Jyuumi

no “i love you.” no explanation. just the faint smell of his cheap cigarettes and the echo of a door slamming somewhere you couldn’t follow.

you sank to the floor right there in your work clothes, the cheap polyester of your blouse sticking to your skin, and cried until your throat hurt. you had no close friends to call. no savings. the landlord’s number was already lighting up your cracked phone screen.

the first collection call came two days later. you stammered that your father was gone. the voice on the other end went silent, then laughed once, low and ugly, before hanging up.

you didn’t know they were already watching.

it was the fifth night when the knock came—sharp, three raps that rattled the thin door.

you were in an oversized t-shirt and soft shorts, hair still damp from a lukewarm shower, curled on the couch with a library book you couldn’t focus on. your heart jumped into your throat. another knock, louder.

“open the door. we know you’re in there.”

you crept forward on bare feet and peered through the peephole.

three men stood in the hallway. the one in front was tall, broad through the shoulders, dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled once at the forearms. sharp jaw. dark, assessing eyes. a faint scar along the inside of his elbow. he looked expensive and lethal all at once. beautiful features that still held that scary sharpness, his presence filled the cheap hallway like he owned the building.

wang yixiang.

you didn’t open it.

the lock gave way with a splintering crack. you stumbled backward with a small, terrified sound as the three men stepped inside. the two flanking him moved like they’d done this a hundred times—efficient, unhurried. one checked the bedroom. the other stayed by the door.

nicholas’s gaze swept the tiny living room, then landed on you. something shifted in his expression. not surprise exactly. interest. possession, already forming.

“wang yixiang,” he said, voice low and smooth with the faintest trace of an accent. “your father owes the wang family a significant sum. where is he?”

your back hit the wall. your arms wrapped around your middle instinctively. “h-he’s not here. he left. days ago. i—i don’t know where he went. please, i don’t have anything to do with—”

the searcher returned from the bedroom. “cleaned out. nothing of value except her.”

nicholas stepped closer. you flinched hard. he stopped, head tilting slightly as he studied the way you trembled.

“then the debt transfers,” he said calmly. “family pays what family owes. you’re coming with us. collateral.”

“no—!” the word tore out of you, high and panicked. “i don’t have money! i work at a bookstore, i barely make rent! he left me here! he doesn’t care—”

“doesn’t matter.” nicholas nodded once to the men. “take her. gently. she’s not to be damaged.”

you fought. weakly, because you had never learned how to fight. one of the men caught your wrists and zip-tied them in front of you with surprising care not to cut skin. a soft black cloth bag slipped over your head. you whimpered.

“don’t scream,” nicholas murmured near your ear. his voice was almost kind. “it won’t change anything. and i don’t enjoy hurting pretty things that don’t deserve it.”

the car ride was long and silent except for your quiet, hitching sobs. leather seats. the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, expensive. you could feel him beside you in the back seat, the heat of his thigh not quite touching yours.

when the bag came off, you were standing in a large bedroom inside what looked like a private estate on the outskirts of the city. high ceilings, dark polished wood, a massive bed with crisp white sheets, an attached bathroom. the windows were reinforced. the door had a heavy deadbolt on the outside.

“this is where you’ll stay,” nicholas said from the doorway, hands in his pockets like this was a business transaction. “food will be brought three times a day. if you need anything—books, clothes, whatever—tell the guard outside. behave, and you’ll be comfortable. fight, and…” he shrugged one shoulder. “comfort becomes optional.”

tears spilled hot down your cheeks. “why are you doing this? i’m innocent. i didn’t even know how much he owed—”

“in this world, innocence is a liability.” his eyes flicked over you—your bare legs, the way your tied hands trembled against your stomach, the wide, wet eyes you couldn’t hide. “your father made his choices. you get to live with them.”

he left. the lock clicked.

you curled into a ball on the bed and cried yourself hoarse.

the first week passed in a strange, suspended haze.

meals arrived on trays—proper food, better than anything you could have made. the silent guard never spoke. you tried once. he stared through you like you were already furniture.

you explored the room. there were books on the shelf—classics, some chinese poetry, a few modern thrillers. a television with cable but no streaming, no internet. the bathroom had soft towels and expensive soap that smelled like the cologne nicholas wore.

on the third day he returned.

he entered without knocking, closed the door, and pulled the single armchair closer to the bed before sitting. black shirt again. the tattoo on his forearm was visible now—a stylized dragon coiled around a sword. wang family mark, you would later learn.

you sat on the edge of the mattress, knees pulled to your chest, watching him like he might lunge.

“how are you settling?” he asked, conversational.

“i’m a prisoner,” you whispered.

“you’re protected collateral.” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “do you know how much your father owed us?”

you shook your head.

“enough that even if you worked every day for the rest of your life at that little bookstore, you’d never clear the interest.” his voice was matter-of-fact. “we reached out through every channel. he’s gone. no response. no attempt to bargain for you.”

the words landed like stones in your stomach. fresh tears welled. you tried to hide them, but he saw.

“crying won’t bring him back,” nicholas said, softer. “but here, at least, no one will touch you unless i allow it. the wang family has rules. you’re under my personal supervision now.”

“why?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.

he studied you for a long moment. “because when i walked into that apartment and saw you—trembling, alone, trying so hard to be brave—i decided you were mine to handle. the others wanted to auction you off or use you to send a message. i said no.” a small, almost fond curve touched his mouth. “consider it mercy.”

mercy. from the man who had zip-tied your wrists and locked you in a gilded cage.

by day seven you had started counting the hours between his visits.

when he didn’t come on day five and six, the guard simply said “boss busy” and left your tray. you paced. you read the same page of a book three times. you stared at the ceiling and wondered if anyone had even noticed you were gone. your job had already replaced you—some chirpy text from your manager about “no call, no show.” no one else had texted.

on day eight nicholas returned carrying a book.

he set it on the bed beside you. “thought you might like this one. girl finds her strength in a place she never expected.”

your fingers brushed his when you took it. you yanked your hand back like you’d been burned, cheeks flaming. “thank you.”

he watched the blush spread across your face with open fascination. “you’re still polite. even now. most people in your position would be spitting curses.”

“i’m scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “yelling won’t change anything.”

“smart girl.” he reached out slowly, giving you time to flinch, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingertips were calloused but careful. “the world outside these walls would have eaten you alive, you know. shy little thing like you, no connections, no money. at least here you’re fed. protected.”

funny. protected by the man who kidnapped you.

you didn’t say it. you couldn’t. because some broken, lonely part of you was starting to understand what he meant.

he sat on the edge of the bed this time, closer than before. “the wang family has been in this city for three generations. my grandfather started with one gambling den and a knife. built it into import businesses, clubs, protection. debt collection is just one arm. we don’t like loose ends.” his eyes met yours. “your father was a loose end. you… you’re something else.”

your heart was beating too fast. “what am i?”

he smiled, small and sharp. “mine.”

the rain kept falling.

by the middle of week two, the pattern had settled into something that almost felt like routine. nicholas visited almost every evening. sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for nearly an hour. he would pull the armchair close to the bed or sit on the edge of the mattress and talk to you like you were a person instead of a debt that needed guarding.

he told you more about the wang family in pieces. his grandfather had started with nothing but a single gambling den in the old district and a willingness to use a knife when collections went bad. his father had turned it into something bigger—import businesses that moved everything from electronics to things that never appeared on manifests, a handful of high-end clubs that laundered money and hosted men who liked to pretend they were legitimate. debt collection was still the ugly heart of it. nicholas spoke about it without apology, but you noticed the way his jaw tightened when he mentioned his father.

“he expects me to be the same kind of man he is,” nicholas said one night, voice low. “ruthless. efficient. no loose ends. when i told him i was keeping you here instead of selling you or making an example, he laughed. said i was getting soft.” his eyes flicked up at the ceiling and then to you. “maybe i am.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. so you stayed quiet, knees drawn up, watching him from the safety of the pillows. he didn’t push.

on another night he asked about your father. you told him the truth in small, halting pieces—how your mother had left when you were twelve, how your father had started drinking more, how the gambling had gotten worse in the last two years. how you had spent most of your life trying to be small enough that he wouldn’t notice you, wouldn’t get angry.

nicholas listened without interrupting. when you finished, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the same careful gesture he’d used before.

