. At the same time, he was thankful he'd chosen to dress up a little more and wear jeans instead of his usual sweats.

You picked up a more desperate pace, and he could see the way your poor pussy clenched over nothing, wet and glistening with your slick, dripping down your thighs and onto the pillow.

"I want to come, I want to come." he heard your soft pleading whines and he swore he was going to cum in his pants when you also decided to bring the hand that wasn't toying with your nipples down, pushing a finger in. A sound alike a choked sob left your mouth, mixing with the lewd noise of you moving your finger in and out of your pussy. That's when he decided it was tortuous enough without adding the picture of you making yourself cum and hurried down the hall back to the living room, almost dropping his books and giving himself away as a total pervert in the process.

He plopped down on the sofa throwing his books beside him, unable to brush away the image of what you were doing a couple rooms away, and he closed his eyes for a beat in an attempt to calm himself down. His breathing was coming in quick and he felt hot all over. He shifted in his seat, making futile attempts to adjust his pants so they didn't bother him.

He probably should leave. How was he going to go through tutoring with a hard on after he'd seen you like that? Better to look as irresponsible and make an excuse saying he couldn't make it.

But your roommate. She'd tell you he'd been here, and it would be weird that he suddenly decided to leave. What if you figure out that he'd seen you?

He brushed a hand down his face very frustratedly, and decided to text you letting you know he was there. He should've done that from the beginning and he'd saved himself from this but it had totally slipped that you'd exchanged numbers earlier in the week after your professor set you two up for your lessons. He heard a thud and clatter from your room, and a couple minutes later he heard your light steps heading to the living room.

"Did you just get here?" In your haste, you skipped the greetings fearing he might've heard what you were up to, smoothing down your hair nervously. Time had passed by you, and you didn't notice he'd arrive any minute now, too busy trying to get off for the past half an hour unsuccessfully. It's already mortifying enough to think your roommate might've heard you when she suddenly came back looking for something she left behind.

His big, round eyes stared up at you, taking the sight of you in. The slight color on your cheeks, your perky nipples showing under your shirt. His mind wandered as his eyes kept traveling down to your skirt now fixed down, thinking about how you'd soaked your panties, the sight of your ass as you rolled your hips- "Hi," His voice came out breathy. He cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"You good?" You looked at him curiously, and if he wasn't mistaken, the slight curve of your lip was a tell of you trying to hold back a smirk. "Your face is a little red."

"Really? No- I mean, yes I'm great! I just, ran here." He lied. "Sorry for being late."

"You're okay." you brushed him off, turning towards the kitchen, "Do you want some water?"

"That would be nice. Thank you." And a cold shower too, came as an afterthought.

You handed him his glass of water and instead of sitting down, you offered, "Maybe we should study in my room. It'd be more comfortable there." Crossing your arms over your middle as you shifted in place waiting for his response.

He was thankful he managed to drink his water without choking, playing it off like all was good, grabbing his books before standing up and following you. Once inside, you walked over to your desk, grabbing your notebook, book, and pencil pouch, before plopping down on the bed crossed legged and looking over where he was standing dumbly staring at you like a lost puppy.

To his surprise, you laughed. "You're going to take that bookbag off sometime today and sit down?" You tapped a spot on the bed in front of you.

He gulped, shrugging his bag off. He sat down, one leg crossed, the other stretched over the edge of the bed.

"Okay, what should we start with?"

For a while, you both worked in silence. He caught you up again with what the current topic was and what you were working on and from that, you did most on your own, barely asking him anything. You seemed to be fairing well by yourself. That should've given him time to work on his own homework and papers too, but he had caught himself staring at you more than anything else during that time, and when he wasn't, his mind kept replaying how he'd found you earlier, and threatening to make its own script of fantasies.

Your hand reaching out to rest over his thigh stopped his knee from bouncing, making him tense and his breath stop short. "Listen, I know I bitched out before when the professor paired us up. I'm sorry for that, and thank you for still showing up and agreeing to help me."

He looked at you, befuddled. He was not expecting an apology. The way you'd snapped at him and stormed out of the classroom had given him the impression that you didn't want anything to do with him. He'd felt dejected to say the least given his fat ass crush on you, but ever since you'd received him, you'd been nothing but nice to him and he'd known he'd been right in the first place, you were actually really sweet. And now you were mistaking his fidgeting for him being uncomfortable around you. Thus, you kept speaking. "It's just, I really can manage on my own. I don't want to burden you with this or for you to feel obliged to just because our professor made you. I've never had problems with my classes before. Guess I was just distracted with …" Your face fell a little, "It doesn't matter now anyway. We can just tell the professor we're meeting up but we don't actually have to so you still get paid." You finished.

He totally knew that you did okay on your own. You were smart, top of most your classes except this one because it was him. Only when you started to surround yourself with some not-so-smart people and your not-so-smart boyfriend it was that you started to fall behind, skip classes when you never in your life did so before. He couldn't understand what were you doing with a guy like that. His guess about you saying you'd been distracted was that you meant by him. He'd been surprised to recently hear you two had broken up near the end of last term. He was dying to know more. You totally had to have been the one to dump him. But instead, he said something more wise, "It's not a burden. I know you're good without me." Pushing himself to be a bit bolder and take his chance, he said, "And actually, I-I like… this. So we can just have study sessions like these whenever you want. Only if you'd like to of course!"

He was rewarded with bright laughter bubbling up from you. "Sorry. You're cute. But sure, I'd like that too. You have my number." You winked at him, squeezing his thigh before pulling your hand away.

His nose scrunched up, but still he smiled back. He'd take it you calling him cute if it meant hanging out with you again.

\\\

"Cheol, I want to cum. Please make me cum, Cheol." You keep chanting along with his name, words slurring when he hits that spot that turns you into putty in his hands. He's got you bent over that same pillow you were using earlier, face smushed against the mattress now that your arms have given up as he drives his cock in and of you hard from the back. You move in time to meet his thrusts, desperate to reach your high, your hole greedily sucking him in and making a mess all over him. He knows that he might be too much to take, but you're taking him like a champ, his hip bone smacking the fat of your ass with each deep thrust, light red blooming on the tender skin as he kneads it and lands a few spanks.

"Go ahead, baby. Soak my cock with your cum." He encourages, "I'm going to cum inside your pretty pussy, Fill it up even more."

It doesn't take much longer for you both to cum.

Except that when he does, he's alone in his room sitting on his bed with his jeans and underwear pushed down, head thrown back against the headboard as he cums on your panties that are wrapped around his cock as he jerks his hand up and down. The same panties you'd ruined when you were touching yourself that he'd spotted lying under your bed. They'd probably ended there in your rush of you changing and receiving him. He wouldn't have seen them if the ink of the pen you were using hadn't run out, you standing up to get another from your desk complaining about not finding your favorite and making due with a trashy one that you hated. That's when you accidentally dropped something, and bending to pick it up you flashed him. In the second that'd taken him to avert his gaze down, he'd noticed they were different ones, only to find the other pair lying on the floor. He'd reached and pocketed them, telling himself he did it to save you from wondering if he'd seen your underwear lying there the whole time he'd been over.

As his breathing calmed down and post orgasm clarity hit, he was sure of two things: he really was a perv. And pathetic. He heaved out a deep sigh, "This is so wrong."

2: Heartbreaker

It's a few days later when he sees you again after his first lesson of the morning. You're walking out of a lecture hall talking to a classmate when you look forward and wave at him with a smile. He waves back, face heating up. He's not able to hold eye contact for long, guilt bubbling up from the mouth of his stomach at the thoughts and things he's done thinking about you. He hears someone call out your name and looks over to find your ex coming up from the opposite direction walking towards you.

He tenses, jaw clenched as he watches you two talk. He knows he's unreasonably jealous. You're not his. He's not sure if he can even call himself your friend. But he's nothing to you either. The guy's a loser for fumbling you. What do you two even have to talk about?

He's stuck in this circle of thoughts, frowning at nothing when someone walks up to him. A girl he recognizes from one of his classes.

You brush your ex off as quick as you can, telling him to leave you alone and putting on a distance before he can lay a hand on you like you fear he intended to when you saw him reaching over, thinking it much better to go say hi to Seungcheol. But then you notice he's engaged in a far more pleasant conversation compared to yours. He's chatting with a girl, and for once he's not the one looking more nervous. You watch curiously, catching a few words like 'studying sometime together', walking slower than necessary making people skip past you annoyed. The last you get to see is the slight disappointment on the girl's face when Seungcheol seemingly turns the offer down.

The cafeteria is packed like it usually is past midday. You spot him already at a table, and go up to tease him, a lilt in your voice,"You heartbreaker!"

At the sound of your voice, Seungcheol looks up from his sandwich. Flustered, he sputters, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you turning down that poor girl earlier." You elaborate, pointing to a chair with the hand that's not holding your tray and pulling it out to sit in front of him when he nods it's okay.

"She just asked me if I needed a study partner." He tells you, still at a loss at how you came to your conclusions.

"Mmhm." you hum knowingly. "Bet you've been approached by lots of girls asking to "study" with you. Boys too." You grin.

"A few, yeah. How'd you know that?" He asks even more confused.

"You really don't know?" you let out an incredulous laugh. So he's really that oblivious. "You're handsome, smart. People like that. "

He blushes furiously, deciding to look down while taking another bite of his sandwich. You start on your own food as well.

"Do you?" He asks a few beats later.

"What?"

"I mean, do you like that?" He clarifies.

It's your turned to be stunned into silence, before you recover and answer with a slight color on your cheeks. "Yeah. I like that." you say it looking right into his eyes, an alluring look on your own.

Seungcheol's fighting off the huge smile about to take over his features, trying to keep cool. He nods, looking directly into your eyes too, "I already have my study partner."

You eat lunch together, chatting here and there and sitting in comfortable silence when you're not. A while later, you ask him what time is it. When he looks at his watch and tells you, you curse. It's almost time for your next lecture already. You hurry to grab your things and stand up, kissing his cheek goodbye like it's the most natural thing for you to do.

\\\

Mingyu's lying on Seungcheol's bed like it's his own, talking to him while he sits by his desk absentmindedly spinning a pencil in his hand, note-taking forgotten.

He notices Seungcheol spacing out for the nth time. He's let it slide all the other times before, but he's endured enough of not getting attention. He throws his empty water bottle at him. It further proves it's really bad when Seungcheol doesn't even flinch nor throws him a threatening look. "Dude, what's up with you? You've been smiling at the wall for 5 minutes. It's creeping me out."

"I talked to y/n today."

Ah. That makes sense.

"She had lunch with me. Kissed me on the cheek." He says, allowing for a dopey smile to take over. "She thinks I'm handsome too."

"Ugh." Mingyu fakes disgust at his friend's display of lovesickness. He's actually happy for him. You're a nice girl and Seungcheol's been admiring you from afar for a long time. It's great to hear hes had the opportunity to talk to you. He teases,"Great for you. It's good to have someone other than your grandma called you that for once, isn't it?"

Now Mingyu's the victim when an empty can is thrown his way. "I'm feeling very unwelcomed right now. So I'm going to leave you to daydream about how you're going to ask her out and eventually get laid."

3: Movie

Next time you plan your study session you meet at the library one late afternoon. It had been raining for a while, and he's running late for almost fifteen minutes. In the meantime, you'd been working ahead on your own homework. The cool air from the air conditioning, the silence and the misty gray from outside, with droplets of rain racing down the foggy window panes are making you sleepy. You wonder if in the end he thought better of what you told him and chose he didn't really need to come. A text letting you know would've been nice if that's the case.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, he's drenched enough for the librarian to glare at him, already thinking of him leaving puddles on the carpet. It was windy, so his umbrella could only do much to cover him; this resulted in the lower part of his jeans and his shoes to take the brunt of it. While he closed said umbrella right at the door, a light spray had fallen over his head and shoulders. He looks around and doesn't see you. Oh God you left thinking he bailed on you, it's what he starts to think cursing himself as his eyes roam desperately for you until he sees what's definitely your bag on one of the four chairs at a table with papers and stationery spread over it further in the back, the row next to the windows. He turns his head away when he hears light murmuring and laughter. A couple of guys are pointing at something, and as he follows their line of sight there you are, putting back some of the books you were using. The problem is, you're wearing one of those tiny skirts you like - and well, he likes them on you too probably more than you do. You keep wearing them despite the weather getting chillier but he knows better than to question a girl's outfit choice. - and are bending slightly, giving them too much of a good view than what they deserve. He drops his bag on your table and walks over, standing right behind you to shield you from their prying eyes, going as far as to throw daggers at them, who are quick to look away sensing they'd pissed him off.

You gasp, faltering to a stop when you feel something, or well someone right behind you. It's then when he realizes that he might be standing a little too close, his front practically pressed to your back, and he takes a step backwards. Tilting your head and seeing it's him you let out a relieved breath, straightening up and turning. "Seungcheol, you scared me."

"Sorry. I was just- you were crouching down and a couple of idiots were staring." He stutters an explanation, his face warming up while he pushes away the images his brain is bringing up of having you bent over in front of him. God, he has a problem.

Your eyes shoot open when you catch on to what he's saying, and you try to look past him to see which guys is he referring to. You catch them looking over again and they quickly turn away. "Thanks, Cheol. I think it's thanks to you I still have faith that some boys were raised right."

Right. He's awful. I mean, he thinks he's a decent guy. It's just that when it comes to you, most of that decency flies out the window. His poor mom would be so disappointed.

So he gives you what he hopes looks at least close to a genuine smile and chooses to remain silent. You speak again when you take in the state he's in. "Oh my god, your clothes are soaked." You looked at him with concern.

"It's not that bad." Even as he says it he immediately thinks of the librarian's glare.

"It's pretty cold in here already and with your clothes like that…" You shake your head, and he notices how you rub your arms, seeking for warmth. "We should go to your place. Don't want you to get sick. What are you..? No, you need it too! I just said I don't want you to get sick" you frown, arguing as you watch him shrug his jacket off, leaving him in a graphic t-shirt, gently placing it over your shoulders instead.

"We'll go once the rain lets up then. I'll be fine for a bit like this."

As you walk back to your table, you notice the way his shirt molds to his body over broad shoulders, fit on his arms. Meanwhile, he can't help but throw another mean look at the two assholes that were looking at you. You fix his jacket on you. The fabric practically swallows you up, he's several sizes bigger than you. It's so comfortable and warm, and it smells like him. You feel bad but can't help yourself as you snuggle up in it, giving him a grateful look.

You catch up with him about what you'd been working on. He looks it over, and gives you a couple pointers on how to continue. You listen to him closely and in turn help him with his own work. You finish earlier than him since you had a head start, and partly because he keeps stealing not so subtle glances at you, but thankfully for him you're sleepy enough not to notice. You must be tired, but he thinks you look cute regardless, wearing his jacket that's too big for you.

Your head falls on his shoulder and his grip on his mechanical pencil loosens, stopping everything he's doing altogether. Did you just fell asleep on him?

Your groggy voice comes as an answer, "Are you sure you're not cold? You feel cold." He is very much cold but he's not about to let you in on that. And then you're pressing yourself to him on a side hug. "Is it okay if I do this?" You look up at him. His hair's still a little damp. You think it's almost unfair how great he looks.

He looks into your doe eyes. You're so close. Then his gaze travels lower. He really wants to kiss you right now. "Yeah. It's okay." You nod, and nuzzle contentedly into him. He continues to work like that for a while more, or well, more like he pretends to because you're practically cuddling him, in public, and he likes how your hair smells. "I think the rain's letting up." He says regretfully. He really doesn't want to move away from you. Slowly, you straighten up and you both start gathering your things.

When you step outside, you take hold of his arm, cautious of the wet sidewalk. "I'll walk you to your place. We're done with classwork already and you must be tired." He says. You were hoping to hang out a little longer. He notices as you deflate a little. "Unless you want to come over anyways? We could um, watch a movie." He offers and instantly regrets it. That phrase usually is an euphemism. What if you think he's trying to get on your pants- or well, skirt? "Or something."

You brighten up, a glint in your eye."Sure. I'm up for a movie. Or something." You laugh.

His place is nice, surprisingly tidy and organized but with hints that it's lived in, like a forgotten mug on the living room's coffee table, the game controllers on the couch or the things on the kitchen waiting to be put away into the cupboards. In his room, the closet door is open, a pair of shoes sticking out, another jacket hanging from the backrest of his desk chair,the desk is cluttered, a tee shirt thrown over a full body mirror and another bunched on the floor besides the hamper instead of inside. You notice there are a few posters on the walls of bands and artists he likes. Shelves stacked with action figures, lego sets, videogame cases, cds, vinyls, different books and graphic novels.

He drops his bag on the floor by the door and you follow suit. "I just need a minute to get out of these. You can get comfortable." He tells you as he walks over to his drawers and gets what he needs, heading back out to change in the bathroom. You sit on his neatly made bed with your back against the headboard, shifting nervously while you keep looking around his room. He's quick to come back, now wearing black shorts. He looks over for something, the remote control on his night stand for the TV mounted on the wall facing the bed. "Oh shit, my bad. Didn't offer you anything. Would you like something?" Can you blame him for being nervous?

You smile up at him,"I'm okay, thanks."

He nods, sitting down beside you on the bed. "So, what do you feel like watching?"

This time though, you don't answer him. At least not with words. You just look at him and he thinks you're thinking it over. Then your gaze falls to his lips, or did he imagine it? He's still wondering if it is his imagination when you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, and still when you raise yourself, swinging one of your legs over his so you're straddling his thick thighs. He doesn't have but a beat to look up at you with wide, starry eyes before you're cupping his cheeks leaning back down to kiss him. You kiss him slowly, taking your time, trying to memorize how his plump lips feel against your own. They are slightly chapped because of his habit of running his tongue over them but still soft. He tastes your lipgloss in his mouth, something faintly sweet about it, and he'd be glad to wipe it off you and get it smudged all over his face anytime. His hands that were resting on the bed lift just to stay hovering by your sides, twitching unsure where to put them and partly fearing that if he tries to touch you he'll wake up from a dream. As if reading his mind and reassuring him that this is indeed happening, you bite down softly on his bottom lip, making him groan, then you suck on it lightly to relief the sting. One of your hands move up to the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue slip inside his mouth. Your mixed puffs of breath and the sound of your spit covered lips echo in his ears and threaten to drown him but he still forces himself to the surface. "Wai-Wait."

"What's wrong?" You ask him, breath fanning his face. His eyes try to rake all over you at once in case this is all he gets; how your chest rises and falls in time with his, your lips now swollen and shiny. You look him over as well. His skin feels hot to the touch under your palm, where you can see a blush has taken over his fair skin, the deep shade of pink of his lips covered in the light glittery shade of your lipgloss, his glasses askew. He looks too good like this you can't wait to kiss him more but he has yet to answer. The longer he takes to talk though, you start to think you jumped to conclusions, "Wait, is this not what you wanted when you said- You were serious about the movie." You let out a breathy, uncomfortable laugh, totally embarrassed now, eyes downcast to avoid meeting his. You can't believe yourself, starting to move off him,"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

His hands finally find their place on your waist, making you sit back down on him gruffly. If you don't know the effect you have on him you might as well feel it. Your eyes widen when you do, something definitely big pressed right between your legs."No, no. Nothing's wrong." To hell with the movie. Nothing has ever been more right in his eyes. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay with this."

You look more shy than a moment before, but you're back to looking at him, "What do you think?" then you admit in a whisper like you're letting him in on a secret, your lips a breath away from his. "I've actually been thinking about kissing your pretty lips for a while." You kiss the corner of his lips. "Unless maybe this is too fast."

He shakes his head vigorously, "I don't mind fast." And this time he kisses you. You smile into the kiss, and he's on cloud nine. He's really got you sitting on top of him, your mouth ravishing his own. What started as making out sweetly is turning into hot, feverish kisses that have you both gasping heavily against each other's lips, you grinding your clothed core over the bulge in his pants. You move to pepper kisses along his jaw, his neck, your hands tracing his body over his t-shirt; up his torso where they rest a moment on his defined chest, caressing his shoulders then going back down over the muscles in his arms. His hands get the message at last and they release their tight hold on your waist, fingertips sneaking under the hem of your top feeling the warmth emanating from your skin, up, stopping just at the underside of your breasts feeling the delicate lace of your bra. You pull away just for a moment to get rid of your shirt, and he takes in the newly exposed skin with hungry eyes. But it's unfair, you want to touch him, feel him with nothing in between so you pull at his shirt wanting to get rid of it and he appeases you when he does. You admire him as well, surprised to find that under those big sweaters he likes to wear he's toned in all the right places, firm under soft skin. He shivers as you sink your nails on it from his chest down to his abs leaving light red marks on their wake, and you smile. You leave kisses all over his bare skin, teeth biting and nipping softly, teasing. You proudly look over your artwork, marks blooming on his skin.

His own hands smooth over your thighs up until he's cupping your ass under your skirt pressing you impossibly closer, hips bucking up into you as you keep kissing him."We're- We're just making- hah out?"

"Mmm- How far do you wanna go?"

He wants to feel you wrapped around him so badly, eyes threatening to flutter shut with every grind of your hips. He's already so far gone between now and thinking back to that day he'd accidentally seen you getting off all by yourself, your sorry little hole pulsing over nothing asking to be filled up while you begged to cum. He wanted to help you back then, and he surely can do so now. "I want to be inside you. Please." He gasps. He's the one begging now.

You whimper, nodding. He watches as you raise yourself off him so you can shimmy out of your skirt and he gets just a peek of how damp your underwear is before you're sliding it down too and kicking it off somewhere in his room. You might not find those again. You smile bashfully, but the hazy look in his eyes as he looks at you, the hunger you see in them give you a boost of confidence. You deliberately take your time making your way back to him while he fumbles to take his shorts off. You straddle his thighs, pulling his boxers down yourself. He sighs in relief and you watch,stunned, as his big cock springs up and hits his tummy, its tip leaking with precum.

An involuntary whine escapes you,"You're just big everywhere, aren't you?" you say, almost as if speaking to yourself. He gives you a dazed smile, seeing how satisfied you are with the view in front of you. You're tempted to slide down and lean over him for a taste, the lust swirling in your lower belly that shines in your eyes pushing back the thought that he's going to tear you apart when you try to take him. You're torn on where do you want him more. But you'll get a chance to do anything you want together another day, right? So, you swallow the spit gathering in your mouth at the mouthwatering sight. "Condom?"

His smile falters, and vanishes. A word. Just a simple, 6 letter word was threatening to bring crashing down everything that build up to this moment. There was no way this was happening to him. You were half naked and eager in front of him, and he was so hard it was starting to make him hurt and dizzy. You'll hate him if you have to stop everything now. "I don't- I don't have any." And he waits for the worse. Everything stops for a beat.

Okay, maybe your mind was clouded with thoughts about sex, and you wouldn't be able to stand leaving all hot and bothered and frustrated. The need is too much. You want him bad. It's not your proudest moment nor your best suggestion when you speak, "You can pull out."

He stares at you, thinking he might've heard wrong but sees you're being serious."Yeah, yes." He nods eagerly, bringing you forwards. You stumble clumsily over him due to his strength, and laugh, surprised. It turns you on even more when you think of him manhandling you any way he wants.

You lower yourself gently on him so his cock is nuzzled in the warmth between your legs, your puffy lips dragging all over his length with the tantalizing roll of your hips. "Oh fuck." He curses, lips parting as you continue moving, covering him in your slick. He stops you when he grips your waist. He can't allow himself cumming right now when things are just starting. So, he lifts you again before he's aligning his cock to your entrance, bringing you back down. His moans and curses are drowned out by your loud ones as he makes you sit on him balls deep in one go. It knocks the air out of your lungs. Your walls flutter around him, your pussy holding his big, fat cock in a tight grip. He drags out another curse,"You feel so good."

"So full." It's all you can manage to whine. You haven't even moved yet and you're already ruined. You could've really used his fingers first.

"Yeah?" He smirks, "I'm giving you all of it."

"Mhmm." you answer in a whimper, "I'm going to take all of it."

You start moving slowly while you get used to the stretch, to the feeling of his cock, every ridge and vein dragging along your warm, velvety walls. Raising yourself up from him until only the tip is in, then sink back down, then you do it again, and again, until you're bouncing on him. The room fills with your moans, the wet sounds of skin slapping on skin every time his balls smack against your puffy lips, his cock covered on his precum and your glistening slick that's dripping down making a mess all over him. You switch to a roll of your hips to give yourself respite. His big brown eyes look up at you,"You're beautiful." He tells you before he gets cut off by his moans. You've both worked up a sweat, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. You smile at the compliment, cheeks rosy, and push his glasses that had slid down back up the bridge of his nose. He hadn't taken them off because he wanted to see your every expression, every inch of your skin as clearly as possible. They suit him so well and he looks so sexy, you tell him, which makes his skin flush more as well in turn. He's struggling to unclasp your bra, wanting to see your tits bounce freely all over his face while you move. You giggle, helping him out. "Someone might need some tutoring." You tease but a sweet roll of his hips is quick to shut you up.

You're growing tired, thighs trembling as you resume your pace from earlier, but your climax is just at reach and you won't stop. His hips thrust up, meeting your own movements and hitting deep. Next thing he knows, you're cumming all over his cock, your pussy squeezing him tight, trying to milk him for all he's worth. Your moans are loud. He's in love with the sounds you're making. He should've known, he loves to hear your voice. Your orgasm threatens to trigger his own but he doesn't want this moment to end yet.

You gasp when he turns you both over, caging you under him with his arms at his sides holding him up keeping him from crushing you. He slides himself back in, easier this time around with your wetness and cum serving as lubrication but it's still rough, a tight squeeze. You spread your legs wider, trying your best to accommodate to him, before he lifts one up encouraging you to wrap them around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the flesh of his asscheeks. He rolls his hips with purpose, drunk on the sound of your moans and the filthy squelch your pussy makes with each of his thrusts. He's hiding his face in the juncture between your shoulder and neck, trying to muffle his own moans against your skin but they're just falling right into your ear, making arousal zip down your spine and pool on your lower belly. Your body jostles up the bed with the force. You feel like you're sinking into the mattress, and the headboard of his twin bed is smacking loudly against the wall, most likely letting anyone on the room next door know what's going on.

You thread your fingers through the soft, damp strands of his hair, your other hand clawing down his back, making him groan, your head thrown back against the pillows. You call his name, and when he lifts his head, your lips meet his in wet, heated, open mouthed kisses. His thrusts become sloppy and he's breathing hard.

"Cheol." you try to tell him but his name just comes out in a moan. He's making you feel so good your brain is turning to mush. "Mmmph! Cheol." Your eyes roll back as you cum again, soaking his cock for a second time and clamping down around him making it hard for him to keep moving. A couple stray tears make their way down to your hairline. You're spent, eyes threatening to fall shut, your last warnings dying in your throat when he gives a few deep, punctuated thrusts and you gasp when you feel him swell inside of you before he's filling you with his hot cum.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He curses, burying himself to the hilt, stilling, and you take in the sight of him as he cums. The pure bliss irradiating from his face, eyes screwed shut while his mouth hangs open, the veins on his neck straining. You whimper at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you as he empties his balls and fills you up with spurt after spurt of his cum.

You remain like that, chest to chest and unmoving, catching your breaths. Your fingers brush through the short strands on his nape softly, making his eyelids droop while he leaves kisses on your shoulders here and there.

After a while, he raises himself up before his arms give out and he puts all his weight on you. But before he separates entirely from you, he can't help but to teasingly roll his hips one more time, making you whine. He chuckles and you smack his arm. With a hiss from both of you he pulls out.

You gasp, a hand going to sneak down between your legs to cover yourself when you feel thick globs of cum dripping out, before you're whining his name in a reprimanding tone "Seungcheol!"

He's on his knees, leaning back and moving your hand to stare shamelessly at your stretched out pussy dripping with his cum, face hot as he bites his lip trying to hold back a smile in case you're mad. But staring up at your face, you don't look mad, just bashful under his stare.

You yelped as he leaned over and hooked his arms under your thighs pulling you down the bed so his face was right between your legs. "What are you doing?" You raised yourself on your elbows.

His hot breath fans over your spent cunt as he answers, making you shiver, "Just have to clean you up."

\\\

Seungcheol reluctantly and carefully leaves your side on the bed, disentangling himself from you to grab his glasses from his nightstand and getting up, wearing only his boxers. He looks back at you, relaxed and still sound asleep, bunched up sheets covering your naked body, messy hair on his pillows like a twisted halo. He's still smiling at the sight of you as he leaves the room to the bathroom across the hall. When he sees his reflection in the mirror above the sink, his eyebrows shoot up. He looks like he had a good fuck, which he did. There's marks peppered along his chest, bite marks, scratch marks, red tiny half moons on his shoulders and arms. Turning around slightly and tilting his head, he sees more scratches on his back. He doesn't know how he's going to hide the ones on his neck.

"Damn, bro" comes Mingyu's loud voice as he walks into the kitchen for a glass of water, looking at the state he's in and the bad case of bed/sex hair he's sporting. Seems like he just got back. "Either you were fucking or you were a victim of attempted murder."

"Shut up." He hisses, thinking of you still sleeping in his room.

"She's still here?" He asks nosily. He walks over to him to get a closer look of all the marks from you adorning his otherwise porcelain skin, but Seungcheol tries to cover himself with one arm, shoving him away with other letting out a, "Get off me." mirth in his tone yet still flustered. "Need to give her my congratulations on finally popping your cherry. We have to celebrate! Where are you going?" He asks as Seungcheol finishes drinking his water and starts to walk toward the hall.

"To put some clothes on."

"Aw, don't be shy."

"Fuck off, dude. I need to go get something." He tries to defend but ends up digging himself further.

"Now? What are you getting?"

"Just… Something."

"Why are you being so mysterious all of a sudden? I'm just asking why would you want to leave when you have-" He cuts himself off as he notices the deep blush on his friend's face and how he brushes his hand over his already messy hair nervously. He laughs, a big grin stretching on his face when he catches on "Oh, you mean something from the pharmacy two blocks down the street?"

"You're the worst."

"Apparently you are."

After Mingyu, he still has to deal with the slightly judging stare from the pharmacist he stutteringly asks help from, taking in the sight of him similarly like his friend did.

You stir in bed, coming to. Opening your eyes, you take in your surroundings, remembering what happened earlier. You shake your head with a lovesick smile, sighing as you sit up and begin looking for your clothes. You hear voices from outside the door, Seungcheol and someone else's. His roommate, you figure. Forgetting about your clothes for a moment, you walk over towards the door, pressing your ear to it curious to hear what's all the fuss about.

"-her my congratulations for popping your cherry. We have to celebrate!" Your frown morphs into utter surprise as you slap a hand to your mouth.

You were Seungcheol's first time?

The rest of the conversation is tuned out. His footsteps coming down the hall alert you, and you rush back into bed, pretending you're asleep. You feel one of his hands cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek affectionately, and the soft press of lips to your forehead.

4: Distracted

Your eyes search for him at his usual spot in the front. You arrived before he did. You step into a row, shifting until you reach the seat around the middle , at the center of the lecture hall. You pull the desk in front of you and start setting up your things.

Seungcheol arrives, the professor walking in right behind so once his eyes meet yours all you can do is wave at each other. Something catches your eye. A deep red mark peeking just over the collar of his shirt. He hadn't even bothered to cover them up. He straightens up in his seat and you think he wasn't able to catch the blush on your cheeks.

Class goes on as usual for the most part, until your focus starts to shift elsewhere. Seungcheol sits to the side, so you have a clear view of his profile. You start to map every detail: from his hair, to his thick eyebrows, big brown eyes with long eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, full lips, strong jawline. And he's turning to look at you expectantly. Wait. Shit, he's looking over. You avert your gaze quick though it's too late, he already caught you staring. Someone's calling your name. The professor. "I'm sorry, what?" You ask sheepishly.

He gives you an unimpressed look, telling of how this is not the first time you've done this and you grimace. He repeats the question for you and now you answer, eyes downcast while your face burns. You miss the grin on Seungcheol's face.

When the lecture's over, you all but run for the exit. He's hot on your heels, calling out after you. You stop, grimacing again, before you turn around, finding the cracks between the floor tiles very interesting. Your sway from side to side on the spot, arms wrapped around you not knowing what to do with yourself, and Seungcheol is enjoying how flustered this has gotten you. Between the two of you, you've always been more cheeky, which is a lot to say because you're still pretty shy.

"Have you heard that it's not nice to stare?"

"I don't know. Something tells me you liked it." you answer back.

"I did." He admits, dropping the banter before picking it up again, "I just don't want you to start getting distracted again by your friend." He almost gets too carried away nearly calling himself your boyfriend, thinking back to the first proper conversation you had with him. Seems that thinking about that day whatever way it may be is dangerous. "As your tutor, I have to disapprove." But he thinks he made a good enough safe.

"I think my tutor is putting as much work to distract me too. Might have to speak to the professor about looking for another one."

"You wouldn't." As you make it to circle past him back to the classroom, he wraps his arms around you pulling you to him, your back against his chest uncaring of being in the middle of a crowded hallway. "You're stuck with me." That makes you laugh. He smiles against your hair at the sound.

You turn in his hold, staring up at him. There's a boyish smile on his face for you. You bring up a hand to poke at his cute dimple, and then you're distracted again by the marks on his skin. Your fingers trace down and over the tender spot. "You know, people can see these."

Seungcheol shrugs. One of his hands comes up to wrap around your wrist, holding your hand in place as he kisses your palm, then he's making you wrap your arms around his neck. "I like them." He says, wearing them proudly, "You think I should've worn a turtleneck?"

"Mmm", you pretend to think it over, "I think they'd also look so good on you."

"Fine. I'll wear one then." You smile at him, and open your mouth like you're about to say something else. Sensing your hesitation, he encourages you to speak, "What is it?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you about something but I'm not sure this is a good place for it." You tell him, looking around at the other students hurrying to get to their to their next class, which you two also should be doing. He raised a brow, wondering what you want to talk about that you can't tell him right now. Was it bad? You notice him worrying his bottom lip and you speak up again to try and stop him from overthinking, "Don't worry, it's not bad. It's about what happened the other day."

"Oh." He nods sheepishly. You could get whiplash from how he can go from being this cute to being such a freak.

But wait, his mind refuses to not think more about it, what was your definition of "not bad'? What if you were going to tell him it had just been a one time thing? What if you wanted to call off your studying sessions and everything altogether? It plants a seed of doubt in him, invasive, one that sprouts and weaves all around trying to squeeze his heart and lungs making it hard to breathe.

Before he can pry further, you speak again."We're going to be late. Meet later?"

"Sure, okay." He nods, but it feels awkward when he smiles at you. Yours is pretty before you kiss his cheek and start walking away to your next class. He turns to look at you and sees you turning to wave at him one more time.

And now he has to go through the rest of the day trying not to go mad about every single possible outcome of your upcoming conversation. He hates the suspense.