“he left you with nothing,” he said quietly. “and still you’re trying to defend him in your head. that’s the part i don’t understand about people like you.”

you looked down at your hands. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you will,” he answered. “eventually.”

by the end of week two you had started counting the hours until his visits the way you used to count the minutes until your shift at the bookstore ended. when he missed one evening because of “business,” the guard outside your door simply said “boss busy” and left your tray. you paced. you read the same paragraph four times. you caught yourself listening for footsteps in the hallway like a stray dog waiting for its owner.

when he finally came the next night you almost smiled before you could stop yourself.

he noticed.

“you missed me,” he said. it wasn’t a question.

you flushed and looked away. “it’s just… quiet when you’re not here.”

nicholas didn’t tease. he simply sat on the bed closer than usual and let the silence stretch until you filled it. you told him about the underlings you sometimes heard through the door—rough voices, laughter that didn’t sound kind, the occasional sound of something heavy being dragged. you admitted, voice small, that it scared you.

for a long moment he didn’t speak. he simply watched you with those dark, assessing eyes, the ones that always seemed to see too much. then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so careful it made your chest ache.

“mm…they should scare you,” he said finally, voice low and even. “most of them enjoy fear. they like the way it makes people small and obedient. but they won’t touch you.” his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, thumb resting over your pulse. “i made that very clear. the first one who forgets who you belong to will lose more than his tongue.”

you shivered. not entirely from the words.

nicholas noticed. of course he did. he always noticed.

“saw that you almost smiled when i walked in tonight,” he continued, quieter now. “you caught yourself, but i saw it. you were relieved.” he didn’t sound mocking. he sounded… pleased. like he had been waiting for this exact crack in your walls.

he let the words hang between you for a moment, watching the way your shoulders drew tighter, the way your fingers twisted harder into the fabric of your shirt. 

then he moved closer on the bed, not asking, simply closing the last bit of space until his thigh pressed solidly against yours and his arm settled around your back. his hand found the nape of your neck again, thumb resting over your pulse like he was taking measure of how fast it was racing.

you didn’t pull away. that was the part that made your stomach twist the most.

nicholas’s fingers stroked slowly along the side of your throat, almost absentminded, like he was soothing something skittish. “relief is a dangerous thing,” he said quietly. “it means you’re starting to separate me from the rest of them. from the men who laugh in the hallway. from the ones who would have already broken you open and thrown the pieces away.” his thumb pressed a little firmer against your pulse. “it means some part of you has already decided i’m the safer option. and you hate that, don’t you?”

you stayed quiet, staring at your own hands. the silence felt heavier than it should have.

shame crawled hot under your skin, thick and suffocating. you hated how easily your body had stopped fighting his closeness. how your shoulders had loosened the second his arm came around you. how some exhausted, traitorous part of you had actually leaned into the warmth of his chest instead of pulling away. 

you had spent your whole life trying to be small enough to survive—first with your father, then with the world that had never wanted you—and now here you were, letting the man who had taken you by force and locked you in this room stroke your throat like you were something he was gentling.

it made you feel sick. it made you feel pathetic. and worst of all, it made something small and desperate inside you whisper that at least when he was here, the fear was quieter. at least when he touched you, you weren’t completely alone.

you hated yourself for that thought more than anything else.

nicholas watched you for another long moment, thumb still resting over your pulse like he could feel every shameful beat. then he stood. the loss of his warmth was immediate and jarring. you hated that too.

he reached down and patted the top of your head—once, twice—the way someone might soothe a well-behaved pet. the gesture was gentle. it was also deeply condescending. his fingers lingered in your hair for a second longer than necessary before he spoke.

“i’ll be leaving for a few days,” he said, voice calm and even, like he was discussing the weather. “business in another city. my father wants me to handle something in person. i won’t be able to visit while i’m gone.”

the words landed like ice water.

your head snapped up before you could stop it. the panic was instant and humiliating, rising fast in your chest. a few days. he had missed nights before because of “business,” but he had always come back the next evening or the one after. 

this felt different. longer. more final. the thought of waking up in this room without the possibility of his footsteps in the hallway, without his low voice filling the silence, without the careful weight of his hand on your neck—it made something crack open inside you that you didn’t want to examine.

you opened your mouth, then closed it again. you didn’t know what you had been about to say. please don’t? how long is a few days? what if something happens while you’re gone? the questions were pathetic. you were pathetic for even thinking them.

nicholas saw it all. the way your eyes widened. the way your hands twisted tighter in your shirt. the way your breathing had gone shallow. he didn’t smile, but something satisfied flickered behind his eyes.

“you’re panicking,” he observed, almost gently. “interesting.”

you looked away fast, shame burning hotter. you wanted to disappear. you wanted to crawl under the blankets and pretend you hadn’t just reacted like that to the news of his absence. but your body wouldn’t cooperate. your heart was beating too hard. the room already felt emptier, even when he hadn’t left yet.

he reached down again and tipped your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. “the guard will still bring your meals. you’ll still have your books. nothing in this room will change.” his thumb brushed once across your bottom lip. “but you won’t see me. you won’t hear my voice. and you’re realizing you don’t like that very much, are you?”

you tried to pull your chin away. he didn’t let you.

“i told you once that you would stop defending him in your head eventually,” nicholas said, quieter now. “this is the same thing. you’re starting to understand that the only person who comes back for you is me. the only person who chooses to keep you soft instead of breaking you is me. and now that i’m taking that away for a few days, you’re scared.” his fingers tightened just slightly on your jaw. 

“good. that means you’re learning.”

he let go of your face and patted your head once more, slower this time, almost like he was rewarding you for the panic you couldn’t hide.

“i’ll be back before you have time to forget what my hands feel like,” he said. “try not to spiral too badly while i’m gone. i want you in one piece when i return.”

he turned and walked to the door without looking back. the lock clicked shut behind him with the same final sound it always made.

you sat there for a long time after, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself like they could replace the weight of his arm. the shame sat heavy in your chest, thick and bitter. you had almost smiled when he walked in tonight. you had let him hold you. you had felt relief when he touched you. and now the thought of him being gone for days made your stomach twist with something dangerously close to grief.

you pressed your forehead to your knees and tried to breathe.

it didn’t work.

the room was already too quiet.

you wondered if this was what dying felt like.

it was funny, in a sick, twisted way. 

here you were—sobbing so hard your throat had gone raw and your voice had collapsed into something hoarse and broken at the fact your kidnapper that left you alone for a few days. every unexpected sound in the hallway made you flinch so violently your whole body jerked. the tray of food the guard left went mostly untouched. you couldn’t bring yourself to eat. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything except sit on the bed with your arms wrapped around your knees and wait for footsteps that never sounded like his.

why did your heart hurt this much?

the question circled endlessly, mean and relentless. nicholas had kidnapped you. he had zip-tied your wrists, locked you in this room, and told you in that calm, certain voice that you belonged to him now. he had taken everything from you—your freedom, your future, even the small, sad life you’d been living before. and yet the thought of him not coming back made something inside you feel like it was caving in.

you tried to rationalize it. maybe you were just scared of what would happen if he died out there on whatever ugly business his father had sent him to handle. if nicholas was gone, there would be no one left to tell the others to keep their hands off you. you would either rot in this room until someone remembered you existed, or they would drag you out and use you the way nicholas had once said they wanted to. that was the logical explanation. that was the one that didn’t make you feel completely insane.

but it wasn’t the whole truth, and you knew it.

the truth was uglier. the truth was that some broken, lonely part of you had started needing him. not just his protection. him. the low sound of his voice. the careful weight of his hand on the back of your neck. the gentle feeling of his fingers in your hair. the way he looked at you like you were something he had chosen to keep instead of something the world had thrown away. you hated yourself for it. you hated how easily you had leaned into his chest that last night. you hated that you had almost smiled when he walked through the door. you hated that his absence felt like a hole in your chest that nothing else could fill.

every time footsteps passed in the hallway, your heart would lurch—stupid, desperate hope—only to crash when they kept moving. they never slowed. they never stopped at your door. and every time it happened, the ache got worse. you would press your forehead harder against your knees and try to breathe through it, but the sobs would come anyway, quiet and wrecked, until your voice gave out completely.

you told yourself it was fear. you told yourself it was survival instinct. you told yourself anything that made the feeling make sense.

none of it helped.

the two weeks had felt like dying in slow motion.

you had stopped counting the days properly after the first week. time blurred into long stretches of staring at the ceiling, jumping at every sound in the hallway, and trying not to fall apart completely when the footsteps never belonged to him. 

you told yourself he was probably dead. that his father’s business had finally taken him the way it took so many others—another body in whatever ugly war the wang family was always fighting. the thought should have brought relief. instead it left you hollow and sick, because if nicholas was gone, then so was the only thing keeping you from becoming exactly what he’d warned you about.

but when the familiar rhythm of his footsteps finally reached your door, your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you thought it might actually burst.

the door opened.

he looked wrong.

the white button-up was wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms so the pale scar near his elbow stood out stark against his skin. a black vest hung open over it, tie pulled loose and crooked like he’d been yanking at it. his face was the worst part. tired, bloodshot eyes that still burned with something sharp and unhinged. dried blood streaked across his jaw and one cheek, flaking in places. more of it crusted on his fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept. like whatever he’d done out there had followed him back inside this room.

you wondered if the wild hammering in your chest was fear or relief.

maybe both.

it didn’t matter. the second he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him, the relief died screaming.

nicholas crossed the room in three long strides. his hand shot out and gripped your jaw hard, fingers digging into your skin as he forced your head back. some of the blood still partially wet on his knuckles smeared against your cheek. up close, he smelled like gunpowder, sweat, and something metallic.

you made a small, broken sound.

he didn’t speak at first. he just looked at you—really looked—like he was checking to make sure you were still exactly where he’d left you. his thumb dragged roughly across your bottom lip, smearing a trace of blood there too.

“two weeks,” he said, voice low and rough, nothing like the calm tone he used to use. “and you still look at me like that. fuck.”

you tried to turn your face away. his grip tightened until it hurt.

“don’t,” he warned. “i’ve spent fourteen fucking days thinking about this room. about you in it. about whether you were still here or whether someone had gotten stupid while i was gone.” his other hand came up and fisted in your hair, yanking your head back further. “and the second i walk in, you look at me like you don’t know whether to be scared or happy i’m alive.”

tears stung your eyes. you hated that he could still read you so easily.

nicholas leaned in until his blood-streaked face was inches from yours. his breath was hot against your mouth.

“which one is winning right now?” he asked. “fear? or relief?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. your throat had closed up.

he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. it was sharp and exhausted and a little unhinged.

“doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “both work for me.”

his hand left your jaw only to shove you backward onto the bed. you landed hard. before you could scramble away he was on you, knee between your thighs, one hand still fisted in your hair while the other ripped at the front of your shirt. buttons scattered. he didn’t bother being careful. he yanked the fabric apart and dragged his bloodied fingers down your chest, leaving faint red smears across your skin.

“wait—nicho—”

the word barely left your mouth.

nicholas didn’t let you finish.

his hand clamped over your lips, hard, smothering the rest of his name. the blood on his fingers smeared across your mouth and cheek as he shoved you deeper into the mattress.

“don’t,” he warned, voice low and ragged. “don’t say my name like you’re still allowed to tell me no.”

you made a muffled, panicked sound against his palm. he ignored it. with his other hand he finished tearing your shirt open the rest of the way, buttons pinging across the floor. his bloodied fingers dragged down your bare chest, leaving red streaks over your skin like he was marking you.

“two weeks,” he muttered, almost to himself. “two fuckin’ weeks of thinking about this. about you. about whether someone had touched what’s mine while i was gone.” his knee forced your thighs wider. “and you’re still trying to say wait? thought you’d learned. thought my absence would be enough to break you so i wouldn’t have to take.”

“guess not.”

he moved his hand from your mouth only to shove two fingers past your lips instead, pressing down on your tongue. you gagged around them. the metallic taste lingering on your tongue. he didn’t care.

“open properly.”

when he pulled his fingers out they were wet with your spit. he didn’t give you time to breathe before he was undoing his belt one-handed, the other still fisted tight in your hair. he freed his cock—already hard, flushed dark—and dragged the head across your lips, smearing precum and a faint trace of blood.

“clean it.”

you hesitated, tears already spilling. nicholas yanked your hair hard enough to make your eyes water and pushed forward, forcing the head past your lips and into your mouth. he didn’t ease in. he thrusted shallowly at first, then deeper, using your hair as a handle to fuck your throat in rough, impatient strokes. you choked around him, hands flying up to push at his thighs. he caught both wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head against the mattress.

“that’s it,” he growled, hips snapping forward. “take it. you spent two weeks crying over me—now you can choke on me instead.”

he used your mouth until your jaw ached and tears streamed down your temples, until spit dripped down your chin and onto your bare chest. only then did he pull out, breathing hard, and flip you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. he yanked your hips up, shoved your face into the pillow, and pushed two fingers into you without warning.

you were wet. shame burned through you at how easily your body betrayed you.

nicholas laughed once, low and mean. “look at that. missed me that much, huh?” he fucked you with his fingers hard and fast, curling them cruelly until your legs shook. “say it. say you missed me while i was gone.”

you shook your head into the pillow, sobbing. he added a third finger and curled them up—hitting that spot so perfectly that your legs shook and your mouth betrayed you by letting out pathetic muffled whimpers and whines.

“say it or i’ll make it hurt more.”

“i—i missed you—” the words came out broken and muffled.

he pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his thick cock in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. you cried out into the pillow. it stung. it wasn’t like you’d been a virgin. you’d done less than savory work to keep food in your stomach but it had been awhile—not to mention, he was big. maybe not extremely long but long enough that you occasionally felt his cock press against your cervix. more than you’d ever taken. 

he didn’t give you a second to adjust. he fucked you hard and deep, one hand still fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be bruises.

“two weeks,” he snarled against your ear, pace relentless. “two weeks of thinking about this pretty little cunt. about how tight you’d get when you’re terrified. about how cute you look when you cry.” he yanked your head back by the hair, forcing your back to arch. “and you were in here wondering if i was dead? pathetic.”

you were sobbing openly now, overwhelmed, but your body kept clenching around him. nicholas noticed. of course he did.

“still getting wet for me even while you’re crying,” he said, voice rough with something between anger and satisfaction. “cute. you’re learning well.”

he reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, brutal circles while he kept fucking you. the combination was too much. you came with a broken, humiliated sound, walls fluttering around him. nicholas groaned, fucked you through it, then pulled out and flipped you onto your back again.

he shoved back inside before you could catch your breath, pinning your wrists above your head. his blood-streaked face hovered over yours as he fucked you slower but deeper, grinding against that gummy spot inside you with every thrust. you could feel your vision begin to blur. the overstimulation drowning you within its waters.

“look at me,” he ordered.

you tried. your eyes, red and wet with tears. he looked down at you with sharp cat like eyes—and god, did he look like he wanted to devour you whole.

“you’re mine,” he said, voice quieter but no less intense. “even when i’m gone. even when you’re scared of me. even when you hate yourself for missing me.” his hips snapped forward harder. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room.

“say it while i’m inside you. come on, pretty girl.”

“i’m yours—” it tore out of you on a sob.

and thats all it took, your admission of giving yourself up to your captor. nicholas’s rhythm faltered as he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural sound, flooding you in hot, thick pulses. he stayed there, cock twitching inside you, forehead pressed to yours as he caught his breath. all you could do was whimper at the warm heavy feeling of his cum filling you up.

for a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the wet sound of him still inside you.

then he kissed you—slow, almost gentle, tasting like copper and exhaustion.

when he finally pulled out, he watched his cum leak out of you with dark, satisfied eyes. he dragged two fingers through it and pushed them back inside you, like he was making sure it stayed.

“missed you too,” he murmured against your temple, voice rough. “more than i should’ve.”

his bloodied fingers stroked your hair almost tenderly while you shook beneath him.

“glad i kept you. my perfect collateral."

𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲ㅤ © ㅤ ( 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱 — 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗔𝗜.​ ㅤ ❤︎ㅤ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 . )

As pathetic and disappointing to feminism as it seemed, you had somewhat molded yourself to fit his type. Maybe not his type exactly, but at least a version that could talk to him as easily as the cicadas talked to the morning. The type that could slap his arm playfully when he made a joke and giggle a giggle that would sound like cherry coke. The type that wore baggy jeans and layered belts, just like him. The type that wasn't a quiet, withdrawn bitch that didn't talk to anybody, wrapped in her own ribbons and lace. The type that would be loud.

So when the day died out and you came back home, exhausted from your fictitious persona, you found solace in the one person that knew the true you.

“You look ridiculous with that on.” Euijoo chuckled, watching you wipe away your dark eyeliner—something you barely wore, “I’m surprised he didn't ask if you’re possessed, love." 

“Shut up.” You said, glancing at him in the vanity mirror. He was leaning back against the headboard of your bed, one arm thrown over his head lazily, while the other went back to scrolling on his phone, “And he did compliment me today, you absolute dick.” 