\\\

Needless to say, he struggles to focus during the rest of the class day, his mind spinning all sorts of scenarios, most of them leading to a bad ending. The clock on the wall marks the end of his last lecture and he's the first to cross out the door, heading towards the front of the building where he waits only a few minutes before you're walking over to him. "Your place?" Does he really want you to dump him at his place where it would be even easier for his mind to bring it up and grief him any time? Well, practically you can't dump him, right? You're not together. Which brings no comfort. It's actually worse. And he's taking too long to give you an answer, so regardless of his feelings he finds himself nodding under your expectant gaze. Then you're grabbing one of his fidgeting hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and leading the way. It gets his thoughts to quiet down.

Mingyu's not back yet, so it's just the two of you. He moves slowly, shrugging off his bag and moving in autopilot. If this is it, he might as well make it last even if it eats him from the inside. You're merciful in making you both sit in the living room couch so he doesn't attach the memory to his room, where some of his best moments with you have happened. His hand's still in yours.

You don't make him wait any longer, "So, I heard something." You wince. Not because of what you're going to say, but because you're about to confess you eavesdropped on him and Mingyu by asking, "Was I really your first time?"

His eyes go comically wide while his face burns. This? He's been going crazy all day about this conversation happening and you're telling him this? It's far better than all he managed to come up with but it's still mortifying enough. He's going to kill Mingyu as soon as he sees him.

His lips part and close making him resemble a fish, and he looks away and at the coffee table in front of him instead while he nods.

You groan, your hand releasing his so both can come up to hide your face. Your voice comes out muffled, "Why didn't you say anything! I practically jumped you."

Now apart from embarrassed, he's also confused about why you're embarrassed. He turns back to you, gently pulling your hands away so he can see you, "What for? I happily let you, didn't I?"

You stare at him, surprised, a matching blush on your face. Then you're throwing yourself at him and burying your face in his chest instead. He hears your muffled voice against his hoodie as you start talking again "We should've done this differently. It was meant to be special for you but I had to rush everything-"

He grabs your waist and you gasp as he brings you onto his lap. Then he's cupping your face to keep you from hiding, "Hey, listen to me. You didn't do anything I didn't want you to. It was special. You know why?" You shake your head,"Because it was with you. I really liked it. Wouldn't change a thing. Understood?" Liking it doesn't even begin to cover it. He actually loved it but he was afraid that would come off as too much and scare you off.

If you weren't stunned to silence, you are now. So you do the most sure thing and you kiss him. He's quick to follow, pressing his lips sweetly against yours."Understood." You tell him when you pull away.

"Smart." He's giving you a cheeky smile, "I really wanted you to jump me."

"Yeah? Want me to jump you now?" You ask him biting your lip. It directs his attention to them, and between that, the look you're giving him and having you on top of him again it's enough to have him ready to go.

Just as he's about to answer, the front door swings open. Your heads turn and you see Mingyu stepping inside. He sees you two and stops, a hand still on the doorknob. "Oh. What's up?" Then, even though it's not a clear view with his friend craning his neck to look back at him, he notices there's that familiar, scary threat in Seungcheol's glare. He has a feeling it has nothing to do with him walking in on you.

"Would you give me a minute?" Seungcheol's eyes turn soft when he looks back at you. You nod curiously. As soon as you're off him, he stalking towards Mingyu. Instinctively, he runs for it.

"Wait! Hold on! Wai- What did I do?!"

5: Jealousy

Time keeps moving. Things between you and Seungcheol have definitely changed; you keep studying together, have lunch together whenever you can (sometimes joined by Mingyu), hang out at each other's place which often ends in a heated make out session. But he's not just the tutor your professor assigned you anymore. Hasn't been for a while ever since you slept with him. Maybe you were already falling before that. You don't know. But you're just friends, right? Friends that fucked once and would be fucking a lot more if you didn't put every ounce of self-control you could muster to use. Because what if he doesn't want anything serious? Does he even see you as someone he would like to date? He thinks you're pretty, has told you so many times. Enjoys touching you and kissing you, but what if that's the extent of it? You think back to your last relationship and feel that uncomfortable pang in your chest. But your ex was an idiot. Seungcheol's nothing like that. He can be very shy though. Maybe that's why he hasn't said anything? Should you be the one to ask him out?

You're thinking too much it must be showing on your face. You shake your head, trying to keep your spirits high, but seems like today's not your day. You hear him calling out your name before you see him. He's too close already for you to try and dodge him, so you close your eyes, take a deep breath and turn to face him and tell him to get lost.

Seungcheol thinks life is good. He's doing well at school, makes money with his tutoring job while at it, has good friends, spends time with the girl he likes any chance he gets. It could get better, Mingyu agrees, if he finally stopped chickening out from asking you out properly.

"What if she turns me down?" He worries throwing his arms out defeatedly, turning his body slightly towards Mingyu as they walk down the halls.

"Does those heart eyes she gives you mean nothing to you?" Mingyu gives him a look before continuing, "That's the worse thing she could do though, and it wouldn't be the end of the world-" So much for his pep talk, "but she won't." They turn a corner.

It's as far as the conversation goes, because he's not listening anymore. He's now looking at the person talking to you. His eyes swirl with contempt, body locking in with tension. Mingyu takes a few more strides before he realizes Seungcheol fell to a stop behind him. "What? What is it?" He looks from to Seungcheol to where his gaze is fixed on, to find you talking with your ex, "That guy again? Seriously, he needs to take a hint."

Unless you actually consider getting back with him, an annoying voice in his head taunts him. He doesn't have more time to stand there and brood because Mingyu's pulling him forward trying to listen to the conversation.

"I've already told you I'm sorry. What else do you want?"

"I'm sorry I put you through that." You say sarcastically. Seungcheol doubts if he can even catch that, "I never asked you to do it. In fact, I never asked anything from you besides respect." Seungcheol frowns. He still doesn't know what happened to put an end to things between you, wonders what did he do to make you say that.

Something you said must've been funny for him, because he gives you an amused look,"You're just acting difficult."

"And you're wasting my time. Again." You grit out and try to turn to leave.

He grabs your arm harshly, forcing you to face him again. "We're not done."

"We've been done for a long time. I don't want anything to do with you." You repeat, "Let go." You say, uneasy, wincing when he does the opposite, his grip getting tighter. "You're hurting me."

The moment Seungcheol sees your ex cross the line, he's walking over and taking hold of his arm, making him let go of you. "Don't ever touch her again." he says, rigid with anger.

He shrugs off Seungcheol's hold roughly. Something flickers in his eyes as he takes a close look at him, recognition and something more unpleasant. You know that you won't like whatever he chooses to do next, "Got yourself a good lap dog by letting him hit?" He says and dares to scoff like he has any right to reproach anything about your life, "You've become so easy."

It happens fast. Seungcheol throws a punch, your ex narrowly dodging it and connecting his own fist right over Seungcheol's lip. You shout, the chatter around you stopping before resuming more intensely when the rest of the students standing close by caught on to what's happening. A trickle of blood stains Seungcheol's skin and the front of his sweater. His glasses clatter on the floor, but when he goes for another punch it lands and your ex is going to be sporting a black eye later. You try to get in between them to stop the fight but Mingyu comes up from behind you right on time to steady you when your ex almost knocks you back. Some other students try to help to break them apart.

\\\

By the time Seungcheol sees you again, you're way less upset but still worried. Mingyu stuck with you waiting for Seungcheol as well, helping you calm down and getting you to stop crying until he had to leave for class. Thankfully, someone from faculty had stepped in and they didn't report the matter of the fight over to campus security, which would've risked getting the local police involved. Still, if something like that ever happened again on campus grounds they wouldn't be so forgiving. They also knew Seungcheol, that he was a great student and it wasn't normal for him to exhibit violent behaviour.

Sure enough, when both boys walk out of the professor's office, you see the area around your ex's right eye beginning to redden and darken, while Seungcheol's got a busted lip. You run over to him, "What happened? Are you okay?" One of your hands hovers unsurely over his mouth, and your eyes threaten to well up with tears again. Your ex walks past you silently observing you and glaring at you both. He fills you in and assures you he's not in trouble, that's he's okay. "You shouldn't have done that. You got hurt, and you could've gotten in trouble with the police or expelled!"

He frowns. "I was supposed to let him get away with doing and saying those things about you without paying for it?"

"He was obviously trying to provoke you."

"I don't care about that. He was hurting you. I won't let it slide for anyone to touch you or speak to you that way." He shoots back. He thinks back to how he was gripping your wrist and feels himself getting angry again. You sniffle, and he sees a tear that manages to escape before you hug him. He gets this deep, unpleasant feeling in his chest at the sight. He doesn't think he's ever felt something like it. He panics. "Wait, no, I'm sorry." He's definitely not sorry for punching that idiot but he scrambles for anything that'd make you feel better. "Please don't cry."

He stops briefly at his dorm before he's meeting you back at your place again later in the evening. He probably shouldn't, given that he just managed to slip free of trouble for starting a physical fight and now he's risking it by coming into your dorm. Curfew's still not in place but he knows well he's always still there when the time comes. You tell him so, but it betrays you how you brighten up at the sight of him nonetheless, just wanting him close. There's still a redness in the corner of your eyes from earlier.

None of you are thinking about homework or exams right now. You're lying in your bed, he's got his back against the headboard while you rest your head on his lap. One of his hands threads through your hair affectionately. It's just the two of you enjoying each other's company.

"You know, I think I have a great idea of how my lip could heal faster." He starts to say. You turn slightly to look up at him with a questioning look. "Kiss is better?" And he juts his lip out, mustering the most disarming pout he can. He's so cute you could start punching the air. And it really works, because you're about to fall right into his trap.

You sit up, resting a hand on his thigh for support, and can't help but giggle at how excited he looks that you're actually going to do it. You lean in to softly press your lips against his own over the small gash. Just a feathery brush being careful not to hurt him and then you're trying to pull back. But he's bringing up a hand to cup the back of your neck and chasing your lips again with more intention. "Cheol- Wait I don't- I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me." He mumbles, eyes barely open, not letting the space between you widen more than a breath, "Your kiss would never hurt me. It already feels better."

"It's going to start bleeding again." You say more seriously and pull away.

"I'm not going to be able to kiss you now because of the stupid cut?" He's pouting again, but he really looks upset now. You laugh.

"You should've known better than getting into a fight." You take the opportunity to lightly scold him again. He sulks even more, looking away. You're not going to agree regarding the topic. It's not easy for you either, you think. You love kissing his luscious lips and it doesn't help that he's really good at it. Your own self control is starting to fray until it comes undone.

"But I can make you feel better some other way." You offer, biting your lip. He's still being petty and not looking over. So you decide to go ahead.

You move back to your previous position. When it was all but innocent earlier, now you nuzzle your face right over him, making his dick jump in his pants. You hear a deep intake of air from above you and smile to yourself. His hand goes back to your hair when you do it again, more to ground himself than anything. Your name leaves his lips, voice unsteady. You raise yourself up only so you can slide his pants down, then you're lowering yourself again to leave kisses and suck teasingly over where's he's already straining in his boxers, helping him get completely there by bringing a hand to stroke him over the fabric. A moan slips from his lips, and you look up at his face through your lashes. There's already a hazy look in his eyes, his breathing hard, splotches of red blooming on his face down to his neck. You're faring no better, and you feel it in the ache between your legs. His eyes follow your every move as you're back up, brushing your thumb over his lower lip to free it from where he'd caught it between his teeth to stop more sounds from tumbling out. You tut, "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Sorry, it's just- You…" he trails off, not really knowing what he was going for in the first place, mind shutting off with nothing but you in it.

"Has anyone given you a blowjob before?" You ask straightforwardly. His face turns even more red as he shakes his head. It's not of importance if there was someone before, but you still get a thrill hearing you're his first. You pull the elastic of his boxers and let it snap lightly against his skin again before you go to take them off.

"You don't- You don't have to." He barely has the restraint to say.

"I know I don't. I want to. " He has no idea how much you've wanted it. "I want to suck you off. Make you feel really good. Can I?" You ask to make sure he's okay with this.

He gulps. "Yes. Please." He'll let you do anything you asked.

"Good." You smile, "But no biting these or I stop." you place your index finger to his lips. "Let me hear you."

You get rid of what's left of his clothes and start leaving a path of kisses from his chest down to his tummy, following his happy trail until you're right over him. Puckering your lips, you let the spit that's been gathering in your mouth drip over his cock. You close your hand around him as best as you can, giving it a few wet jerks. The tips of your fingers don't touch. He's fully hard already, leaking with precum. The first press of your lips makes him moan as you leave a few kisses. You dart out your tongue and flatten it to lick the underside from base to tip, feeling the thick vein there before you switch to kitten lick his tip where he's more sensitive. You pay attention to it, his salty taste hitting your tongue, loving how he responds and instinctively bucks his hips up, starting to get restless. Finally, you close your lips around him and slowly sink down, taking everything you can. When you swallow around him he curses, hands bunching the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white. His head hits the headboard with a soft thud when he screws his eyes shut and throws it back, letting out the prettiest of moans without a care in the world. You moan and feel your underwear starting to get uncomfortably wet. You swirl your tongue around him, he's hot and heavy against it, before you come up to breath, a string of your saliva connecting from his cock to your lips.

You sink back down, paying some attention to his balls, licking and sucking, his whole body jolting involuntarily. You sooth with both your hands smoothing up and down his thighs sweetly and one of his hands returns to the top of your head, brushing your hair softly and holding it back for you. You take his cock back in your mouth, quickly finding your rhythm now bobbing your head up and down, working your tongue around him. His breathing becomes more shallow and you can feel him twitch in your mouth. You redouble your efforts, your jaw starting to feel numb but you focus on him, on keeping him making those pretty sounds for as long as you can. He looks down at you with half lidded eyelids, beads of sweat building over his temple, his chest glistening. Stars swim around his eyesight threatening to burst at any moment for how you're making him feel and more seeing how you're also relishing in it. A couple tears have streaked down your cheeks, but the sight of them like this don't upset him like when you were crying earlier. A few loose strands of your hair stick to your forehead, and your chin is shiny with your spit with the mess you've made all over his cock down to his balls. It's everything about you like this that brings him dangerously to the edge with barely no warning, "Fuck, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-"

You only moan in response, pulling back slightly but never taking him out of your mouth and he can only just give in to the wave of pleasure washing over him when he cums. Strings of hot, thick, white cum hit your tongue and you swallow every drop. He thrusts into your mouth a couple of times, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag, before he stills and slumps into the bed. You release him from your mouth with a pop, going to give a few teasing licks as he starts to grow softer. He hisses, sensitive now and you stop, switching to leave kisses on his thighs, going up to his tummy and chest that rises and falls fast as he tries to catch his breath from the intensity of his high. When you're face to face, he gives you a tired smile, eyes swirling with affection. You smile at him and kiss the corner of his lips.

Again, he pulls you into him so you're kissing him properly and you gasp in his mouth. He can taste himself in you, before you're pulling away to chide him one more time. It's clear he doesn't care though as he just nods and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in his life. He really wants to ask you out. Maybe he should do it another time when he's not entirely naked in front of you, sticky and sweaty after he just came in your mouth to save himself from further embarrassment if you say no. He also thinks you might hate him for asking while you're also a total mess but he adores how messy you get for him. Before he can overthink it longer and this sudden courage wears out, he's letting the words tumble out of his mouth, "Go out with me? On a date?"

Your eyes widen and go rounder with surprise, and he braces himself. But then you're smiling bashfully, trying to smooth down your hair staring at his lips, before you meet his big, bright, warm brown eyes. "You want to date me?"

"Yes." He says firmly, nodding for emphasis.

"I thought you'd never ask. Yes, I want to go out on a date with you."

He falls asleep shortly after having to drag himself under your bed when someone knocks on your front door (He pulled his boxers back on and kicked the rest of his clothes under it before ducking and hiding himself. You can't help yourself and give him a little slap on his perfectly round ass under the disguise of hurrying him and have to hold back your laughter when he jolts with a yelp and throws you a look before getting out of sight. It's not much of an easy task given that the space under your bed is narrow and he's a big guy so it's a very uncomfortable fit. Your roommate who got back some time before curfew started beats you to the door and opens it, letting the student that makes the rounds come in. She greets you kindly, making small talk while walking around the place and you open the doors to your rooms. Soon, she's back out without a single clue of Seungcheol being there.). You're sitting on your desk with his tee shirt on typing away on your laptop finishing a paper for one of your classes, but the sight of him like that, so relaxed, soft yet sinful has you stealing glances at him more often than not. He's splayed on his back on your bed taking most of the space, one arm folded under his head, legs spread, one of them slightly bent. wearing only his boxers while he snoozes softly, serene look in his face as his chest rises and falls slowly. He'd fallen asleep with his glasses on but you took them off to make him comfortable. You smile, your eyes twinkling brightly thinking about moments ago. Your heart flutters; you can't wait for your -

6: Date

Seungcheol checks his appearance on the full body mirror in his room for the nth time. He's nervous but excitement thrums steadily in his veins, glowing on his face. Mingyu walked into the room a few minutes ago to tease him as he finishes getting ready. Seungcheol gets he means well, and it's actually helping him relax.

"Don't want to rush you or anything but you're going to be late if you keep checking yourself out." Mingyu tells him, making him glance at the time. He hurries one last look, fixing his already styled hair.

"Do you think she'll like it though?" He meets his eyes in the mirror's reflection.

"She told you she'd like it, right? She'll love it." Then he adds, "Though I'm not sure if she'll choose it best after she's seen what's underneath."

"Do you really have to say those things?"

"You're the same or even worse than me." Silence. No argument, and Mingyu smiles triumphantly.

You'd insisted to meet there when he told you he'd pick you up. He invited you to the winter festival going on on the town's square. He gets there on time, before sundown, and looks around for you amongst the throng of people already there.

"Cheol?" He hears your voice calling for him. You're close. He turns towards it and he sees you standing up from a bench, smiling and waving at him. He walks over.

"Hi." He breaths out, nerves creeping back in.