“You call that a compliment?” Euijoo laughed, throwing his phone down and sitting up, looking at your concentrated face in the mirror removing your makeup. Cute, Euijoo thought. His eyes briefly went down to your thighs in your shorts and then up, thankfully you didn't notice.

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents. Confessing to his best friend who he had been thirsting over (and masturbating to the image of) ever since last summer was not one of them. 

In his defence however……ok he had no defense. Other than the fact that you were the most angelic person he had ever laid his eyes on. And god bless his heart (and dick), the poor boy had had a crush on you since 11th grade.

He knew it would be like all those books you read, the ones in which the guy is whole heartedly, heart-poundingly, cock-crushingly in love with the female lead, who ends up with somebody else. The second male lead syndrome, as you called it, passionately declaring that you would always love the second male lead more.

Euijoo wanted to stand in front of you with a spray painted sign that read “I am your IRL second male lead.”

What on earth did Yixiang even have that he didn't? Apart from the bad-boy look, the beautifully dyed blonde hair, the piercings, the tattoos that he designed himself, the motorbike, the cool sneakers, the–

Euijoo was beginning to see why.

He hadn't noticed it at first, though in hindsight to him now, it was scathingly obvious. The way you asked about Yixiang like nobody else mattered, the way you laughed a little harder at his very unfunny jokes, the way you lingered just a second too long when he was near, the way your voice softened when you said his name. Euijoo used to be the only one who’d hear that sweet tone of yours. 

When you had first confided in him about your earth shattering obsession for Yixiang, he wanted to laugh. You two were polar opposites, oil and water. Of course, opposites do attract but you needed to have a common base first—and there were barely any similarities between you two. You guys didn’t even like the same genre of music! 

And then when he brought it up, you only laughed (your pretty little laugh) and told him about your plan. Authenticity be fucked, he recalled you saying, all you needed to do was get Yixiang interested. Euijoo would have been lying if he said he didn't feel a bit sorry for you. 

If he knew anything about Yixiang, he knew that he wasn’t the type to fall for girls like you. Honey-sweet girls, pale blue ribbons in your hair, starry eyes that looked up at him in a way that made him want to drop to his knees and worship. Honey sweet girls who lived in the clouds and in words, who couldn't handle the emotions that came with being heart-broken. 

Euijoo knew you could protect yourself, that you were a woman with a fully functioning brain, but he also couldn't bear the image of you sobbing your heart out the day Yixiang eventually rejected you. He knew he couldn't predict the future and there could be a sliver of a chance for the both of you—but in his humble, knowledgeable opinion, that sliver was smaller than his will to live. 

But deep inside, he wanted Yixiang to reject you. He wanted so badly for you to come home to him as you always did, for you to sit down on his bed and ask with those pretty pink lips to have him hold you in his arms as you cried into his chest. It scared him sometimes how badly he wanted such a cruel thing. 

But could he really be blamed? When you fit so beautifully in his arms like you were made for his solace alone, like you two were matching puzzle pieces? When he was the only one who knew the deepest, darkest parts of you? When he was the one who had always been there, through desert and storm? Euijoo was a man of many philosophies. At least ninety percent of them revolved around you.

“You coming to Yixiang’s party on the 14th?” You asked, crawling up the bed to reach him, sitting on your knees in front of him. Your shorts barely covered your thighs, a strap of your camisole was slipping off of your shoulder and you were looking at him like he held the world in his arms. How was a man supposed to survive?

“Maybe.” Euijoo hummed, tossing his phone to the side and patting the space beside him, which you quickly occupied, immediately curling into his chest.

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you saying a word, just staring off into space as time ticked away. Euijoo wanted this moment to last forever, just the two of you pressed together like the stars pressed against the dark sky, one of your legs thrown across his, your tits very visible to him as you rested your head on his chest. 

“What’s that pretty little head thinking about, hmm love?” He said soothingly, running his slender fingers through your hair. He felt you exhale shakily against him.

“I think…” You started, then you sat up, turning around to face him again, “I’m gonna tell him in two days.” Euijoo stared at you blankly for about ten seconds, as if trying to get your words to penetrate his mind, “Oh don’t look at me like that Ju.” You chuckled, looking down at your fiddling fingers, “If not now, when?” 

Euijoo kept staring, with that peculiar look in his eyes that you just couldn't figure out. That look in his eyes that always looked like a night sky enveloping a thunderstorm. You told him that once and he had laughed awkwardly, excusing himself to go get a bottle of water. 

“In two days?” Euijoo said at last, sitting up to lean his back against the headboard, “At the party?” His voice was quieter than usual, as you nodded meekly, “I see…”

“That’s all you have to say?” You tilted your head at him, playfully reaching out a hand to grab his chin and tilt his face around, “Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?” 

Euijoo’s soft smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he took your hand in his, rubbing circles over your wrist with his thumb. He stared at your joined hands for a while, his breath even and steady as he refused to meet your gaze. 

“Ju?” You said gently, “Ju, what is it?” You slowly brought your joined hands up, resting your cheek in his palm. Oh this girl, Euijoo thought, letting out a shuddered breath as he saw how you were looking at him. He tried hard not to let his gaze flicker down.

“It’s nothing, love.” He said, his tone tranquil, “I just….” A breath, “Are you sure? Like a hundred percent sure?” He laughed at your offended expression, shifting closer, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you love, that’s it.”

“Bad?” You said, with a curious tint in your voice, “Why would anything bad happen?” 

Because Yixiang doesn't like you. 

Euijoo wanted to scream it out, cradle your face in his hands and tell you those five magical words. He didn’t care if it hurt you even more than whatever Yixiang would say; he didn’t care if this one fuck up got him barred from hearing your angelic voice ever again. 

But like all men, he held his tongue.

“It’s probably nothing, I’m just worrying too much.” Euijoo laughed, settling down again, holding out his hand to pull you back for cuddles, “You know how I am, don’t you?”

“That I do.” You giggled, happily going back to your cuddling position, “We can get ready together on the 14th and I can show you what I got for Yixiang.” 

“Of course, love.” Euijoo hummed, closing his eyes to allow his mind a second of peace. Which he failed to attain, his mind sending him the most outrageous scenarios ever of the events that would transpire tomorrow.

How slowly the night did fall today.

______________

“Teach me how to kiss.” 

Byun Euijoo’s cause of death would have been asphyxiation if you didn't slap him on the back to push the popcorn lodged in his throat out.

“Is this because I said your scarves are ugly.” Euijoo said, rubbing his chest as he put the popcorn bowl down to avoid any more accidents, “Is this my karma?” 

“You’re so dramatic.” You said, pausing the show on the tv and turning to face him on the couch. You took both his hands in yours and stared at him with a seriousness that could have rivalled a professor’s, “I need you to teach me how to kiss so that I don’t fuck it up with Yixiang.” 

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Euijoo said, running a hand through his hair, “We don’t even know what Yixiang is gonna say to you.”

“Are you saying you don’t have faith in my plan?” You said, with a pout on your lips, “You don’t trust me, Ju?”

“Of course I trust you but—”

“Then teach me.” Your faces were mere inches apart in seconds, “Teach me how to kiss.” You crossed your arms and looked at him with challenging eyes, “Or do you not love me anymore?”

It's because I love you, you idiot. 

Euijoo sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. What had life even come to? What had he done in the past for the universe to serve him this—the woman he loved asking him to teach her how to kiss—on a silver platter? Euijoo wouldn't have minded if death came for him at that moment.

“Fine.” 

“Really?” You said excitedly, clapping your hands together, “You’re the best Euijoo has anybody told you that.”

“Yeah yeah I know.” Euijoo let out a breathy chuckle. What the actual fuck was he doing? Practically every remaining inch of logic in him was screaming at him to get up and drown himself in a lake, but here he was, breathing in deeply to remind himself how to kiss. He hadn't done it in quite a while—his last casual hookup was perhaps five months ago.

"Alright, first things first. You need to relax." He moved his hands from yours to your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before trailing his touch down your arms. "Tension is said to be the enemy of a good kiss."

“Who says that—”

“Do you want to learn or not?”

You rolled your eyes, nevertheless nodding, feeling your muscles loosen under his ministrations. Euijoo smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, gaze flickering down to your lips.

“Good, now close your eyes.” He waited until you did, then leaned in close. His breath ghosted over your lips as he spoke softly, “Now just…..picture Yixiang if it makes this easier.”

Euijoo mentally slammed his head against a pole when he heard himself say that. ‘If it makes this easier’, who the fuck even says that?