"Hi." you stand on tip toe and kiss his cheek. It's cold, so the color on his cheeks could be because of that. You take in his appearance. "You're wearing a turtleneck." And your smile growing bigger makes your eyes shine brighter.

"I told you I would. So, what do you think?"

"I love it." You state, and he looks down in an attempt to hide his bashful smile from you. That four little word keeps going in circles in his mind. "What's that?" you point curiously at a small box in his hand.

"It's a gift. For you. I- I actually bought you something else but I didn't want you to have to carry it around all night." He rambles, beginning to undo his hairstyle by brushing his hand through the soft strands. He's doing so well. If only he could shut up.

"Great minds think alike." you smile brightly at him, and that's when he notices the bag you're holding behind your back. "I got something for you too."

You sit down, and hand him his gift. He takes out the contents from the bag: there's a new lego set, a book and a small box that holds a thin gold chain. You watch, excited for his reactions. When he looks up at you, there's a sparkle in his eyes. You're incredible. "I love them, thank you. You didn't have to do all of this."

"Shut up. Then why did you bring me something?"

"Because- Because I wanted to."

"Well, there you have it. I wanted to too." You say firmly.

He laughs, shaking his head before urging, "Open yours."

You open the small box to find a dainty gold bracelet inside. You gasp, "It's beautiful." He smiles, pleased that you liked it and helps you put it on. "You didn't need to get me anything else."

Now it's his turn to tell you to shut up. "We should find a good spot to watch when they turn on the lights." You nod, and grab his hand when he offers it.

There's lots to do, but first you watch as the square fills color with Christmas lights. A giant Christmas tree, with a shining star on the top, and covered in ornaments with enough space in it left for the people to decorate it too. Stands of food vendors to cater visitors with something warm - except that you actually go for an ice cream stand first and Seungcheol thinks you're insane. "Some people crave ice cream when it's cold." is what you tell him. -, live music, attractions and rides for the kids - you still drag him onto the carousel-, an ice rink, souvenir stands, a photo booth.

You grab your photo strips, and smile staring at them.You're making silly faces on the first one, he'd hugged you from the back on the second one and you're not even looking at the camera, you slightly turned towards him while he looks at you, but there's big smiles on your faces that made your eyes crinkle. The third one you're poking his cheeks where his dimples show, and the last one he meant to kiss your cheek but you turn at the last moment and he kissed your lips instead. It caught how his brows lifted in surprise while you smile into the kiss.

Seungcheol's cheeks hurt from how much he's smiling. The date has gone great, better than he'd imagined. He knows that it's mostly because you're the one he's with. Sure, he's getting cold as fuck the later it gets but it doesn't matter when he's holding you, your hands.

"Oh! I'll get us some more hot chocolate." It's probably your third cup, but you're off before he can get it for you anyway.

He stays right where you left him by the great water fountain, staring after you and already thinking of your next date. That's why he doesn't notice when a couple of chuckling kids come barreling through chasing each other, accidentally knocking him over. He's brought back from his daydreaming, caught off guard. The back of his legs hit the edge, hands shooting from where they were in his coat pockets trying to regain his balance in vain. He falls backwards into the freezing water.

"Oh my God, Seungcheol! Are you okay?" And you're back. You forget the two cups in your hands, leaving them on the edge and going to help him out. His teeth are chattering when he answers yes, clothes and hair soaked and dripping all over where he now stands. "What happened?" He explains still befuddled himself shivering through all the recount. He can also tell you're doing your best not to laugh at him because seriously, how ridiculous can his luck be, but you also feel bad and are worried he might get sick. "We should call it a night."

\\\

Seungcheol comes out of the shower, and when he's done toweling his damp hair, he beelines for his bed, burying under the sheets right next to where you're sitting. You laugh, poking his side. "What is it?" He just groans. You try to yank the sheets off him so you can see him but he doesn't relent. When he turns to avoid you, you end up toppling over him. You squeal, more laughter bubbling up. Finally, you wrench the sheets from him, revealing his face, eyes screw shut as he complains. "C'mon, talk to me."

"Fuck! I'm so sorry. Everything was going so well and I had to screw it all up taking a dive in the fountain." It's really hard not to laugh but you'd make it worse if you do, so you force it down.

"Hey, you didn't ruin everything. I had a really good time, enjoyed every second of it."

"It's just- I really like you and I don't want to mess things up." He confesses, opening his eyes and looking straight up at you. His hair's a mess from rolling all over the bed, and he looks really upset about it, his words sincere.

"I really like you too." You say, and his sulky expression splinters, a tentative smile shining through.

"You do?"

"Mmhm. I like you this much." And you open your arms as wide as you can. Seungcheol really laughs this time. That seems to do it. He sits up and wraps his arms around you. You hug him back just as tight. "Now can we cuddle?"

Later before you inevitably have to leave, he hands you your other present. When you tear off the wrap paper from it, you find a journal and a set of pens. Good ones. He rambles on about the details, what type they are, how the ink dries fast so you don't have to worry about smudges on your notes. And maybe you shut him up with a kiss and stay a little longer.

"I still can't believe they managed to drop you into the fountain."

"I was distracted!" By you. "You're laughing. I could've been seriously hurt! I could've drowned!"

"That's a little too far fetched."

"There's a bruise on my ass."

"We can't have that." And you sound really worried this time.

7: PDA

Finals are coming up, and with it the end of the semester and the beginning of the holidays. That's why Mingyu, Seungcheol and you find yourselves in the library late one night getting in some extra studying. It's more like Seungcheol's helping Mingyu at this point. There's a topic he's struggling with, and Seungcheol has tried to explain it several times already in different ways. He's starting to lose his patience but you know he won't drop it until he gets it. You watch amused as his eyes go a little wider the more it goes on, Mingyu looking like there's not a single thought getting through his head. You let out a quiet laugh while you review your notes again.

"I get it now. Can we please take a break?" Mingyu says after a while. He's saying he finally grasped it, but something tells you he's lying so he can get over it and finish up. Seungcheol and you share a look. He's thinking the same thing. "You heard about the party this weekend?"

"What party?" You ask.

"A friend of Mingyu's throwing a huge end of the semester party. It's kinda like a Christmas thing too. Basically he invited everyone." Seungcheol tells you.

Instead of wondering where this guy's planning to fit the whole campus in a way that's safe and how can he afford it, you say, "We still have finals left. Don't you think he's a little ahead?"

"We finished classes already. Can't you let him take a win?" He nudges you playfully."I'm going. We should all go."

After a while, Mingyu takes his leave. You ask Seungcheol if he thinks he's going to be okay. He tells you he'll be alright and that whatever he doesn't know he has confidence to make up for it. You aren't sure how can you measure confidence on a written evaluation but you don't doubt he's right. "You want to go to that party?" He asks you.

"Only if you want to." you say, "Mingyu wants us to go." Seungcheol nods. You're going then. "Let's review this again so we can go."

Now, he groans, resting his head on the table with his arms stretched in front of him defeatedly. He whines out, "Again? We've been here for hours. You've read those a hundred times already."

"No, I haven't." You have, "Just once and we'll go." And as if hearing you, the bright overhead lights go off, only leaving the warm lights from the lamps on each occupied desk. There's only a few other students scattered around since it's nearing closing time. He begrudgingly takes the stack of flashcards you hand him to test you first.

Like he said, you do great, but he knows that you always worry about not doing well during the actual test so he goes along with it as long as it helps you. He fuels you on and smiles at you. "I told you."

You smile back, preening under his praise. "Your turn." you gesture for his flashcards.

"We don't need to." But you're stubborn and insist. "Fine. But I get a kiss for every answer right." He bargains.

You raise your brow at him knowingly. You know better than that but still you find yourself agreeing. "Okay. Let's see how you do."

Hint: He gets every answer right, happily claiming his reward each time. The first kiss is a peck, ends as quickly as it began. You don't think much of it, not even when his gaze stays fixed on the movement of your lips as you go on to read the next card. Maybe he actually intends to behave this time. But as you continue, his kisses linger, each one lasting more than the other, then he's pulling back leaving you breathless and chasing after his lips. There's still a few cards left in your hand when he decides he's had enough, insatiable with your lips still moving against his own after his latest answer. He grabs your waist, lifting you over the armrests of your chair onto his lap. The cards slip from your hands and spill on the floor. You gasp his name against his lips, but he just kisses you again, his hands still on your waist making you rock against him. "Seungcheol, we're in the library." you whisper. It sounds loud in the quiet space, no doubt as it also does the smack of your lips together, and as his kisses travel lower to your jaw, your neck, and back up so he can nip at your ear playfully.

"I want to kiss you." It's like he's been bewitched by them. His only thoughts being about kissing your already swollen, shiny lips. Touching you and hold you closer until there's no space left.

"You're doing more than that." You call out but you don't do anything to stop him.

The couple of students that were closer to your usual table had left a few minutes a go. The only one in your field of vision is at a table way at the front, partially hidden from view by a tall set of bookshelves. The librarian's shift's been long over and the student in charge at the desk is nodding off with her headphones on.

You lose yourselves in each other with each grind of your hips, kisses only broken for your need to breathe. You don't care that it's uncomfortable, with the armrests of the chair digging into your thighs. You're more worried about how damp your underwear's getting, molding to your puffy lips and leaving a damp spot on Seungcheol's dress pants when it soaks through. He had a presentation for his last class just before you met here, so he'd been more particular with his outfit today. You, for one, had appreciated it and you're sure more than one person other than you had checked out his ass in those pants. You'd be jealous if you had to, but you're the one sitting on top of him now, undoing the first buttons of his shirt so you can kiss, lick, and mark his skin. You're lying you were still jealous only thinking about someone else staring but you don't blame them.

Seungcheol's hands move from your waist to the back of your thighs, up until they're fondling your asscheeks. He's still aiding your movements as he spreads you for him when one of his hands gets dangerously close to where you're aching for him. Then it's slipping under your panties, feeling the wetness pooling there. He bites his lip, "You're so wet." Spreading your puffy lips with two of his thick fingers, collecting your slick. He sinks his middle one into your heat and kisses you again to swallow any sounds that may threaten to fall from your lips. Your walls pulse, pussy sucking his finger in every time he pulls it back just to thrust it back in. His palm rubs deliciously against your clit, making more of your slick drip out all over his finger down his hand. Then you're taking another. Fuck, he wishes it was his cock stretching your little pussy instead of his fingers.

And he realizes he said his wish aloud. You only get wetter when he voices his fantasies, the sticky sound of his fingers going in and out of you loud in his ears. Your jaw goes slack, lips parting prettily in a silent moan as his fingers hit a sweet spot. He reaches deeper than you ever could, but he's right. His cock would feel so much better. Without any other thought, you grab his wrist to stop him. He pulls his hand away and from under your skirt, watches as you bring it to your mouth and suck his digits. He's going to bust in his pants. He's licking his own fingers and hand clean when you're done and start unbuttoning his pants. It's tight, difficult to move cramped together in the uncomfortable chair, but you manage to pull them down along with underwear low enough to free him. He lets out a loud gasp when you wrap one manicured hand around his cock and start moving it up and down his shaft, your underwear pushed to the side and digging onto your skin as you guide him to your entrance. "We have to be quiet." you whisper into his lips, voice unsteady. You don't want to get banned from the library though that's not even remotely close to the worse thing that could happen if you get caught. He nods his head impatiently, breaths coming quick.

Your lips barely leave his the whole time. Slowly, the tip goes in and he forces himself to keep still even when you take your time to keep moving lower, your hand, still working around him. He tries not to think too hard about the lewd image below your skirt. A shaky sigh leaves him when you sit fully on him. Your nails dig into his shoulders crumpling the fabric of his shirt. You stay like that for a moment, getting used to the feeling of him inside of you again before you start rolling your hips lazily. His own thrusts are shallow, his cock barely leaving your pussy to plunge back in deep. It's the best you can do to avoid alerting anybody of what's going on, while you also refuse to leave even a sliver of space between you, pressed together stealing each other's breath, kissing, touching and moving in sync.

In the dim light, Seungcheol takes everything in; the expanse of your chest visible over the neckline of your shirt glistening. He can feel beads of sweat building on his own skin, seeping onto the back of his shirt. He could stare up at you like this forever, but neither of you are going to last any longer. He can feel it in the way your thighs start trembling, and when your release hits you and you're creaming all over him, he's following right after you. Your lips meet one last time, eyes screwed shut. It's more to muffle any sound than a proper kiss, a little clumsy, before you have to pull away to be able catch your breaths.

You rest your forehead against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, an airy laugh sneaking into your little bubble, "We have to stop doing this."

And he smiles. You can try. He's brings his hands up from your thighs to your hair, feeling the damp strands around your face trying to fix them."You look so fucked out."

You raise a brow, eyes filled with mirth. "Back at you." And you start doing the same for him, fixing his glasses, his hair, buttoning up his shirt. But there's no hiding the afterglow. There's a blush on his face, his lips are swollen from all the kissing. He kisses your palm when your hand lingers on his cheek. It makes your heart skip a beat.

He pulls out, helping you fix your underwear right before you can feel his cum start to drip out of you. You then have to swat his hand away when he starts brushing his fingers over the ruined fabric, the way he bites his lip doing nothing to hide his smile. He's been spoiled beyond repair.

You gather your things, and when you're ready, he's holding your hand to head out. He has to walk closely behind you to hide the ruined front of his pants because even though you were so good to take his cum, there was no saving them from the mess you'd both made. You wish goodnight to the student working the desk, which they return with a tired smile. What you never did notice was the poor boy a few tables to the right. A first year. He'd accidentally dozed off with his head over his folded arms after stressing out over his first university finals for hours. But when he'd come to, he's caught wind of what was happening between the couple in the room. He'd looked away, flustered, burying his face back into his books, shaking his head.

Always the quiet ones, or so they say.

8 : Broken

"Hi."

"Hi." Seungcheol smiles into the kiss you give him in greeting when he opens the door of his dorm.

"You have no idea how sexy you look right now." You say, eyeing his outfit, hands on his sides.

He raises a brow but there's still an unmistakable blush on his cheeks at the compliment, "I'm wearing the ugliest ugly sweater you were able to get your hands on." You're actually matching too, your idea. He won't say but he loves that fact, his possessive side being unintentionally nurtured. Were you thinking the same when you suggested it? The thought drives him even more crazy.

You laugh, "That makes it even sexier."

This time he kisses you. You return it happily, and that encourages him to push you against the nearest wall, hiking up one of your legs around his waist. You press your hands softly to his chest and he gets the hint, pulling back, "Seungcheol, we have to make it to the party."

He sounds as breathless as you when he replies, "Do we really have to?" and it's real hard to resist him when he keeps staring at your lips. He looks right into your eyes before he utters his next words, "I'd rather stay here with you." If you're being honest, you too. But you already told Mingyu you'd go. "Mingyu won't care. He's seeing someone, they'll be there too." It's like he's read your mind and knows he's close to convincing you.

"We should spend time with our friends, otherwise they'd think I'm trying to keep you all to myself."

"What if I want you to?" He wouldn't mind. "We could eat and drink these ourselves." He says, eyeing to the side at the chocolates and cheap bottle of wine you brought along refusing to show up empty handed.

You stare at him and open your mouth like you're about to say something. Nothing but a breath comes out and the shit eating grin he's giving you tells you he's enjoying having left you at a loss for words. "I'm being serious." Is what you say when you regain your voice.

"So am I."

"They'll hate me."

"No they won't. That's ridiculous."

"Seungcheol!"

Unfortunately, despite all his efforts, you end up going. And you're surprised to find it's not some nearly unbearably loud house party with students dancing and drunk everywhere. You arrive at a mansion-like house. There's beautiful Christmas decorations in the garden,a group of people chattering lightly while they have a drink outside in the porch. Inside, more people are sitting down around a big living room, conversation and laughter filling the air. There's a big Christmas tree on the far corner, presents for the Secret Santa game under and around it. On the patio, there's tables set for when it's time for dinner. You see familiar faces and you greet them, others you're not so glad to see.

You walk into the kitchen, where a few other people are lingering around. There you find Mingyu. He's with his date, both talking to who he introduces to you as the host of the party. "You made it!" He beams. When he introduces you two as his favorite couple, you almost die on the spot, cheeks burning. But when Seungcheol's hand in yours only gives you a gentle squeeze and you look over at him, you allow yourself to smile when you see that he doesn't seem to mind. And he doesn't at all. His cheeks could start hurting by how wide he's smiling.

You elbow Mingyu and pull him to the side while Seungcheol and his friend talk. He protests but you shut him up. "Why did you say that?"

"What?" He asks confused, seeing as you fidget and pull at your sleeves until they cover half your hands.

"Seungcheol and I aren't a couple." you hiss back.

"You're wearing matching sweaters." He deadpans. "Labels. But trust me, that'll change soon. He's head over heels for you. You two can't be more obvious."And he sees you smile.

A projector's set and the group in the living room watch a movie. You sit on a bean bag and Seungcheol grabs a cushion to sit on the floor in front of you. One of his hands brushes up and down one your legs where they rest at either side of him absentmindedly. He's seemingly paying attention to the movie, until at one point he's not. Resting his head on your thigh he can't stop himself from nipping your soft flesh playfully, making you yelp. A few people around give you a look,"Sorry, that-really startled me." It's your lame excuse. It's not like there's any jumpscares. Seungcheol snorts and you're very tempted to whack the back of his head. He behaves for the rest of the movie though, almost falling asleep with his head cushioned by your thigh. You eat, and after, you gather once again in the living room to exchange gifts before the group scatters to do different things. You're doing karaoke now, someone giving their own rendition of a Christmas song classic while the rest hype them up as they half nail it until their voice breaks and cracks. You have a turn too, and though he puts up a fight at first, Mingyu manages to drag Seungcheol to the center to sing as well. The few drinks he's had helped him let loose.