You cracked a mischievous eye open, trying to keep a smile in, when you saw how close Euijoo was, there was barely any air between you two. 

“Arms on my shoulders.” He said, you felt him shudder a bit when you followed his instructions but that could have been a figment of your imagination. His hand creeped uncertainly to rest on your thigh. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you ample time to pull away. You didn't.

Euijoo tasted like cherry cola, fizzy and electric against your lips, though his lips were soft and warm as they moved on yours like a choreographed dance. You breathed shakily into the kiss and he intertwined his fingers in yours. 

“Slow down, love.” He murmured, not opening his eyes, “We don’t have anywhere to be.” Euijoo's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. 

In all honesty, he could have evaporated into the air right there and then. The taste of you drove him insane, sweet—oh so fucking sweet, honey straight from the comb on a spring evening, when the scent of lilacs would fill the air and there would be butterflies everywhere.

In shorter words, Byun Euijoo’s cock was screaming at him to take care of it.

“Hmm, like this?” You mumbled, and then his world came crashing down when you moved forward, practically settling yourself into his lap.

Euijoo swallowed hard, his pulse jumping at the feel of your soft curves settling into his lap. The heat of your body seeped through the fabric of his shorts, making his already throbbing cock twitch with renewed interest. He knew he should put a stop to this before it went too far, but damn if he could find the strength to do so. Not when you felt this good in his arms.

“Yeah.” He pulled back, eyes tracing over, god fuck him you were still looking at him with those innocent eyes, “Just….he might do something like this too.”

His hands slid around to the small of your back, holding you close as he went in for another one, a deeper kiss. His tongue delved past your parted lips to stroke along yours in a sensual dance that left you breathless.

“Oh…” You said, finally ending the kiss after a long moment.

“Not bad for a first timer.” Euijoo teased, “But love, could you maybe get off now?” He raised a brow as you blinked at him, once, twice and then scrambled off his lap.

“Sorry about that.” You laughed awkwardly, “Just felt I should do that for some reason.” 

“I’m sure he’d love it.” Euijoo said, how the actual hell did you not sense the tone of his voice?

“Really?” Your eyes lit up, light and giddy, “Thank you so much Ju!” You flung your arms around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. Euijoo wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. As he always did, of course. As all best friends do! 

“Wanna play some League?” You said, withdrawing from the hug.

“Sure, love.”

As all best friends fucking do.

__________________

Euijoo leaned back in his gaming chair with a heavy sigh, tossing his headset aside after a late night gaming session. He had left your house at 7 pm, walking back home with barely a brain cell left in him. You had kissed his cheek before he left as you always did, but this time, it inflamed every single molecule that made up his being. He spread his legs wide, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

The beautiful flesh of your thighs, the curve of your neck where it met your shoulders, that look in your eyes, the taste of you….

Euijoo pushed himself up, walking to his closet. Opening it, he bent down to his knees and reached deep inside, shuffling his hand around till his fingers grazed it. 

He slowly pulled it out and sighed, sitting on his knees on the floor as he stared at it, his cock already straining against his shorts. You must have bought this one on sale, you never really liked it much, which explained why you didn't notice when it went missing from your house. 

Euijoo climbed onto his bed, bringing the pair of baby-pink cotton panties up to his face. He buried his nose into the soft fabric, letting the scent fill his senses. God it smelled exactly like you, so fucking honey sweet. 

Euijoo breathed in deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent that clung to the delicate fabric. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the lingering traces of your perfume and the musk of your arousal. Would you have worn this when you let your pretty little fingers linger to your sweet cunt? The heady aroma sent a jolt of electric desire straight to his throbbing cock, making it pulse with need.

He brought the panties to his mouth, running his tongue along the crotch. The salty-sweet taste burst across his taste buds, making him groan. He closed his eyes, letting the fantasy take hold as he pictured you spread out beneath him, flushed and panting with desire.

In his mind's eye, Euijoo could see every curve of your luscious body, from your gorgeous breasts down to the enticing cleft between your thighs. He ached to bury his face in your slick folds, to lap at your dripping pussy until you were writhing and screaming his name.

As he lost himself in the erotic daydream, Euijoo fumbled with the button of his shorts, shoving them down just enough to free his straining erection. His fingers curled around his thick shaft, giving it a firm stroke as he imagined how good it would feel to drive deep inside your tight heat.

Euijoo shuddered, picturing your breathy moans as he rocked into you, stretching you open on his hard length. He could feel your velvet walls gripping him, trying to milk his cock for all he was worth. He chuckled as he imagined your mouth falling open in an ‘o’, your nails drawing blood on his back.  With each mental thrust, he pumped his hand faster along his pulsing flesh, racing towards his climax.

Tension coiled tight in Euijoo's belly as he fucked into his fist with short, sharp strokes. He could almost hear your keening cries, feel your fingers digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you with desperate abandon. 

With a strangled groan, Euijoo threw his head back as pleasure crashed over him in intense waves. His cock jerked in his grasp as he shuddered through each pulse of his orgasm, picturing your face contorted in ecstasy as you came undone beneath him.

Finally spent, Euijoo collapsed back on the bed, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. He knew it wasn't the real thing, but damn if jerking off to thoughts of you didn't make for one hell of a mind-blowing orgasm. 

“Fuck…” He said softly, tossing the panties below his bed. With a blissful sigh, he let the post-orgasmic haze pull him under into a deep, satiated slumber.

Sweet, honey filled slumber. 

_________________

Euijoo often thought before he acted, a rare quality among human beings nowadays. However, there were rare occasions where he didn’t do that, the keyword being rare.

And today was one of those rare occasions! How fun! 

God damn his cock controlled brain—the version which only operated when he was around you—for saying yes to you asking him to help you pick out a dress for the party. Euijoo dressed casually, just a pair of blue jeans and a yellow shirt that fit him tight at the chest.

You, on the other hand, were throwing out the shortest dresses from the depths of your closet. And Euijoo was only a man.

“This one?” You said, looking up and down at yourself in the mirror, glancing at Euijoo sprawled out on the bed behind you, “Don’t say it looks good, you’ve said the same thing for the last five dresses!”

“Have you ever considered the fact that it's because you look good in all of them?”

“Flattery won’t get you out of this, Byun.” You said, spinning around to face him, “Now look properly and tell me which one!”

Whichever one would keep you here and away from confessing to Yixiang.

Euijoo’s eyes raked up and down, admiring the way the short silver dress hugged every curve of your body, cutting off right at your mid thigh, the thin straps showing off your shoulders beautifully. Thank god his hand was covering his crotch.

“Doesn’t Yixiang wear a lot of red?” Euijoo said, throwing an arm over his head, feigning exhaustion, “I think the velvet one would do.”

“You’re actually a genius.” You said, crossing over to pick up the discarded red dress lying on the floor, calling out to you like gold to a midas, “And stop sulking Ju, you agreed to this on your own volition.”

“I call it manipulation.” Euijoo called out, watching you slip into the bathroom to change. As soon as you were gone, his hand worked on his crotch, slowly palming his cock through the fabric. Hopefully, there weren't any hidden cameras in this room, he thought, glancing suspiciously at your teddy bears sitting on the shelf.

“Ok what do we think?” 

Euijoo needed to dip his head into a bucket of ice water and never come up for air ever again.

The delicate fabric clung to your curves in all the right places, the neckline just low enough to be enticing—a faux vixen’s play. It nipped at your waist before flaring out slightly at the hips. Euijoo’s gaze trailed over your bare shoulders,, a shiver running down his spine as heat flushed through him.

“Hello? Earth to Byun Euijoo.” You laughed, catching your reflection in the mirror, a thrill of excitement running through you at the thought of seeing Yixiang’s eye at the party. You twirled once in front of the full-length mirror, the skirt flaring out around your thighs.

“Y-Yeah. You look good.” He said, clearing his throat, “We should go or we’ll be stuck in traffic again.” He quickly moved off the bed, his jaw clenched, pulse point in his neck fluttering away. 

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents. Hiding his very large boner perfectly from his best friend was one of them.

___________

Wang Yixiang—resident ‘bad boy’ of the town, prominent motorcyclist, occasional tattoo artist and so much more. He was the kind of guy who could command the attention of a room without breathing a single word, splitting the ocean of a crowd in half wherever he walked in.

Euijoo knew him to be a good person; they had made quick friends after a week of being in the same basketball team. Sure, Yixiang teased the hell out of him, always with that crooked grin and sharp tongue, but there was always something warm beneath it all—a brother he could trust. 

And even when this entire situation with you and him arose, Euijoo never felt any animosity towards him. Was it because he knew deep underneath that Yixiang’s type wasn't you? Perhaps. But he was also too good of a friend to feel anything like that.

However, as he stood in the crowded room now, party lights flashing in bursts of violet, blue and gold across faces known and unknown, Euijoo couldn’t help the slow, ugly coil tightening in his chest.

Jealousy. 

What a foolish emotion that mortals had.

It sat there, heavy and unrelenting, tightening with every second he spent watching you. You stood near the edge of the living room, just far enough from the chaos to not be swallowed by it completely.

The party itself felt alive in a way that was almost overwhelming—music blasting loud enough to blur thought, bass vibrating through the floor and up his spine. The walls pulsed with shifting lights, casting everyone in flashes of color that made moments feel fragmented, like scenes spliced together too quickly. Someone had opened the windows, but the air was still thick—warm with bodies, laughter, the faint sting of alcohol, and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume.

And Euijoo could still pick you out from the chaos effortlessly. And you looked—

He swallowed.

He shouldn't have recommended that dress, if he knew it would make him want to faint and die every time he caught sight of your thighs.The soft fabric of your dress caught the light every time you moved, your hair falling just right over your shoulders. 

You laughed at something your friend said, tilting your head slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners—but even that laugh felt distracted, like it didn’t fully belong to the moment. Your fingers traced the rim of your cup absentmindedly, your weight shifting from one foot to the other, like you were waiting for something. 

Or someone.

Euijoo leaned back against the wall, a red cup of god knows what held up absentmindedly. He hadn't taken a sip in fifteen minutes now, choosing to alternate his gaze from you to the man you were looking at.

Yixiang stood across the corner of the room, leaning against the wall like he owned the entire world. 

Someone was saying something animatedly to him, hands moving fast, but Yixiang only half-listened, head tipped, one foot braced on the wall, gaze distant. He looked effortlessly put together—leather jacket on a tanktop, hands decorated with rings galore, a lazy kind of confidence that made people orbit him without trying.

Someone said something that made the group laugh, and Yixiang’s lips curved, that small, knowing smirk that made people lean in closer. Euijoo saw it happen in real time—the way your attention slipped mid-conversation, drawn like gravity across the room. It was subtle, anyone else might have missed it. But he never missed anything about you.

Euijoo exhaled sharply through his nose, looking at the way your shoulders eased, the way your lips parted just slightly, the way something warm and hopeful flickered through your eyes. His chest tightened painfully.

Euijoo tipped his head back, glancing at the ceiling before closing his eyes, poking the inner side of his cheek with his tongue. His mind ran back to the way you had rambled about your plan to confess to Yixiang.

“I made this.” You said, a little breathless, like you were both proud and nervous at the same time, “I’m gonna give it to him and the party and then tell him.”

Euijoo stared at the bracelet—handmade, thread woven carefully, colours chosen just perfect, small details that made it feel you. Soft and earnest in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

“He mentioned once,” You continued quickly, like you needed to justify it, “that he likes this kind of stuff. Not, like, in a serious way, just—he said it offhand, but I remembered and I thought—” You stopped yourself, laughing a little, embarrassed, “I don’t know. Is it stupid?”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, sunlight spilling in through the window. It caught in your hair, outlining you like painters outlined their muses in loving, golden light.

“He’d love it.” Euijoo finally said, heart going to his stomach at your sweet smile, “I’m sure he would.”

There had been a moment, small and fragile, where Euijoo could have said something, anything to stop you. But he just nodded away and ruffled your hair.

The memory faded slower than he wanted it to, bleeding back into the present. Euijoo opened his eyes again, the noise of the party crashing back in all at once—music, laughter, voices, light. His gaze found you again.

You were saying something now, animated, your hands moving as you talked, and your friend laughed again. Your attention flickered, split between the conversation and the figure across the room, waiting for the right moment.

Euijoo’s hands curled into loose fists at his sides. He could walk over, say something, distract you, stop this before it happened, maybe threaten arson. But he didn’t move, staying right where he was, swallowing the jealousy burning like hellfire in his throat. He merely watched as you fiddled with the bracelet in your hand, waiting for the remainder of the crowd around Yixiang to disperse.

The crowd didn’t leave all at once. It thinned slowly, like a tide pulling back—one person dragged away by a friend, another distracted by a call, a couple disappearing toward the balcony. The laughter around him dulled, the tight circle loosening until it finally broke apart.

And then he was alone. Well, as alone as someone like Wang Yixiang could be at his own party.

Jackpot!

He still leaned against the wall, a red cup in his hand, head tipped slightly as he looked down at it like he had forgotten it was there. The lights flickered over him in uneven colors, catching on the metal of his rings, tracing the line of his jaw, dipping into the hollow of his collarbone where his tank top hung loose.

For a second, you just stood there watching—entranced by his beauty. Your heart thudded so loudly it almost drowned out the music, your grip tightening around the bracelet in your hand. You could feel the threads press into your palm, grounding and terrifying all at once.

This was it—your moment to be the Echo to his Narcissus. Before you could think too hard, before doubt could creep in and ruin everything—you moved. One step, then another; you weaved through the remaining people, barely registering the way shoulders brushed yours. Because all you could see was him.

And then you were there.

Oh fucking lord here you were.

Close enough to notice the faint scent of something clean and sharp, close enough to see the small details—the faint smudge of ink near his wrist, the way his lashes cast shadows when he blinked. Even the lord couldn't save you now. You adjusted your hair and moved.

“Hey.” You said, voice coming out softer (and shakier) than you intended. Yixiang looked up. For a split second, his expression was unreadable—like he was pulling himself out of wherever his thoughts had been. And then recognition settled in, easy and familiar.

“Oh,” He said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “Hi there.” God he sounded so fucking hot, that effortless shift in his attention once it fully settled on you, “You’re here.”

You huffed out a small, nervous laugh. “Should I not be?”

“Mmhh, Euijoo usually tells me when he brings you along, so I’m just surprised.” He tilted his head, “Nice dress, you look cute.” Your cheeks warmed.

Godpleasefuckingsaveme.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your posture, your voice, the way your fingers tightened around the bracelet.

“You too.” You managed, "It's a uhh…a good party.” Who the actual fuck even says that?

“Yeah?” He glanced around briefly, like he was seeing it for the first time. “Bit loud, though.”

“A bit,” You agreed, smiling. There was a beat, not too awkward. You were used to such silences between you and him. 

Yixiang shifted, pushing himself off the wall fully this time. “You want something to drink?” He asked, lifting his cup slightly before glancing at it and making a face. “Actually—don’t take this. I have no idea what this is.”

You laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

“C’mon,” He said, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you something that won’t kill you.”

You hesitated for half a second (could he get his fine ass in your life) and then nodded.

You followed him through the crowd, the space parting for him without effort. It was quieter in the kitchen, the music more muffled, replaced by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clatter of someone passing through.

Yixiang moved easily, grabbing a bottle from the counter, reaching for a clean cup. “What do you want?” He asked, glancing back at you.

“Um—anything’s fine.”

“Dangerous answer, sweetheart.” He muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he poured something anyway, sliding the cup toward you.

“Thanks.” You wrapped your fingers around it, but didn’t drink, mind lingering on the way his veins flexed as he closed the bottle.

Your attention wavered to the bracelet in your other hand. You tried to keep it casual, resting it loosely against your side, but you could feel it like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Say it.

Not yet.

Say it now!

Wait.

Yixiang leaned back against the counter this time, mirroring how he had stood earlier, one hand resting beside him. “You good?” He asked, eyes flicking briefly to your face. “You look like you’re thinking really hard about something.”

“Is it that obvious?” You let out a small breath, laughing nervously. 

“Little bit.” He said and your heart pounded.

Just do it!

“Actually,” you started, your voice catching before you steadied it, “I…..I made something.” His gaze dropped immediately to your hand.

“The thing you’ve been holding onto like your life depends on it?” Yixiang asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You groaned softly. “Please don’t say it like that.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He huffed out a quiet laugh, “Let me see?” Your fingers tightened for just a second before you stepped forward (an unnecessary step) and held it out to him.

Yixiang took it carefully, more careful than you expected, his rings cool against your skin as his fingers brushed yours, your brain almost stopped.

“You made this?” he asked, the teasing edge in his expression softened, something more thoughtful settling in its place as he turned the bracelet slightly between his fingers, tracing the threads, the details.

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly very aware of the distance between you. “I—um—I remembered you said you liked stuff like that, so I thought—”

“It’s nice,” he cut in gently.