He plops down beside you after his performance. Someone else steps up and starts looking for a song. You laugh as he buries his face into your neck. "Did you like it?" He murmurs, his hot breath smelling faintly of alcohol tickles you.

You hum affirmatively, "Loved it." You can't see it but you feel him smile. He's practically clinging to you, leaving kisses on your neck. "Cheol, there's people around." You glance around the room, while the song starts. They're doing pretty good.

"Don't care."

"I do. And you're drunk."

"Am not." He is. He can handle it well, but he's buzzed. And getting a little too handsy. There's a high note and the person singing butchers it. "We've been here for enough time already so we can leave."

"Sure. We'll leave soon." But first you'll get him to sober up a little. "Give me a moment. I'll be right back."

He only wraps his hands around you tighter. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to get you some water. Wait here." and reluctantly, he lets go.

You try to make your way around to the kitchen in the big house, only entering one wrong room in the process. Meanwhile, Seungcheol stands up and walks out. The living room was beginning to get stuffy. His skin feels hot, face slightly red, and his sweater itches. He welcomes the cold air outside, taking a seat on an outdoor couch nearby. He doesn't notice when someone slips out after him, leaned back with his eyes closed, but when they sit in top of him, he's smiling when they lean in to kiss him. He kisses back.

You frown when you head back to the living room and Seungcheol's nowhere to be seen. You start to walk back out and come across Mingyu, almost stumbling into him and knocking over the drink in his hand. "Shit, sorry. Have you seen Cheol?"

He shakes his head and offers to help you look for him. Worried he might have sneaked outside while it's cold, you start there. You're quick to find him but you stop right under the threshold, the sliding door having been left open. A chill gust of wind hits your face. It's nothing compared to the scene unfolding right before your eyes that has you stumbling back like you've been slapped on the face.

What he sees when he opens his eyes doesn't make sense. It's not you in front of him, but your roommate. It's like someone drops a bucket of ice cold water over him when he hears a noise, like someone taking a sharp breath, and he looks over to find you and Mingyu standing by the door. He's fully sober now. Mingyu looks the most confused he's ever been. But you. There's a look in your eyes. Something more than disappointment, betrayal, while silent tears roll down your face. You snap out of it, and the last he sees is how you're face crumples up with so much hurt before you spin around in a hurry to leave. Mingyu calls your name, starting after you but he doesn't know what to do.

No.

"Oops. Guess she saw that." Your roommate says faking innocence. But when she turns back to him, but she's smiling, uncaring. All her attention is on him, while he's still struggling to grasp what's happened. "I always wondered what she saw in such a dork like you but now I get it. Bet you really know how to use this too." When she tries to touch him, he grips her wrist and pushes her hand away.

"Don't you ever come closer to me again." He spits out furiously pushing her off him, with nothing but aversion in his eyes.

She scoffs indignantly, straightening up, "I wouldn't bother going after her. Do you think she'd want anything to do with you now?" He's just about to head back inside when she speaks again, making him stop "Do you know what happened with her last boyfriend?" He waits for her to finish off. "He cheated on her."

You tune out Mingyu's calls, otherwise almost drowned under the voices from where karaoke's still going on, about to slip out of the house when you knock onto someone walking in. The water bottle you were still holding drops to the ground. You let out a hurried apology, bringing a trembling hand to hide your tear streaked face. You didn't even notice when you'd started crying.

"Your new boy already let you down?" And the owner of the voice is none other than your ex. Great. He's still blocking the front door."It's bad, isn't it?" Taking a guess by the state you're in. "Guess he just needed someone to stroke his ego. You did too much of a good job, and now he's moved on to the next one."

"Is that what happened with you?" You bite back, shoving him out of the way and stepping outside. Usually you're good ignoring his comments, but right now when everything hurts and you're already down his words land like a final blow. Your mind can't help but break down and spin his words around until you start to believe he might actually be right about it. You'd just happened to be there, he saw you were interested and you turned into option number one. A good time, until you weren't even worth that anymore. He didn't see what you saw in him. Maybe you weren't made to have more, mean something to someone, be important in their lives, in his life. You were so naïve, giving so much of yourself for someone to only take and not match. Why did you always took it too far?

Mingyu sees Seungcheol hurrying over not a moment later, "Where is she?" He looks around desperately, urgency in his voice. He's as shaken as he saw you earlier. Everything's gone wrong, like the ground is crumbling under his feet; but life keeps moving on around him, the music, the laughs, the animated conversation. It's driving him insane. He shouldn't have come, he was so close to convincing you to stay back. His mind keeps repeating that over and over.

"She left. Wait- You can't go after her right now. Not like this." Mingyu has to struggle to hold him back. He's about to ask what the fuck does he mean when he catches his reflection on the round mirror above a small table near the front door. He doesn't look any better than he feels. He wipes the red lipstick off harshly and thinks he's going to be sick, the warm and fuzzy feeling from the alcohol before now making his stomach churn dangerously.

It must show on his face, because Mingyu makes him lean on him and begins hauling him to the nearest bathroom. "I have to tell her it's not what it looked like." He's aware of how that sounds. Like a poor excuse. He should've known something was off. You wouldn't have been all over him while he'd been drinking. Your weight on his, your perfume, your lips, all that he knew so well. And now he was risking missing them for good.

9: Now

Your phone had been ringing to the point of exhaust. You put it on silent, throwing it away letting yourself be swallowed by your sheets. Last night when you got to your dorm, you'd sent an email to the student affairs' office requesting for a dorm change. Either you got that, or you'd put a complain on your roommate and get her out. You don't think she'd be opposed to leave, not after you'd run into her this morning. It was more out of impulse than anything, but you'd raised your hand and slapped her across the face so hard she'd only gaped at you, speechless, not daring to hit back. You didn't regret it. She deserved it. The dorm has been silent since she'd walked out the door in the minutes that followed. That is until you hear a knock on the door and someone calling your name. You won't open it. Hopefully he'd leave. But he doesn't. You hesitate near the door whether to tell him to go away or not.

"Can we please talk?" Seungcheol's voice sounds raspy from lack of use or like he'd been crying. If you answered the door, you'll see he mirrors you by how wrecked he really is. His hairs disheveled from how many times he's pulled and stressed his hands through it. He got no sleep last night, dark circles under his eyes.

Silence. He starts to doubt if you're really there, but he'd asked at the desk before coming upstairs and they said they hadn't seen you leave."If you don't want to you can just listen."

"I don't want things to end like this. Fuck, they haven't even started." he lets out a humorless laugh and sniffles when a fresh wave of tears comes, "I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Last night it was all her. She wanted to pull us apart and I fell for it. I… I know what you saw, that I kissed her too. I never would've done that if I hadn't thought it was you. Never. When I saw it wasn't you I'd kissed I literally got sick and I've been beating myself up all night for how stupid I was. Please believe me." He rests his forehead against the door. "You're the only one I want. I've liked you for so long, you have no idea how much. You spending time with me has made me feel like the luckiest guy ever. I'd never throw that away fooling around." A sigh, "Still, I managed to mess it up."

There's silence for a while. You're thinking he's gone when you're startled by the sound of his voice again, broken."I understand if you need space- Or if you already made up your mind and you can't forgive me… Please tell me, curse me out, whatever you need to do, and I won't bother you ever again."

Nothing breaks the dreadful silence that follows. He really left now. Your own tears haven't stopped flowing and you keep crying leaning against the door.

Later, you force yourself up off the floor and grab your phone. There's countless missed calls and unopened texts from him since last night, a bunch from Mingyu. The ones from Seungcheol stopped coming not too long ago, probably because he was on his way over.

You open the the thread of Mingyu's messages first,

M: Pardon my unfeminist language, but your roommate's a bitch. If I was a girl, I'd slap the shit out of her.

M: It was her! It's all her scheming! You know Seungcheol wouldn't hurt you, he only has eyes for you.

M: You're my friend too and I hate that you're hurting. Please at least let me know you got home okay.

M: Please hear him out. I can't get him to calm down it's bad.

M: The guy's in love with you you know that. He's so pathetic without you.

M: Don't let that girl get away with this.

There's a voicemail too from moments after you ran out of the party. His voice comes rushed at first, knowing he only has a couple minutes and a lot he wants to get in.

"Hey! Please let me know when you get back to your place so I know you're okay. I mean I know you're not- fuck! I saw it too but I know Seungcheol, you know him and he's not like that. He's buzzed even I could get away with kissing him right now." There's a silence. Like he realized that last bit wasn't exactly helpful. You can picture his face of disgust from even saying it. "What I'm trying to say is that that girl took advantage of him. This is exactly what she wanted. Don't rush to conclusions, he's serious about you. I know you two are going to be oka-" he gets caught off.

Now that you read his messages you hope he gets you're okay, all things considered. You only reply to one message directly:

M: Pardon my unfeminist language, but your roommate's a bitch. If I was a girl, I'd slap the shit out of her.

You: I did.

You get a reply almost instantly.

M: That's my girl. I'm so proud of you.

A tiny smile peeks through your tears. He knows not to push you further. All he wanted was to know you were okay. Or alive, at least.

Then you move on to Seungcheol's messages from last night.

Cheol: We need to talk.

Cheol: Answer the phone, please.

Cheol: please pick up

Cheol: I'm so sorry. I don't know why she kissed me. I didn't want her to.

Cheol: It wasn't you. I only want you.

Cheol: You know that, right?

Cheol: Are you back at your dorm? Did you get there alright?

Cheol: I'm coming over.

Cheol: I'm at the lobby they won't let me up. I don't have much time before they kick me out.

Cheol: Let's talk it out please. I know I hurt you and I hate myself for it but we can get past this.

Cheol: Are you asleep?

Cheol: They told me I have to leave. I'll come back tomorrow so we can talk?

Cheol: Please say something. anything.

Cheol: I'm sorry.

He also left a voicemail after none of his calls went through.

"Don't think for even a second that I can like another girl that isn't you. Please, talk to me? Let me know you're safe at least. Fuck, we shouldn't have gone to that stupid party. I would've rather stay back with you. I don't care about anyone else. I love you, alright? Before you even noticed me, it was just you. Then you gave me a chance and I got to know you better. So sweet, smart, kind, funny, irresistible like I knew you'd be. You drive me crazy it was impossible not to fall for you. I don't want this to be it. I want to be with you."

You can tell he'd been crying then too just like you are now. His voice shaky and wet, catching in some parts. It was so raw and honest. He was baring his heart for you. You doubt he could be faking any of it.

You know he isn't.

But the image of him kissing someone else had hurt so much. Your brain kept trying to protect you telling you to run away from the pain before it could cut you open further, that the story was repeating itself. But your heart is telling you to go back to him. You can't let one relationship gone wrong for reasons beyond you sabotage you. Are you going to allow someone else and their malicious intentions to drive you away from whom your heart calls for? So you decide to take one step. You don't feel ready, but you go for it nevertheless.

You: I'm sorry too. We can talk.

Seungcheol goes through exams robotically. Only his lack of focus could cost him a few points from what would otherwise be perfect scores. Even if that were the case, he does not care - at least not at the moment. He'd have the entire holiday break to wallow in self-pity if he wanted to afterwards. - But it's nothing that'd affect his general grade anyway. He's talking to you right after this test, the one from the class you have together. You're only a few rows behind him and it's the closest you'd been the whole week, only catching brief glimpses of each other around campus. The toughest part has been seeing you so retreated into yourself, so dull, and knowing he'd been the cause. He feared you weren't taking care of yourself, but he was no better of an example.

He finishes before most of the rest of the class, but he deliberately stays back until the end of the hour. You're the last two to hand in your papers, then it's only the two of you in the middle of the lecture hall. There's so much to say, but where to start? It's funny, he's been wanting to talk to you for days and now everything in his head's on disarray. His eyes search your face for hope that this won't go wrong.

"I…" you both stop.

"Can I go first?" you ask, figuring it's fair. He already said enough, it's your turn to try. Besides, if you're right, things would get settled quick. You have a feeling. When he nods, you take a deep breath and speak, "Did you mean all of the things you said?" you're pulling at your shirt sleeves. It makes you look smaller than you are already compared to him but you ask looking straight into his eyes.

Seungcheol doesn't miss a beat to answer, "All of it."

"Even when you said you loved me?"

"Not loved. Love." He corrects. "I didn't want the first time I tell you to be like that," It kinda slipped out, "but it's the truth. I love you."

And you're hugging him. This is not how he expected this conversation to go. Honestly he didn't dare to picture how it'd go down, whether they be good or bad outcomes. He was about ready to plead and beg, do whatever you asked of him. But he's wrapping his arms around you tightly like he's afraid if he lets go he'd never hold you again. He kisses the crown of your hair before he rests his head on top of yours "I'm so sorry."

"I am sorry too."

"What are you sorry for?" He's frowning.

"For how I reacted, for doubting you and running without hearing you out."

"I don't think neither of us were in a good state to talk." Then he pulls back. He has to ask, "Are you sure you're okay?" He sees a few stray tears on your face and wipes them off gently.

You nod, and smile at him. "Yeah, it's just- I was so scared."

"Me too." You could've left things like that, but you chose to believe in each other. That you were in it for the long run. He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, "Thank you for coming back."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. So much."

"Cheol?"

"Mm?"

"I love you." And he's smiling, that big smile that makes his dimples show. You both feel much more lighter now, like you can breathe again.

"I love you."

And you're about to close the small gap between you, when the door opens. You both turn towards it to find the professor.

He stops, staring at your intertwined hands. You think you see a ghost of a smile. "I just came back for these." He walks over to the desk and takes a cellphone out of one of the drawers before he heads back out. "Enjoy your holidays."

"Thanks." "You too."

"Was it me or he smiled at us?"

"It's probably because you stopped spacing out in class because of me."

"Okay that's not what happened."

"Right. You actually spaced out more."

"You're a bad tutor."

"I could do worse."

"Oh I know."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

     "Rise and shine," Seonghwa's voice yanks you from your peaceful escape.

    You were having such wonderful dreams, too.

    "Time to get up, Baby." Well... all dreams must come to an end. Welcome back to the nightmare of real life. 

    "No..." You grumble sleepily as he lifts you from the warmth of the blankets, but you have long given up any physical attempts to stop him.

    It's been a month and a half since you'd been 'brought home', as he would call it. You'd made two escape attempts, one the morning after; and one only a week ago that you were still sporting injuries from. Not from trying to climb out the window, no — from him.

    "Good morning, boys," he hums as he sets you at your designated seat at the table. Like he has for six weeks.

    San and Mingi mumble their groggy good mornings. Just like they have for forty two days.

    You were starting to feel like you were stuck in a never ending loop.

    'Remember your manners'. "Mornin'."

   Mingi clears his throat, looking down at his bowl. 'Never look My Baby in the eyes.'

    San rubs his face with a groan, taking a singular peek at you while Seonghwa gets you both breakfast. He forces himself to do so at least once a day as a reminder of what he's apart of.

    "Can I stay home today?" You try to rub the sleep from your eyes. "My foot kept me up last night." 

    Ah, yes. Your foot. Which he had undoubtedly fractured after he found you trying to climb down the side of the building with nothing but a sheet.

    He had offered you a sleeping pill at some point during the night, maybe the third time your fidgeting had woken him up. You declined. Quickly and without hesitation.

    "No, sorry, Baby," he kisses your head as he slides a bowl of oatmeal in front of you, "eat up."

    You bite your tongue for a moment. You want to curse at him so badly. "Thank you, Mommy."

    The morning continues as it always does.

    If you'd been well behaved, by Seonghwa's standards, you got to watch television until his roommates were done using the bathroom to get ready for the day. But you had that privilege revoked at the moment; so you were left in silence on the couch, trying to fall back asleep to no avail.

    Then it was your turn to get ready. Wash your face, do your skincare, brush your teeth; all of which was done with Seonghwa. You were lucky he left you to do your business on your own while he gathered both of your outfits — especially after pulling a stunt like you had.

    You let him dress you without a fight, you had given up after the fifth morning of giving it all your strength and still ending up where he wanted you. He was gentle now, he had no reason to be rough when you didn't put up a fight.

    "Mommy?" You call quietly as he carefully unwraps your foot. The swelling was almost completely gone, but you were still an entirely different shade on the top of your foot where he had smashed it.

    You're lucky he didn't break any bones. You're lucky it's only fractures and bruises. You're lucky he's taking such good care of it so it might heal properly. You're lucky. You're lucky. That's what your brain keeps telling you.

    "Yes, My Baby?" He hums as he moves your foot to get a better look at it, making you hiss. "Shhhh, it's okay," he rubs your leg softly, and you hate the way it calms you down. You hate the way it works. "What were you going to ask?"

    "Uhm," you sniff back your unshed tears and try to refocus your mind. It's hard to these days. You feel stuck in a place somewhere between little space and your grown mind. You know you need to keep fighting, keep your head on straight. But all of the stress combined with Seonghwa's nurturing actions makes your mind want to regress. You find yourself having more and more trouble holding it back. "Can I bring my blanket with us today?"

   It had been two weeks since they'd returned to their regular lives, with you in tow. Everyday; you were forced to watch them pretend everything was normal while your entire life had been stolen from you.

    "Your blanket?" He hums as he finishes wrapping your foot back up, "of course, you can."

    That was something he was truthful about. He'd never take away your comfort items. He wrapped your blanket around you when you cried and had your favorite stuffed animal in your arms the second he got home with it. Even when other privileges were taken because of bad behavior, he never crossed that line. Maybe because he knows that they make you feel little. And you're so much sweeter when you're little.

   "C'mon, let's go get it."

   It's not like you have much say in the matter. He insisted on carrying you everywhere even before your foot was essentially useless.