Your breath hitched. Tension is the enemy of a good kiss.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded once, still looking at it. “It’s…..really nice.” Relief bloomed in your chest, warm and bright and terrifying all at once.

“This is for me?” he asked, glancing back up at you. You nodded, a small pause. “What’s the occasion?”

And there it was. Your moment of salvation.

Your stomach flipped. Your fingers curled slightly around your cup, grounding yourself as you forced the words past the sudden tightness in your throat.

“I just—” you started, then stopped, letting out a breath. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Oookay.” Yixiang drawled, expression not changing, “Go on, I’m listening.” You swallowed.

Now.

“I like you,” You said, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “I have for a while, actually, and I just—I wanted you to know. And I thought maybe—” your voice faltered, “—maybe you’d feel the same. Or…..something like that.”

Euijoo once told you a quote that he had made up on a June evening—‘Silence is the food of love’. You had zero idea what he meant by that but you went along anyway, letting him brush a strand of hair behind your ear as you two ate pizza.

This silence was torturous, long enough for your heartbeat to feel unbearably loud. Yixiang blinked once, then looked down at the bracelet again, turning it slowly between his fingers.

And then he laughed. It would have been better if he laughed loudly in a mocking way as he usually did, throwing his head back and practically bellowing. 

But oh the way he laughed now, so softly and gently, as one does to comfort a child who’s had a nightmare. You felt your heart melt in its cage, he laughed so kindly.

“Hey,” He said, stepping a little closer. His hand came up, resting lightly on your shoulder, warm and steady, and somehow, apologetic.

“You’re really sweet,” he said, voice gentler now. “Like—really. This?” he lifted the bracelet slightly, “This is probably one of the nicest things anyone’s done for me.” Your throat tightened. “But…” he continued, and the word felt inevitable.

“I don’t think I’m your guy.”

The sentence landed softly, spoken like a poem. But god it still landed. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. He didnt even look uncomfortable or weirded out, he just looked so fucking calm. And you were drowning in the ocean.

“I’m just—not really looking for anything like that,” he went on, his thumb brushing lightly over the threads of the bracelet. “And even if I was…” he exhaled quietly, a small, almost self-aware smile tugging at his lips, “you’re not really my type.”

It was the fact that he said it so gently, practically cajoling you. He could have, should have, screamed it at you instead, laughed cruel and high and told you to piss off. But he said it like he was comforting you, letting you down easy and then you felt the ocean rise higher.

“I mean that in the best way,” he added quickly, his hand giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “You’re—good. Like, actually good. You deserve someone who’s gonna… I don’t know, not be me.”

All you wanted was him.

“I-” You started, eyes at the floor, your breaths coming a bit too quick, like you couldn't get enough air.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Should I call Euijoo or—”

“No.” The word came out faster than you intended. You shook your head immediately, stepping back. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, even though it was obvious you weren’t. “I just—need some air.” You didn’t wait for a response, didn’t give him time to say anything else that might make this worse, or kinder, or harder to leave.

You turned and walked out. You made it through the kitchen, past the doorway, back into the chaos of the party. The music slammed into you again, loud and disorienting, lights flashing too bright, people moving too close. It felt suffocating now—every laugh too sharp, every voice too loud.

Your vision blurred at the edges as you pushed through the crowd, murmuring quiet apologies when you bumped into someone, your grip tightening around nothing now—the cup long forgotten somewhere behind you.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

Don’t—

By the time you reached the door, your steps had quickened. By the time you stepped outside, you were running. The cool night air hit you like a shock, sharp against your skin, but it didn’t help. If anything, it made everything worse, made it all feel too real.

Your vision blurred completely now, tears spilling over before you could stop them, breath hitching as you stumbled a few steps forward, arms wrapping around yourself like you could hold everything in.

It hurt.

God it fucking hurt.

__________

Euijoo was known among your circle of friends for being highly perceptive. He somehow knew exactly what someone was going through even before that person could get a word out. He didn't need the other person to say a word—he’d just sit there in silence alongside them, tissues and water in hand, until they were ready to talk or cry.

Euijoo didn’t hear what was said—didn’t need to. He saw the way you moved, too fast, too abrupt, your head down and your shoulders tight. And then you were gone out the door before he could even say anything. 

Euijoo straightened instantly, the cup in his hand abandoned on the nearest surface without a second thought. Something sharp surged through him, cutting clean through everything else as he moved 

“Hey—where are you—” His friend Fuma started, but he was already pushing past, eyes fixed on the door you had disappeared through.

“Euijoo!” A hand caught his arm briefly. He turned, just enough to see Yixiang standing there, brows drawn slightly, gaze flicking toward the door and then back to him.

“Are you—” Yixiang began, an uncertain tone to his voice. His gaze darted toward the door, then back to Euijoo like he was trying to piece something together too late. “Just tell her I’m sorry.” 

The words hung there for a second. Euijoo held his gaze for just a moment longer, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then he gave a small nod.

“It’s not your fault, Nicho.” He sighed, “She’s just….” He thought about it for a second and then shook his head, looking up at Yixiang with a faint smile, “I’ll tell her.”

Yixiang nodded, hand slipping away from his arm as he disappeared into the party, and for a fraction of a second, Euijoo stayed there. 

Thinking, pondering, wondering……whatever other synonym for his brain sending him thoughts existed. Beneath that anger and ache and every other fucked up emotion tangled within the crevices of his heart, there lay something else. Something he hated himself for. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

You were hurting.

And entirely his to take care of now.

Euijoo turned without another word, pushing through the door and into the cool night air, his eyes already searching for his car. You probably would have ran all the way home—in heels? Sure an unlikely probability but hey, a broken heart is capable of wonderous things.

Truly wonderous things.

________________

“Love?” Euijoo knocked on the door as softly as he could, knuckles barely making a sound against the wood—like anything louder might shatter whatever fragile state you were in on the other side.

For a moment, there was nothing, neither movement nor sound. Just the quiet hum of the night stretching between him and you. He shifted his weight slightly, jaw tightening, resisting the urge to knock again. His hands curled at his sides instead, forcing himself to be patient.

You’d open it. You always did.

A faint sound finally came from inside—shuffling, uneven footsteps and the soft click of the lock. And then the door creaked open.

Euijoo swore he’d never seen anyone this beautiful before. 

Eyes glassy, our cheeks were flushed a deep, aching red, tear tracks visible under the dim porch light. You'd changed out from your dress, wearing an oversized shirt and shorts now. Your hair—usually so carefully done—had fallen loose and messy, strands sticking to your damp skin, framing your face in a way that stole the breath from his lungs. The Goddess of beauty could have stood in front of him and all he’d see was you.

Every piece of you was laid bare in front of him and something in his mind told him to be proud of this fact. Only he could see you like this. So unperfectly perfect.

“Hey,” he said quietly. Your lips parted like you were about to say something—maybe to explain, maybe to brush it off, maybe to tell him you were fine, but nothing came out.

Instead, your face crumpled and that was enough. Euijoo didn’t wait for any more words. He stepped forward gently, one hand coming up instinctively to cradle the side of your head as he pulled you into him, the other wrapping around your shoulders, steady and firm.

“I’ve got you.” He murmured, voice low. “It’s okay, I’m right here, love.”

His sweet voice was all it took.

The tears came again, stronger this time, your body folding into his as a broken sob left your chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing holding you up. He held you tighter, one hand smoothing over your hair, slow and repetitive, the other pressed securely against your back as he guided you inside without breaking the hold.

“Come on.” He said softly, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. “Let’s just sit down, yeah?”

You nodded weakly, though your grip on him didn’t loosen. Euijoo led you to the couch, movements careful, like you might fall apart if he went too fast. He sat first, gently pulling you down with him, guiding you until you were tucked against his side.

He adjusted so you were comfortable, your head resting naturally against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you properly. Your breaths came uneven, breaking apart into soft, shaky sobs that you tried to stifle but couldn’t quite manage. Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding on like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Euijoo didn’t say anything. He just stayed, one hand moving slowly through your hair, untangling gentle knots, tucking strands away from your face. The other rubbed small, steady circles into your arm with a quiet rhythm.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Euijoo murmured, tilting his head slightly toward yours.

“For not listening to you.” You said, barely lifting your head, “You know….when you said I’m not his type and he’d probably just—”

“Hey, no.” Euijoo said, arm tightening around you like he was physically stopping the thought from going any further. “Don’t do that.” You let out a weak, shaky breath, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

“But you were right,” you whispered, voice small, almost embarrassed. “You told me and I still—I still went and—”

“And what?” He cut in softly. There was that familiar soft scolding tone to his voice, “You liked someone,” he continued, a little quieter now. “And you told them. That’s not something you apologize for, love.”