    Now, though, you have no choice but to rely on him.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

   "Morning, little bear," Jongho smiles to you lightly as he enters the practice room.

    "Hi, big bear." You smile back. It's tired and sad. But it's genuine. He's the only one who's brave enough to meet your eyes when Seonghwa isn't around. The rest are too shameful. All you get is brief, accidental eye contact. Even from Mingi. "For me?" You perk up just a smidge as you tilt your head, seeing the book in his hands.

   He brings you things. He has been for about four weeks. Snacks, mostly, but also the occasional book or fidget toy. "Yup, who else?"

   He crouches down by the corner you always find yourself in, out of sight of the camera even when it's not on. You've got your blanket around your shoulders, Hwa's hoodie bundled up between your head and the wall. "What is it?"

    He turns the book to you and lets you take it, biting his tongue as he wants to say how you might could find comfort in the main character.

   "Anne of Green Gables?"

    "Mhm. I think you'll like it."

  The both of you quickly look away from each others eyes as you hear Seonghwa coming down the hallway with Hongjoong.

    You inspect the book closely as he stands up, reading the description on the back. "Thanks, big bear."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    You try to read. You try to shut out all the noise and movement around you like you always do.

   But something about today makes it impossible. Something about today has you mad.

    Maybe your lack of sleep and your still aching foot and the fact that you've managed to slip into little space again despite your best efforts.

    You don't want to be here anymore. You want to go back to the apartment and curl up and sleep.

   Seonghwa looks really busy learning a dance with Yunho. In fact, everyone looks busy besides Hongjoong, who's monitoring them from the side.

     You meet his eyes for the briefest second before you both quickly look away.

   You don't like him. You don't like any of them, really — but Hongjoong you detest.

   Seonghwa only has a few pictures in the room, and one is of him and Hongjoong. He's clearly his best friend, and from what little information you've managed to gather from San and Mingi; he's the one who's responsible for the idea of not immediately overpowering Hwa and calling the police.

    You hate him. But you hate being here right now even more.

    You don't interrupt them while they're busy. Seonghwa said you didn't have to feel bad if you needed anything, but you still kept to yourself until he was done for the day. You barely speak in the practice room. Only when you're spoken to.

   "Mommy?"

Until today.

    Everyone in the room stops. Like they've heard a ghost. Like they've managed to tune you out of their peripheral vision and pretend you don't exist.

   Even Seonghwa looks a bit discombobulated, but he comes to quickly, "yes, Baby?"

    "Can I go home, please?"

    The members hearts are thudding out of their chests. Like they've missed a step while going down some stairs. "Baby, I thought we were past this-"

    "No, I wanna go home. To your room. I don't feel good," you pout up at him, your eyes soft and begging.

   "H-home? To-" He's stuttering, glitching, "to the apartment?" He's finally made progress with you. The first few times you begged for home, you meant your home.

   "Uh," you nod, lifting your arms up and making grabby hands at him.

   "Oh, My Baby," he coos, immediately running over to you and picking you up. "Oh, I know you don't feel good, doll. I'll finish up as quickly as I can and we can go home."

    "Hongjoong can take me," you whisper as you wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder to further convince him with your cuteness. "Hims not busy, right?"

   "Wh-" He hesitates, looking to the leader with a questioning gaze.

   "I don't know if that's such a good idea-" Hongjoong begins. He's only ever been with you alone once, and even then he kept his distance.

    "Please, I don't feel good..." You whine into Hwa's shirt, sniffling. 

   Over your weeks together, they've come to learn a lot about you and your little space. Their hyung explained it as; you don't just act like a child, you feel and think like one. And that makes their hearts break even more when they looked at you.

    "Please, Joong? She'll fall right asleep, she didn't sleep good last night," he pleads with the hesitant man, "please, I trust you with her. I know you don't want to be invol-"

   "Fine." He sighs, taking a look at your foot before opening his arms. "I'll take her."

    "Thank you, Joong," he smiles as he hands you over, helping his friend get a good hold on you. "Be good, okay? I'll be home as soon as possible. I love you, Baby." He kisses your head, and you almost find yourself leaning into it.

  'Remember your manners.' "Love you, Mommy."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    Hongjoong sits you down on the edge of Seonghwa's bed with a small groan, giving you a once over as you set the book down on the nightstand.

   "Do- uhm," he scratches his head, "did you need anything?"

    "Mm-mm," you shake your head. You bite your lip for a second before you look up, catching his eyes. This time you don't look away. "Thank you."

    He just about looks away before he forces himself to stop. "Yeah." He nods, and he doesn't dare say 'you're welcome' because he feels like you have nothing to be thanking him for in the first place.

   "I'll be in the living room if you need anything." He holds in a sigh as he turns and heads to the door, just about to close it when he hears you.

   "Hey, Hongjoong."

    "Uh?" He opens it back up enough to see you.

    "Don't get mad but... why are you doing this? Helping him..." He didn't know what he was expecting but it wasn't that. He doesn't have an answer for that. Not for a good minute. "Hongjoong?"

    He lets out a shaky breath, and looks around the room as he speaks. "Uhm... He's my best friend. He's looked out for me, for all of us, for a long time. Despite everything, I think he's still that man. I'm t- I'm truly sorry for you, (Y/n). But I can't stand to lose him. I care about him too much."

    You sniff, curling up in your blanket, "you think he cares about you the same way? If the roles were reversed, would he, y'know?"

   "I do. He cares about us, I know he does. He has a deep heart, but he... he also has a troubled mind."

    You only nod in response, your regressed mind taking in his words slowly.

    You don't get the chance to see the tears welling up in his eyes as he turns back, speaking softly before closing the door, "I'll let you rest."

Only, you don't rest. You're so tired and grumpy, but your brain won't stop its incessant thoughts.

They really think he's still a good guy? They think he cares about them like they care about him? They care enough to put their entire lives on the line and hold someone hostage, to corrupt their company with hush money. He doesn't care about anyone like that — he isn't capable of it.

He only cares about himself and you. Making sure you don't leave him.

Maybe... if you can show them that...

You sit up quickly with your blanket, and yank your favorite stuffed animal from its place on the bed. You swing your feet over the edge and hesitate as you look down; your bandage peeking at you over the edge of your sock.

Your feet haven't held your weight since that night.

But you want them to know. You need them to know. You need them to come to their senses.

You set your comfort items down beside you and take in a sharp breath before slowly lowering your feet all the way. Pain isn't just inevitable — it's immediate and agonizing.

You fist the neatly laid out duvet as you shiver, and make yourself stand. You only put pressure on the tips of your toes as you hobble over to the closet, but it's still sending stabbing pains all the way up your leg.

You lean against the wall and sigh as you take the pressure off your injured foot, giving yourself only a moment of rest before you slooooowly slide the closet door open.

You take the stuffed animal from your arm and falter before you can throw it up on the shelf you can't reach. You pout down at it. "Sorry, Scoups," you kiss its forehead before chucking it onto the high shelf. "Mommy will get you later," you whisper while throwing your blanket up to join it.

You leave it open as you stumble back to the bed, falling back with a sigh.

They have to know that he's not the same man they used to love.

As the pain in your foot subsides into a dull ache, you release your emotions and cry yourself to sleep.

He'll be pissed when you tell him Hongjoong took your comfort items.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Home!" Seonghwa calls out as he enters the apartment with San and Mingi right behind him. He stops only to remove his shoes before he's quickly making his way into the living room.

"Is she asleep?" He asks Hongjoong, who's watching the news with a blank look.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. She should be."

"She didn't give you any trouble, did she?"

"No, she went straight to sleep, I haven't heard a peep from her," he yawns, turning to ask the others about practice as Seonghwa hurries down the hall.

"Baby?" He knocks on the door softly before he pushes it open. Usually when he wakes you up from a nap, you're clinging to your stuffed raccoon even as he pulls you up.

"Mmf," you groan sluggishly as you snuggle closer to his pillow.

It's nowhere to be seen. Neither is your blanket. You're curled up on the covers without one.

"Baby-ya," he frowns as he pets your head gently, your face is puffy like you'd been crying.

"Mommy-ya," you mimic him with a sniff, and he internally gushes at how soft you are when you're sleepy for a moment.

    "Sweetheart, where's your Scoups?" He asks confusedly as he rubs his thumb on your cheek.

   You blink a few times. "Hongjoongie hid him."

   "What?!" He hollers, making you jump. He looks around quickly and his eyes land on the open closet, sure enough he spots your comfort items on the shelf. "Hongjoong-ah!!"

    You hug his pillow tighter, hiding your face in it with only your eyes peeking out as you see Hongjoong and Mingi come running. "What's wrong?"

    Mingi comes to you immediately, lifting you up as you cling to Hwa's pillow. He slides into the bed with you, sitting up with you in his lap. He whispers as he watches Seonghwa closely in the corner of his eye, "are you okay?"

    "Yah," Seonghwa is seething as he grabs the stuffed raccoon, pointing at Hongjoong accusingly with it, "why did you take her stuffie?"

    It takes Hongjoong a good few seconds to catch up, his lips parted with confusion. "What? I didn't-"

    "You know how attached she is to it!"

    "Hyung, I didn't-"

    "Don't 'Hyung' me! I thought I could trust you to take care of her!"

     "Seonghwa, seriously! I didn't take her stupid raccoon! Why would I?!"

     Seonghwa tosses you the stuffed animal, and you catch it quickly; hugging it tightly as you curl up in Mingi's arms with wide eyes.

     "You made My Baby cry," he pushes back his own tears, "how could you? The one fucking time-"

    "I d- oh, my God! She put it up there," Hongjoong points to you, and Seonghwa slaps his hand down roughly.

"Point at her one more time," he dares him.

    "She can't even walk, Hongjoong," Mingi comes to your defense, rubbing your arm soothingly.

    "Are- are you guys serious?!" He yelps as Seonghwa grabs his arm. He looks up at him with fearful eyes. "Hyung, think about this-" He gasps as a harsh backhand comes across his cheek.

    You whimper at the sound, keeping your eyes on Mingi's fingers as they anxiously fidget with your sleeve.

     "(Y/n), tell him the truth! Please!"

     You must be a better person than Hongjoong, because you really want to help him. Even though he isn't feeling a fraction of the fear or pain or betrayal that you have. But you can't move. You feel Seonghwa's gaze on you. You know it's him. He'd be even madder if you told him the truth now.

     "(Y/n)!!"

     "Don't yell at her," Seonghwa shoves him to the floor, and his head collides with the hardwood; another gasp of pain leaving him. "Don't you fucking yell at her or I will rip your tongue out, do you hear me?"

    You hide your face in Mingi's chest, holding back your sobs. They only come out in little whines and sniffs. You've gotten good at hiding them.

    He wraps his arms around your shoulders and tucks your head under his chin, shielding you from the scene as best he can. "Shhhh, it's okay, shortcake."

     "H-hyung, please... I didn't take her stuffed animal," Hongjoong shakes his head quickly. How has his only Hyung gone from never laying a hand on him to shoving him to the ground and threatening to take his tongue in only two months? "I swear, I swear on everything I love. I sat her down and-" Oh, wow.

    "And?" Seonghwa urges, glaring daggers at his best friend.

    Holy shit. For someone who's stuck in the mindset of a child for a majority of the time, you're smart. "Hey, this is a misunderstanding," he whispers, groaning as he slowly sits up. He brings his hand to his head and grimaces as he feels a tickle of blood.

    "How in the world is t-"

    "Baby," he looks towards you, and you freeze up in Mingi's arms. He's never called you that. Some of the members always did. Some of them didn't call you anything at all. He always called you by your name.

    You peek out from Mingi's chest, still holding the stuffed raccoon tightly. You don't look in his eyes, you don't dare when Seonghwa is visibly upset. You only look in his direction to let him know you hear him.

     "Don't you remember? You said you wanted to play hide and seek with Scoups, but you fell asleep before we got to seek... remember?" He knows that you know it's bullshit. He knows you know that he knows you wanted him to feel your pain. To come to the realization that Seonghwa wasn't above hurting him. And he can only hope you'll play along and end this — because you clearly feel bad.

    "Oh... oh, I'm so sorry, Hongjoongie! I was so tired I forgot!"

    Seonghwa breathes a sigh of relief, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jesus..."

    You feel Mingi physically relax, his arms loosening around you, "thank goodness..."

   "I'm so sorry, Hongjoongie," you whisper more sincerely, and you know he knows your apology is for intentionally setting him up.

    You both know.

     "Shit, I'm sorry, Joong," Seonghwa quickly helps the man up, leading him to the bed, "I'm so sorry... L-let me get the first aid." He's gone, but the tense charge in the air isn't.

    You wiggle out of Mingi's arms and over to Hongjoong, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as tightly as you can. "Please, forgive me. Please, don't-"

    "It's okay," he cuts you off, "I understand. I understand." It's the first time he's willing touched you other than to carry you, as he sets his hand on your arm. "I'm sorry, (Y/n)... I truly am." Mingi tilts his head, straining to hear the last part that he whispers. "I'm stuck with you."

    Seonghwa pauses in the doorway as he takes in the scene, his heart breaking for a moment as he sees the pain he's putting the most precious people in his life through. He shoves that feeling deep down.

    "Let me help you, Hongjoong."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    "Switch!" Seonghwa calls out from the kitchen as his timer goes off, quickly restarting it before going back to the food.

     In the living room, you and Hongjoong are trading an ice pack back and forth every ten minutes. "Here go, Joonie," you yawn as you lift it from the top of your pink fluffy sock.

   "Thank you," he takes it quickly and holds it to his cheek, his other hand holding a few Uno cards.

    "Draw four, it's blue now," Mingi smirks as he looks towards San.

     "Man, you're hiding those under your butt or something! That's the fifth one this game," he grumbles as he picks up four more cards and stuffs them into his over flowing hand. "Your turn, peanut."

     The four of you are sat around the sofa table on the floor, playing a seemingly never ending game of Uno.

    "Blueeeee?" You look at your hand with narrowed eyes. "Wham!" You slap down a draw four, "green!"

   "Wha- you little traitor, I thought we were a team," Hongjoong jokes as he picks up his cards.

    "Greeeeeen?" Mingi scrunches up his nose.

    "Please, don't do it-" San is cut off by Mingi flicking a plus four onto the table.

     "Wham!"

    "No way, you guys are sliding them under the table or something, this is getting ridiculous!"

   Seonghwa laughs to himself as he listens to the game go on. Your childish 'nuh-uh!' ringing out in the apartment followed by San's playful mimicking of it.

"Reverse, reverse~!"

   "Hey, check his sweat pants, San! He's scratching suspiciously."

     "Scratching suspiciously? Really? You're that sore of a loser?"

He wanders into the room and settles himself between you and Hongjoong, taking a look at both of your cards. "Baby-ya, play this one," he taps the reverse in your hand after he sees Hongjoong's plus four.

"Hey, no way, Hyung," he pouts at the older member, "I was just about to get my revenge."

Mingi, now at the receiving end of Hongjoongs cards, looks up baffled. "Yah... I'm about to win and you're turning his evil onto me?"

Seonghwa shakes his head with a soft laugh, "you guys take this way too seriously."

"Of course we do, it's the semi-finals!" You hum as you wiggle your feet, "one!" You slap down another card, leaving you with one.

"Ehhh!" Mingi makes a buzzer sound, tapping the deck quickly, "you didn't say 'uno', draw two."

"I said one!"

"It's not called 'one', it's 'uno'! It's a Spanish game," he continues tapping the deck as you go back and forth.

From Hwa's other side, Hongjoong groans quietly and rubs his forehead.

"Hey, c'mere," he whispers, sitting up on his knees.

San joins in on discussing (re: arguing over) the rules as Hongjoong looks up curiously, "hm?" Seonghwa wordless slides behind him, gently placing his fingertips on his head. "Ahh," he sighs as he relaxes into his careful touches.

He continues massaging his temples lightly as the game goes on, watching as you begrudgingly pick up two cards. "Fiddle sticks..." They chuckle as you frown at your hand.

"I believe in you, doll," Seonghwa beams as you peek at him with a tiny smile.

It continues just like that for a few more minutes until he stands, softly kissing the back of Hongjoong's head and giving yours a pat as he returns to the kitchen.

"Does your head hurt really bad, Joonie?" He hears you whisper.

"It's not so bad," he gives you a tight lipped smile that doesn't meet his eyes, meeting your gaze for only a second while Hwa is in the other room. "What about your foot?"

You know he's referring to the fact that you must have put pressure on it to throw your raccoon, who's still on your lap at this very moment. "Not so bad," you look at him before —

    "Food's ready!" Seonghwa speaks up as he sets the table, watching in the corner of his eye as you set your stuffed animal on the couch; giving it a kiss to its fluffy forehead.

When you open up your arms, Mingi quickly picks you up and hugs you close as he carries you to the table.

   "Smells nummy!" You chirp as you slump into your seat. "Thank you, Mommy," you lean up and kiss his cheek as he finishes filling all of your bowls.

    "You're welcome, Baby," he smiles, giving you a gentle kiss that you lean into. You don't even notice that you do.

   As you all settle down, Seonghwa looks to Hongjoong again. "Hey," he hums, leaning forward, "let me see it."

   "Huh?" His brows crease for a second, "oh." He moves the ice pack and looks to the side. "Is it still red?"

    "It's gone down a lot," Mingi notes as he sneaks an extra cracker onto your plate while you're distracted. He knows you love them, but you never ask for theirs.

     "It feels a lot better already," he sighs, setting down the by-now room temperature pack.

    "I'm really sorry, Hongjoong... I d- there's really no excuse. I just can't let anyone mess with her, you know?"

    "It's okay, Hyung. It was just a misunderstanding." Hongjoong glances towards you, and the way you fiddle with your spoon — afraid he'll tell on you. "It happens."

    Seonghwa taps his fingers against the table and exhales softly while looking between you. "Yeah," he nods, "just a misunderstanding... I'm still sorry I got so rough. I just get defensive of her. Right, angel?"

    You lean into his soft touch as he hums —

    "Nothing fucks with My Baby."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

It was most likely a mistake on Seonghwa's part to be here. If there was a single photo with his face in it, it would most probably mean the end of his career. But he couldn't help himself. It was something he was always interested in.

    His members say he has a natural caring aura about him, and they aren't wrong. Something in his brain tells him to care for everyone and everything, especially things he finds adorable.

It's still considered taboo in Korea, but even taboo things have their place in the world.

With a mask over his face, thick rimmed glasses, and a cap; he bit the bullet and entered the convention. He saw a post about it online, urging littles and their caregivers to come and support small businesses that made things within the community.

Although he had no use for these things, no little of his own, he figured it would be a good place to get a feel for the community.

It was surprisingly busy for how much stigma was around the entire idea. People were polite to one another, treating everyone like a good friend. It was different from the rest of Korea; where people kept to themselves for the most part.

He was simply admiring the different variations of bottles made to fit in a bigger hand when he saw it —

    When he saw... you.

    At the booth next to him, biting your nail as you looked down at the array of pacifiers with a look on your face that would make anyone think you were making the most important decision of your life.

    You were... you are breathtaking.

    Against his best judgment, his promise to himself to stay under the radar, he speaks up, "big decision?" 

     You jump up a little bit, placing a hand against your colorfully striped t-shirt. You look him up and down.

    "Sorry," he gives you a bow as he steps closer, looking down at the display with you.

    "Ah, it's okay," you smile, shifting on your feet, "yeah, I'm having some trouble. I promised myself I would only get one but they're all calling my name."

   The little laugh in your voice has his heart thudding wildly, and he passes off his deep calming breath like he's thinking over it as well; bending to get a better look.

    "Do you," he clears his throat, "maybe you could ask your caregiver?" Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Pl-

    "Oh, I don't have one," you give him a half-smile, looking him up and down once more. He looks well put together and something about him draws you in. He smells like the Earth after it rains. You want to talk to him more. "Your little must be missing you." Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have-

    "I don't have a little." He pauses before shaking his hands, "not that I'm here to try and find one! That would probably be weird, I'm just curious! No- not curious, I know I want to be a caregiver but-"

    Your precious laugh cuts his rambling off, "hey, it's okay, no judgment here," you gesture around, "clearly."

    "Ah," he nods; thankful that his mask is hiding his embarrassed blush, "it's my first time at one of these things... could you tell?"

    "Oh, yeah, immediately," you look down with a smile on your lips.

    "That obvious, huh?"

    "You stick out like a sore thumb, man."

    He laughs along with you, resting his elbows on the glass display case. "You fit in pretty well, though. Can I ask, how long have you been... been little?"

    "Hmm," you have a thoughtful pout as you look away from the case and at the lanyards on the sides of the pop up walls. "Four- eh, five years soon. How long have you known you want to be a caregiver?"

    He's happy that the conversation flows naturally, maybe it's your bubbly aura or your sweet personality. "Long time," he thinks to the first time he ever accidentally cooed at one of his sleeping members, "seven years maybe? I've always been drawn to taking care of people."

    "That's what makes a good caregiver. Always putting others first," you giggle, tapping your baby blue nails on the glass, "eh, if I can't decide by now I probably shouldn't buy one." 

    "Do you have one already?" The question slips before he can think over his words, making his heart drop at the thought that that's probably too intense of a question. But thankfully you don't think anything of it.

   "Yeah, but it's about time to replace it. They get worn down even if you take good care of them," you explain for him, resting your cheek in your palm as you meet his gaze. "How much do you know about this stuff?"

    "Oh, well," he whispers, looking away from your intense eye contact, "not much, admittedly..." He'd only read a few articles and followed a few pages, and he didn't think he'd be in a relationship with a little anytime soon so he hadn't invested time to deep diving.

    "Do you want to walk with me? I can tell you about it, if you like."

     "Really?" His head pops up quickly, and he sees you holding back a laugh at his eagerness.

    "Yeah!" You nod, giving a last peek towards a light pink pacifier before turning away, "can't have you wondering around here lost, right?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"So you don't?" Seonghwa tilts his head as he looks at the large onsies on display, the cute patterns making him smile under his mask.

"No, my little age is a liiiiittle too big for onsies," you laugh, "see what I did there? Ah, I'm hilarious." You look around, spotting a sign for one of the small businesses you know. You jump, quickly running over.

Seonghwa blinks in confusion for a moment before running after you, his long legs catching up with you easily.

"Miss Lee?" You peek around the stand, flinching back into Seonghwa's chest as the older woman pops into view, picking up a receipt she had dropped. "Ah!"

He quickly wraps his arms around your shoulders, similarly startled. When he notices, he quickly steps back and pats your shoulder instead.

"Oh, (Y/n)! Good to see you!"

"Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack," you joke, thankfully not noticing or caring enough about Seonghwas semi-hug to say anything. You slide into the make shift store, giving her a warm hug. "I didn't know you would be here."

"Last minute decision," she pats your back as she lets go of you, looking towards the man, "who's this?"

"Oh," you smile as you remember his presence, "this is Hwa. He's new to the whole thing, I was showing him around, answering some questions."

"Hello," he bows to the older woman, and she leans forward with a questioning expression.

"Why you wearing that? You a serial killer or something?"

You freeze at the old timers suspicion. It hadn't even crossed your mind.

"No, no, no," he shakes his head quickly at your weary face, "God, no!" He laughs nervously, looking around. Thankfully, Miss Lee's booth is in a further off corner because of her last minute attendance. And he doesn't know why, but he doesn't want his time with you to end.

So, he pulls down his mask. "Not a serial killer, I promise. I'm just... shy about this."

You smile lightly as you take in his features for the first time. Miss Lee tuts her tongue and waves her hand, "no reason to be shy, you're a pretty boy."

He pulls it back up quickly after giving you a smile which makes your heart melt.

"(Y/n), I have something for you! I was going to drop it off at your apartment if I didn't run into you," she's oblivious to your small flirting moment as she quickly changes the subject, opening up a box.

"Ah, I didn't order anything," you shake your head, helping the woman lift the heavy container onto the chair.

"I know, but the person who did cancelled on me, and I immediately thought of you. Their measurements are a bit bigger than you, but I know you like things baggy anyway, angel."

Seonghwa rests his arms on the pink dresser she has at the front, looking on with curiosity and smiling at the woman's kind words to you.

"Are you sure you couldn't sell it-"

"I want you to have it- ah, here it is!" She sets a folded up sweater into your arms. It's a pastel purple fabric that even looks soft to the touch, and he can tell it is by the way you rub your finger tips over it with a happy sigh. As you unfold it, you see her delicate embroidery on the front in a thin cursive. 'Baby', it says, the y at the end curling into a heart.

You pull it over your head without another moment of hesitation and hug the woman again.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You lead Seonghwa with a new hop in your step, the large sweater bouncing with each of your excited moves. He can see why you like it, it makes you look adorable. He can tell it makes you feel that way, as well.

Your naturally happy personality is doubled by something as simple as a big, soft, sweater. It's fascinating. The psychologically behind all of this is intriguing to him.

"What about those?" He points to some plates with little separated areas, different cartoons and patterns on them.

"Hm?" You halt and come back to his side, "ah, lots of littles have sensory issues — just like kids do. When the food touches a different food it gets all icky." Your nose scrunches up at the thought, so he asks.

"Do you use them?"

"Oh, yeah. If my foods touch it's like they're contaminated. I know it's silly, b-"

"I don't think it's silly."

You look up at him, a soft smile gracing your face. "No?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

He sits facing the wall, thankful to let his face get some fresh air without the fear of anyone seeing him. Especially now that he's with you.

There's a cafe across the street that you suggested after showing him almost everything to see; neither of you ready to part ways just yet.

"Tada~" You slide into the seat across from him, offering him his drink that you kindly paid for even though he insisted he could do so.

"Thanks," he smiles, happy that you can finally see his expressions when you smile back wider than before.

"No problem!" You watch as he takes a sip and chews on the boba with a pout on his lips. "Good?"

"Mhm! You were right," he quickly goes for another, making you chuckle as you sip on your own drink.

"So," he leans forward, "besides all of... that," he gestures to the busy gathering across the road, "what do you do?"

"I work for a law firm." His eyes widen, making you laugh loudly; he clearly wasn't expecting that. "In the filing room," you clarify, pushing up the long sleeves of the sweater and groaning when they fall back down.

"Ah, okay, sorry! I didn't meant to seem so shocked," he sets his drink down, motioning for you to bring your arm forward, "may I?"

"Thanks," you lift your arm out across the table, watching his fingers closely as he rolls up the fabric neatly, "uhm, what about you?" He pauses, and bites his lip as he reaches for your other arm. "Wait, you aren't actually a killer, are you?"

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he makes the sleeves even, "I'm uh... I'm in the entertainment industry."

"Oh, why are you so-"

"I'm an idol." He finally blurts out.

You stare at each other for a long moment, your arms dropping to the table with a thunk. "Huh?"

"I'm an idol. My name is Seonghwa, not just Hwa. I'm in a group called ATEEZ and I don't know why I'm telling you all this but I can't get my mouth to stop!" He slaps a hand over his mouth with a groan, thanking his lucky stars that nobody else is in the cafe and the worker has their headphones on.

You tilt your head, eyebrows pushing together. "No, you aren't," you shake your head, "no way! I see ads for that group everywhere, I would recognized y...ooooh." Your jaw drops as he holds up his phone, a picture of their latest promotional poster on the screen. Sure enough, there he is. And here he is, too, in front of you. "Shiiiit, damn!" You thud your head onto the table. "I thought I actually had a chance with you." It's your turn to blurt something out.

"... What?"

"What?" You parrot him, suddenly realizing what you said and sitting up stalk straight. "Wow, that was really inappropriate of me-"

"Can I take you on a date?"

You blink in surprise, daring to look him in the eyes. He looks as sincere as anyone ever has, his eyes glimmering with hope. You take a long sip of your drink before throwing your head back dramatically, "ugh! How could I say no to that?!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

A couple of days later, your phone pings at work. With nothing to do, you bring it out from your pocket.

    HWA SENT TWO MESSAGES.

   You smile down at the device as you open them up.

    7:47AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Okay, have a good day at work!

    9:16AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Do you have plans tonight? My schedule opened up, I was wondering if I could give you that date?

   You tap your nails against the back of your phone as you think.

    9:18AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. i'm free after work ! what time were you thinking ?

    As soon as you sat it down, it buzzed again. "This guy," you laugh to yourself.

    9:20AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. I was thinking we could eat dinner together. What time do you usually eat?

   9:21AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. usually around 7, how does that sound ?

   9:23AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. That sounds good. Is it okay if I come to your place? I can bring whatever you like.

    You hesitate for a moment, biting your thumb. You don't know him that well. Inviting a stranger, a strange man, into your home was usually always asking for trouble.

    9:25AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Sorry, that probably was weird of me to ask. We can find somewhere!

    Your anxiety is replaced by a smile as you type back quickly.

    9:25AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. no, that sounds good ! it would probably be hard to find a quiet place on a friday. i'll send my address to you in a bit !

    You slam the phone down and ignore the buzz as he texts you back after a few moments; staring ahead with wide eyes as you realize you just invented a man over to your home. You doubted he would try to take things further than a cheek kiss; even that was a big maybe. But it was still nerve wracking.

   But then... you think of the gentle way he rolled your sleeves, and the way he blurted out the truth to you against his better judgement. His smile, his pretty eyes.

    "Ugh!" You slam your head onto the desk. "I almost wish he was a serial killer."

    "What?!" Your coworker yells from the corner.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    "A date!" Your best friend, Yejin, repeats for the third time in thirty minutes as you both rush around to pick up any mess in your apartment. 

    "Yes," you roll your eyes as you toss the broom at her.

     "A daaaate?" She laughs at your exhausted face, tired of her teasing.

   "Yup," you turn back around quickly, fixing up the pillows on your little sofa. "I'm already nervous, okay?"

    "Why didn't you go to a restaurant? I really didn't expect to go from not knowing this guy existed to cleaning your house so he can come over!"

    "Don't worry about it," you tut your tongue, rushing to pick up your coloring books and shove them into the box in the corner.

    "Does he know-"

    "Yes, he knows I'm an age regressor."

    She nods, suddenly having a more serious look about her.

    "What?"

    "I was going to ask does he know about Namsun..."

     You throw the last book with a sigh, sitting on the floor. She knows it's a sensitive subject, but she doesn't know how much this guy actually knows about you. She really didn't know you were even talking to someone until a few hours ago. But apparently he was trustworthy enough to invite over. "No..."

    "Are you sure it's a good idea to have him over so soon, Babe?" She crouches next to you, looking at you intently, "what do you even know about this guy?"

    "A lot..." I watched some of his videos, you want to say.

     She sighs, patting your shoulder as she glances at her watch. "It's almost seven, you should get ready." She knows there's no stopping you.

    There's no stopping destiny.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

      Seonghwa sets out the multiple styrofoam boxes on your short coffee table, sitting cross legged on a pillow you offered him. "Sorry, again," you say as you come back from the kitchen, handing him his choice of drinks after you'd called them out to him. "My dining table got broke like a year ago and I haven't had the time to replace it."

    "It's okay," he smiles, any time spent with you will be perfect, he wants to say. Way too soon for that, he knows. Instead, "thanks for agreeing to eat here. We can just relax, not worry about others."

    "Yeah, I get it! It must be hard to just do normal things when you're a celebrity." You hum as you hand him a plate, setting one infront of you as well.

    "Celebrity," he snorts a laugh, covering his mouth quickly, "sorry..."

    You laugh, shaking your head, "what? That was cute." You suck your lips in as you realize what you said, similarly looking down shyly. "Anyway! Let's eat, where's this from?"

    He takes a sip of his drink to calm himself before looking up and responding as he watches you open the boxes. "It's from a place called Lin's Express, I go there a lot with- hey, won't that bother you?" He pauses as he sees the flat plate infront of you, remembering the way your face scrunched up at the thought of food touching each other.

    You look down, blinking at the dish for a second before clarity hits you. "Oh, I forgot you know about that! I usually just deal with it when I eat with others."

    The thought makes him a bit sad. You shouldn't have to be uncomfortable just for the satisfaction or ease of others who don't understand. "No," he shakes his head, picking it up and placing it in your confused hands, "I want you to be comfortable. You should use one of your plates."

    You tilt your head as you look up from the plate, meeting his eyes. "Really? I mean- that won't make you feel like you're eating with a kid?"

    He shakes his head, quick to reassure you, "I know you're really an adult. I'm in your apartment, why would I think you're a kid if you eat from a divided plate?"

    "Yeah, I guess you're right," you smile, quickly going to the kitchen and exchanging your dish. He takes the moment to look around, taking in your style and the various pictures on your walls. From his spot on the floor, he can't make out a lot of them; but they seem to be different sceneries and some family photos.

     One of them catches his eye more than the others, it's of you and another woman your age on your left. The person on your right has been torn away and replaced by another photo; one of a beautiful sunrise taken high up. You were clearly trying to remove the person from the photo. But their hand is on your hip.

     "Better," you sit with a little sigh, not noticing his gaze on the photo as you finish opening up the few boxes.

    He looks away quickly when he feels you look at him, smiling over at you. "Good," he hums, picking up the chopsticks you provided him, "I want you to be comfortable with me!"

    "Thanks, Hwa," you mirror him, gathering some noodles onto a section of your plate, "Lin's Express, you said? Smells good!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

      "You did?"

    You both lay on your backs on your living room floor, stomachs full and hearts content as you tilt your heads to look at each other.

    "I did! It was terrifying," you chuckle as you recount the day that you and Yejin swam with sharks, "I can't believe I let her convince me to do that! I mean... they were basking sharks, totally harmless, but still!"

    He laughs with you, "I would have freaked out the second I saw them. It's in our nature to be scared of things that can kill us!"

    "That's," you slap his shoulder playfully, "exactly! Exactly what I said! But she said it would be good for me to do something thrilling to feel empowered."

    "She sounds like a good friend," he thinks back to the picture, his eyes flitting to it, "is that her?"

    "Uh?" You follow his eyes, "yeah that's her! We've been friends for like... nine years now? Going on a decade."

    "Can I ask," he hesitates, "what happened to the rest of the picture?"

    "Oh," you roll over onto your stomach, folding your arms and resting your chin on them. "I guess that is kind of a weird thing to see hanging in someone's house..."

    He sees your mood faltering, so he places a hand on your arm gently, "you don't have to tell me. It can be a story for another day."

     "Thanks, it's definitely a 'another day' type of story," you lean and kiss his knuckle before sitting up. You don't notice the blush on his cheeks or the way he holds his kissed hand to his chest. You stretch your arms over your head and look at the ticking clock. "Woah, we've been talking for four hours!"

    "What?!" He sits up quickly and surely enough — the clock reads fifteen past ten. "Oh, shit," he scrambles for his phone, left face down on the table, "sorry, I promised my members I'd check in every so often."

   "Oh, crap! I told Yejin the same!" You dive for the couch, and aren't surprised to see a barrage of messages and missed calls from your friend. The most recent of which reading:

    9:45PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. OKAY THATS IT IM CHECKING YOUR BLINK TO MAKE AURE HE DIDNT DRAG YOUR BODY OUT

    9:51PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. dude, if you're getting laid right now and not DEAD IN A DITCH I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF

    10PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. please don't be dead in a ditch

     You quickly reply to tell her that you're in fact alive, chuckling as you see her go back and forth with herself trying to figure out if you're dead or just 'getting the pipe' as she put it.

     Seonghwas voice pulls you from your phone, "Dude! Would you stop face-timing me while I'm trying to type?" He frowns at his phone before looking up and giving you an apologetic look.

     "Dude!" The man over the device mocks him, "would you answer the fucking phone so we know you're not being help captive?! You asshole, what were you doing for four hours?"

    "We were just-"

    "Holy shit..." The tone of his voice makes Seonghwa try to stop him before he can say something embarrassing.

     "No! No, no, Wooyoung-" Try, that is.

    "Yah, guys! He was just getting laid!"

     Seonghwa drops the phone, hiding in his hands.

     You burst into laughter, your head tilted back with the force of it. He looks up, watching with a fond glint in his eyes as you cover your mouth with your arm, sound still managing to escape.

     "Oh," the man on the phone whispers like he isn't being projected through a speaker, "oh, fuck, Hyung... can she hear me?"

    "Bye, Wooyoung!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡ 

     The next date is a week later, and he says he's more than happy to host you as it would be nearly impossible to find a quiet place where you wouldn't be noticed on a Saturday.

    He opens the door with a big smile, relief flooding him as he sees you.

    "Hey, Hwa," you smile up at him, shifting your weight on your feet.

    "You look adorable." He says it before he even realizes it, but he doesn't regret it one bit.

    To the untrained eye, you're just in a girly outfit with your hair moved out of your face to fight off the heat.

    But Seonghwa has been reading up on everything to do with age regression, even more than before now that he's talking with you. Much more. Anything remotely little space related, he would bookmark.

    One thing he remembers most clearly is about how littles can try to comfort themselves in public. With things that could be passed off as something else if they were questioned about it. Things like coloring or drawing and saying it's meditative. Or fidget toys, you could easily say help with anxiety. Or like right now, you're wearing more 'childish' clothes that could be passed off as your style or vibe.

     "Oh, really?" You look down at your outfit shyly. You wanted a little bit of extra comfort in a new place, so you made yourself feel small with your choices. "Thank you."

    "Yeah," he sounds almost breathless as he looks you up and down for the umpteenth time.

    "Who's at the door?" Someone yells from within, breaking his trance.

    "Sorry, come in, come in." He quickly ushers you inside, "you can just put your shoes over with ours, here." He takes them for you, placing them on the racks with multiple other pairs.

    "Thanks, Hwa," you look around the apartment, unaware of how the nickname makes his heart flutter. You never stopped calling him that even after he told you his full name. "What did you have plan-"

    "Ah!" Someone yells as they exit the hallway, their eyes immediately on your unfamiliar face, "who is this?!"

    Seonghwa's body reacts before his mind again, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you to himself as you both get startled; just like the first day you met. "Jesus, Wooyoung!" He scolds the other man, letting out a sigh. "What are you doing? You scared the crap out of me," he rubs your shoulders briefly before he lets go of you, "you don't even live here."

    "Me scared you? You're the one who brought a girl over unannounced! What if I was naked?!"

    You cover your mouth as your giggles threaten to come up, looking between them as they go back and forth.

    "I told the people who actually live with me, that-"

    "Well, I didn't hear about this!"

     "Because you don't live in this apartment, Young-ie! And why would you be naked?!"

    "I'm-"

    "Will you-"

     "Hey, you must be (Y/n)," another man greets much more politely as he comes out behind Wooyoung, giving you a bow which you quickly return.

    "(Y/n)? Like first date was five hours long (Y/n)?" Wooyoung gets slapped with realization, "oooooh! Sorry, sorry," he nods quickly, smiling your way. 

    "Yeah, Hyung told me and Mingi she would be coming over." Seonghwa gives Wooyoung a look that screams 'told you.'

     "Nice to meet you," you bow again, standing by his side like you're afraid to move away.

    He's internally freaking the fuck out at the fact you're really here, even more so that you're being so nice to his members even though one of them just jump scared you and only a week ago insinuated that you slept with him.

    "Sorry about-" Wooyoung clears his throat, "yeah, sorry."

    "Are you thirsty," Seonghwa ignores the two of them and looks down at you, "I saw that you walked here, it's a pretty long way."

    You have butterflies in your stomach at the thought of him watching your location, making sure you found your way to him safely. "Uhm, a little bit."

    "Come on," he grabs your hand gently and leads you, "sorry about them. I diiid warn you."

    Wooyoung and San watch you disappear into the kitchen, the younger tilting his head. "I didn't know Hyung was into girly girls. Ow! What was that for?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Do you see this piece?"

His floor is covered in an array of Lego pieces, he sits cross legged on one side of the pile and you're laid on your stomach on the other.

You turn your instruction packet to face him, still searching.

You're making a bouquet of flowers, and he's making a vase for them to go in; talking about random things that come up as you go.

It been about two hours and you're both on your final pieces. But you can't find one of the long green sticks that the bodies of your flowers go on.

"Uhm," he looks around the few remaining pieces, pouting, "no, I don't."

"Dang," you close the book with a small huff, then a shrug, "we're missing one of the stems! One, two, three..." You count the ones in your hand again.

"Hmmm," he looks over the flowers you made and picks one up carefully. A black dahlia. "Maybe, I can keep this one? And you can put the rest on the stems?"

You slide up to sit on your knees and think for a second. "Smart! I was just going to use a straw or something, that probably wouldn't have gone too well," you laugh, gently putting the remaining flowers onto the sticks while he carefully sets the dahlia on his desk.

"Creative, I like it," he smiles as he watches over you for a moment. You move the plastic flowers into different places in your hand, trying to figure out how to arrange them.

You're doing something so simple, mundane.

But Seonghwa thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world in that moment.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Food!" Comes a muffled yell from somewhere in the apartment.

You and Seonghwa were laid side by side on his bed, his fingers tracing yours as he listens intently to your stories and shares his own.

"Uh?" He picks up his phone and looks at the time, his eyes widening, "oh, the time got away from us again," he chuckles as he shows you. It's already 8 in the evening, when you had arrived sometime around 3 in the afternoon.

It feels like time doesn't exist when he's with you. Nothing does.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry," you sit up quickly, and he comes with you.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he reassures as he sets a hand on your back softly, "uhm, since you're here, if you want to, why don't you eat with us?"

"That's sweet, but I'd feel like I'm intruding." You pick up your bag where he hung it off the back of his chair, straightening out your clothes. "I had a really good time-"

"Come on, Baby. You have to eat, don't feel like you're intruding."

You stop in your tracks, bag half on your shoulder. "...what?"

He swings his legs off the edge of the bed quickly, looking at you closely. Did he say something wrong? Did he push your boundaries? Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fix this!

"Sorry, I just meant that we'd be more than glad to have you eat here! It isn't a problem at all, I-"

"Baby?"

He slaps a hand over his mouth as he recalls his words, quickly standing and bowing to you over and over as you stand there star-struck. "I'm sorry, (Y/n), I didn't mean to call you that, it just slipped out! Please, forgive me."

He pauses when he feels your hand on his shoulder. He's scared to look up, but he does anyway.

And he's immediately relieved.

You're smiling down at him, "it's okay, Hwa. I can be your Baby." You lean and give him a modest kiss to his cheek before pulling away all too quickly and putting your bag back on the chair. "Let's eat, yeah?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

The table has a comfortable atmosphere around it as you all eat and talk together.

You hear all kinds of stories about the man you're now officially dating, ranging from hilarious to heartwarming.

He sits beside you, chin in his hand as he watches you talking with his members; a smile stuck on his face.

San and Mingi, his roommates, tell you jokingly to be careful about messes because their Hyung is a neat-freak. Wooyoung apologizes for his behavior and then immediately gets his hand smacked with San's chopsticks as he tries to sneak a piece of meat from his plate. Yeosang, who only came over to get a charger, ended up staying when you and him clicked.

"You seriously don't know any of our songs? You didn't look us up? I find that hard to believe," Yeosang eyes you kiddingly, "in this day and age? I bet Seonghwa Hyung looked you up. Am I right?"

Seonghwa tears his eyes from you and looks up at the ceiling, "uhhhm, no! Nope." His voice is high and clearly he's lying, so you shove his shoulder lightly.

"Yah, no way! Psh, jokes on you. There's much more information about you online than there is about me."

"So, you did Google him?" Wooyoung smirks from across the table, leaning over it.

"Well-" Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water before they start laughing. "Can you blame me?! I mean, c'mon! Look at him, I had to know if I stood a chance!" You groan, covering your face with your hand.

Seonghwa places a hand on your head as he leans towards you in his laughter, his eyes shut as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. Mingi is about to fall off his chair at the look on your face as you got caught red handed. Yeosang punches your other shoulder gently, "I knew it!"

"Okay, okay! I did look him up but I didn't full on stalk him! Just like... the basics. Like what he probably saw about me when he was doing the same thing!" You laugh with them, leaning back in your chair.

"Ah," he sighs, wiping his eyes as he leans back into his own space, "so we're on an even playing field, you think?"

"I know how to tell!" Wooyoung jumps up, slamming his hands on the table.

A few minutes later, you and Seonghwa sit side by side on the couch, a piece of paper and a pen for each of you curtesy of Mingi.

It's starting to rumble with thunder outside, so you figured you'd stay and wait out the storm. April showers. That's all it is, it should pass within the hour. Plus; you're having a good time.

"So, we're writing down the answer for each other, right?" You question, twirling the pen in your fingers, "so if you say, like, 'favorite movie' I would write what I think his favorite movie is?"

"Yup! Ready? Birthday?!" He starts slamming you both with questions, San and Mingi chuckling as Yeosang watches with his cheek in his palm; curled up in an armchair.

Birthday, zodiac sign, favorite movie (because of course he stole your question), favorite weather, parents names, the list went on until you both ran out of space on the papers.

He switches your papers, and tells you to grade each other.

Seonghwa smiles as he sees that you know the answer to almost every question besides the more obscure or personal ones.

Your eyes widen as you put check mark after check mark to his answers. Do you really talk that much? Did you really tell him your mother's name? You have been talking almost nonstop for a month, whenever you both were free almost all of your free time went to texting or calling. But did you already mention your love language or was he just that observant? When had you talked about your fear of the dark?

"Hwa..." You whisper, calling their attention, you feel a bit of a shiver down your spine but you attribute it to the air conditioning. "Are you sure you aren't a serial killer? How do you know I'm afraid of the dark?" You force a little huff of a laugh, peeking at him. The others look at him curiously.

"Hm?" He looks at the paper and blushes a bit. "Oh, I uh... I admittedly had a look at your Instagram, I saw that a lot of your pictures were taken in a light night, so I guessed..."

It's quiet for a second.

"Wow, you're a creep, Hyung!" Wooyoungs outburst breaks the thickness in the air, making it comfortable once again.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"It doesn't seem like it's going to clear up," Seonghwa sighs as he clicks off the weather channel, looking over to where you stand at the windows, watching the storm crash down on the city.

It was just you and him in the living room, Yeosang and Wooyoung returned to their own apartments and San and Mingi retired to bed.

"Ah, I should call Yejin and have her pick me up so you can get some rest." Before you can go to retrieve your phone from the table, he stands up.

"You don't have to do that, Baby," he hums, rubbing your arm gently as he sees the worried look on your adorable face, "nobody should be driving in this, it's too dangerous. You can sleep here, take the bed; I'll sleep on the couch-"

"No, no," you shake your head, looking down, "I can't possibly do that. I've already-"

"I promise it's okay." He stops you, looking down at you sincerely, "we could call it a sleep over." He cracks as smile as you giggle, gesturing with his head down the hall, "come on, you can wear something of mine to sleep in."

You thank him again and again as he gathers you something that will fit, even give him another kiss on the cheek before you close the door to the bathroom to change.

He changes while you're in the bathroom and then sits down on the edge of his bed with wide eyes. He can't believe he got you to stay. He can't believe you're going to sleep in his bed. He can't believe you've kissed his cheek... twice. He can't believe you believed his bullshit lie about Instagram.

Truth be told, the first time you hung out; he snooped. He 'accidentally' opened the door to your bedroom instead of the bathroom. He learned as much as he could in as little time as possible.

When you come back to his room, his heart feels like it simultaneously stops and beats a million miles per hour.

The sleep pants he lent you fit a little awkwardly but you look comfortable. The sweater you had brought with you just in case hides your hands as you fidget with them nervously.

His back straightens as he looks you up and down. "Wow..."

Just like before. It's something mundane. Domestic. And —

"You look so beautiful."

He only realizes that he said it out loud because your eyes widen. Then his do. It's a staring contest of sorts.

"Sorry." He blurts out. "Actually," he takes it back, "I'm not sorry. I mean it. You're beautiful."

Your ears feel red hot, "s-shut up," you laugh lightly as you set your folded up clothes with your bag.

When you turn around, he's right behind you. "Oh my!" He snuck up on you in what seems like a millisecond, quiet as a mouse. But he's looking down at you like a hawk. "Hwa, is-"

"Can I kiss you?"

The question comes seemingly out of nowhere. But it's been on his mind since the second you entered his room for the first time.

You feel sunburnt everywhere as your blood rushes, licking your lips when your eyes copy his and look at his plump lips as he looks at yours. "Ye-"

His lips crash into yours, his hands hesitating before he brings them up. His finger tips graze your cheeks softly before his palms slowly cradle them, holding you tenderly as your lips move together without hurry.

He leads you to the bed, falling on his back and letting you crash onto him as your lips refuse to part from each other.

Your hands find purchase on either side of his head, and his find their way to your hips.

Your entire body is on fire. His entire being is set ablaze.

Your bodies start to move against each other in tandem with your lips as your mouths part, allowing one another to get your first taste of each other.

He's already addicted.

So he's thankful when you pull back, panting, and whisper, "stay with me."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

April is gone and in comes May. You've been dating Park Seonghwa for just over four weeks when he shows up at your door on a random Tuesday.

A random Tuesday that you just so happen to be home sick on.

"Hwa," you whine as you open the door, "I told you not to come over. I don't want to get you sick."

He simply smiles and lifts up a plastic bag on his fingers, "Lin's Express?"

You immediately turn around and head back inside, "come in, then."

"I thought so," he laughs airily, closing the door behind him, "have you taken any medicine, Baby?"

"Uhhhh," you groan on as you fall back into the couch were you've set yourself up, "couple of hours ago, but I ran out-"

"Wham!" He grins widely as he places a bottle of cold medicine on the coffee table, from the bag that had been in his other hand.

"H- wha-" You stutter, "how in the world do you know me so well?"

He shrugs playfully, taking off the seal before handing it to you, "here you go."

"Thanks, Hwa," you down some quickly before falling back across the couch, watching as he sets out the food. "Why aren't you at work?"

"I know you haven't felt good for a few days so I asked to record my lines first, so I could come take care of you as early as I could."

The words, you don't know why, they make you tear up. When you sniffle, he looks up quickly.

"Baby?"

"You're so sweet," you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, "I think I'm still in denial."

"Denial?" He asks quietly as he shuffles to the couch on his knees, rubbing your side softly. "Denial of what?"

"That you chose me to be with. You could have anyone you want, and you're here. You- you're here. Taking care of me when I'm sick."

He pouts, leaning his head down on the armrest to mirror yours. "I don't want anyone else."

Your brows push together. He sounds so serious.

"I don't want to be anywhere else. With anyone else. I only want to be with you. You make me feel... peace. Peace that I haven't felt in- in... ever." He won't tell you this, but after the first night you spent at his apartment; he took a walk to the river the next day and threw his razor blades in the rushing water. You gave him the relief that they used to provide. And you did it so softly. "I don't want anyone else. I want you. I chose you."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You don't know how it happened, but after that, you found yourself falling into your little space.

    Maybe it was a mix of his loving words and soft touches as he helped you sit up and eat. A mix of exhaustion and emotions pushing you to go to your safe space.

    You never went there with him before. But no matter how hard you fought it, you still found yourself feeling tiny.

   You've both talked about it a lot, about what you did and how you felt and what you wanted. But you were still scared to let someone in after what happened last time.

    He notices you biting your lip, deep in thought as he rinses the dishes. "Everything okay, Baby?"

    Damn his favorite nickname for you, making you shrink even more. "I think, uhm," you look around, picking at your gingham pajama shorts. They're too rough for your increasingly fragile state. "Oh, I'm having a panic attack." You realize, stating it nonchalantly.

    "What?" He quickly turns off the faucet, drying his hands on the way to you, worry clear on his face. He stops a few steps away, wanting nothing more than to embrace you as he watches your breathing get shallow and sharp, but he knows better than to crowd someone having a panic attack from his experiences with his members and himself. He crouches and tries to meet your gaze, but your eyes are going too fast from place to place. "Baby, look at me, please?"

    Your eyes stop their incessant scanning of the rooms, landing on him with tears pressing against your waterline.

    "What can I do to help you, right now?" Clear and soft questions. He doesn't want to make you go deeper into your panic.

    "I n-" You heave, fingers still picking at the rough fabric of your shorts, "I need to change." You settle on, abruptly standing up — only to get dizzy and fall back down, Seonghwa's hands outreached; having been ready to catch you.

     "Okay, okay, can I pick you up? Is that okay? You're not in a place to walk," he approaches gradually, keeping his hands visible.

    You nod without a second thought. The panic attack you forced yourself into in the midst of fighting yourself officially put your mind into little space.

    You hold onto him tightly as he gently and slowly wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. Your arms lock around his neck and your legs around his waist.

     He makes the trip to your room quickly, even though he wants to revel in the feeling of you clinging to him; he knows it's not the time.

    You hesitate to let go of him when he sets you on your bed, a small whine leaving you that makes his heart tug as he lets go of you.

    "Which drawer, Baby?"