“It feels stupid,” you admitted, your voice cracking again. “I made that bracelet and everything and I just—I really thought—” Your words dissolved into another broken breath. Euijoo’s hand slowed in your hair, his fingers smoothing gently over the strands before resting briefly at the back of your head. 

“It’s not stupid, love.” Euijoo said, after a brief moment of calming silence, “It’s just….life.” You laughed against his shoulder but he continued, “That doesn’t make it stupid,” he said. “It just means he didn’t feel the same.”

“That’s worse.” You mumbled and a quiet exhale left him.

Well wouldn't he know?

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It kind of is.”

“I just—” you swallowed, your voice smaller now, worn out from crying, “I really liked him, Euijoo.”

“I know,” he murmured, oh if only you knew.

“I thought……maybe if I did it right—if I was…” you hesitated, searching for the word, “enough—”

“Hey.”

This time it wasn’t just his voice. His hand shifted from your hair to gently cup the side of your face, guiding you to look up at him. Your eyes met his and you almost gasped at how gentle they were.

“Don’t finish that sentence like that,” he said quietly. There was something different in his expression now, something a little more serious, “You being ‘enough’ has nothing to do with whether he likes you or not.”

Your brows pulled together slightly, like you didn’t quite believe him. Euijoo’s thumb brushed lightly under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, love.” he continued. “You didn’t mess it up. You didn’t say it weird or give the wrong thing or pick the wrong moment.” A small pause. “He just wasn’t the right person to hear it.”

The words settled between you, softly heavy. Your gaze stayed on his for a moment longer than before, like you were trying to find something in them—something steady enough to latch onto and pull yourself up.

“I just…” you exhaled shakily, “I really thought tonight would be different.” Euijoo didn’t interrupt, just watching you, “I even thought…” you let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh, dropping your gaze again, “I thought maybe I’d have my second kiss tonight.”

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents.

Stopping the blood rushing to his dick at those words was not one of them.

“Your second kiss?” He said, voice somehow very steady. 

“Yeah.” You laughed again, wiping your tears and sniffling, “You were my first, remember?”

Oh.

Right.

Your….first…kiss….

Euijoo went very still, chest tightening at the memory, sweet as honey straight from the comb. He swallowed, staring, just staring at you. You were talking about something else now with shy laughs and not one word was going through his head. All he could see was the fact that he was his sweet girl’s first kiss. 

“I don’t know....” You sighed, not noticing the storm brewing in his gaze, too busy fiddling with your fingers, “Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe kissing him wouldn't have felt that good.” You shook your head faintly, “You know, like how it felt with you.”

God should have struck Byun Euijoo and his dick-controlled mind down right there and then.

Well at least before he said his next words.

“Would you like to feel like that again?” 

Great job, you horny idiot.

“Mmh?” You said, looking up at him with those widened eyes, “Did you say something Ju?”

God this girl is testing me. Euijoo's jaw clenched, his mind reeling from the image of your lips on anyone else. No, you were his to cherish, to claim in ways that would erase any doubt. He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a low, husky rumble that sent shivers down your spine. 

“I asked—” He leaned closer, half lidded eyes flickering down to your lips and staying there, “—if you’d like to feel like that again, love?”

They say seduction is a delicate art—fragile like a domino, one wrong move and poof! Everything is gone. However, when one’s mind is high under the influence of stupid, stupid human emotions, the domino will stay upright no matter what western wind hits it.

“Only if you want to, love.” Euijoo said, tilting his head with a soft smile, “I just want to make you feel better, you know that right?”

Your eyes widened, cheeks flushing hot as his words sank in. Hesitation flickered through you—nerves twisting in your stomach at the implication—but the trust you'd placed in him, the way he'd always made you feel safe, pulled you under. 

Euijoo was your best friend, of course he’d only want the best for you right? His soft gaze was locked onto you, a gentle anchor in the storm. 

“Yeah….” You nodded slowly, barely a whisper escaping, “Yeah I think I’d like that, Ju.”

Euijoo’s warm smile eased the tension in your chest as he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, running a thumb over the skin. You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch without protest.

“Just…..tell me if you want to stop.” 

Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

Yeah, like he was ever going to stop.

It was soft at first, a tender kiss meant to soothe. You hesitated, your shyness making your cheeks flush, but the fucked up emotions bubbling inside you craved the comfort. And something else inside you was starved of this kind of touch. You parted your lips, letting him deepen the kiss, unaware of the drastic effect it was having on your best friend. His mouth moved against yours with affectionate slowness, his tongue slipping in to taste you, coaxing a quiet sigh from your throat.

“Ju….” You said, melting into the kiss, one hand resting on his chest while the other rested on his shoulder.

“Hmm?” Euijoo said, pulling back just enough, his eyes dark, “Do you want to stop, love?” 

In hindsight, you probably should have stopped. You had maybe two cups of shitty alcohol in you and he was your best friend. But for some stupid reason he tasted soooo good. And no one gives up nectar do they?

“Want more.” You said, breathing a bit heavy, eyes flickering down to his plump lips, “Please?”

Byun Euijoo was a dead man as soon as those syllables spilled from your mouth.

“More?” He said, his hand cupping the back of your neck, lips curving into a faint smile. His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush, his erection already hardening against your thigh—a thick, insistent bulge that made you gasp. 

“More what, my love?”

My love.

In that moment, Euijoo looked simply divine—the golden light of the lamplight illuminating his soft features, those plush cheeks and those eyes that seemed like deep pools of honey. He always called you ‘love’. He’d never called you his love before though. And some part of you really really liked it.

“Euijoo….” You sighed, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks and other parts of your body, “I want you to kiss me.” His eyes darkened at your response, a small smirk playing on his lips. You giggled, feeling every emotion in the world get to your brain all at once, “I want you to kiss me aaalll over.”  

Now who was Euijoo to deny you? A best friend that behaved like a best friend? Please. 

“As you wish, my love.” 

In an instant, he closed the distance, his large hand cupping the back of your neck as he drew you in. His lips crashed against yours, hungry, tongue slipping past to taste you properly. You melted into the kiss, your frame pressing against his solid chest.

The kiss grew hungrier as you melted into it, your hands clutching at his shirt. Euijoo's fingers threaded through your hair, holding you steady as your tongues danced. He nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a small gasp from you, and you felt the tension in your body start to uncoil. Making out with him felt so intimate and unhurried, pushing everything else—Yixiang, false personas, bracelets—to the edges of your mind and replacing it with the heat building between you.

Euijoo’s hands moved to grip your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as sat you down on his lap. It was nothing much—you had sat there multiple times in the past. But you were just friends back then and now you were…..something else. 

"E-Euijoo..." You breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair as he started to trail kisses along your jawline. His teeth nipped at your earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Mmhh, you’re such a pretty girl.” Euijoo murmured against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. “So fucking beautiful.”

He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel just how hard he was. The friction of his erection rubbing against your clothed core had you squirming and mewling, desperate for more.

“Ju I—”

“Let me take care of you, love.” Euijoo pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, “I’ll make it all go away for you.” HIs voice was so very low, like a soft desperate prayer, “Do you trust me?”

You nodded, your heart pounding. Innocence clung to you like a veil—you'd never gone this far, never let anyone touch you like this. The thought of it scared you, made your stomach twist with nerves. But it was Euijoo. And Euijoo would never want to hurt you right?

“Are you sure?” You said, your voice trembling, “What if I don’t…you know—” You swallowed, god the thought of your first time being unsexy as fuck terrified you, “do it right?”

But Euijoo, sweet sweet Euijoo only smiled gently, cupping your face in his hands. His hands were the most familiar thing in the world, and right now, they felt like home.

“There is no right way, baby.” He said, pressing a kiss to your nose, “I’ll go slow alright? Just relax for me, hm?” His words wrapped around you like a blanket, reassuring and warm, easing the fear knotting in your chest.

His hand slid down your side, fingers splaying over your hip, thumb brushing the edge of your shirt. You whimpered, the sound fueling his desire, and he guided you backward toward the couch, laying you down with careful strength.

You looked like the most ethereal thing in the world—the kind of thing poets would write about when they tried to describe beautiful things. The kind of thing the gods would fight over—with your hair splayed all over, chest rising up and down and your flushed cheeks. Pretty, pretty girl.

Euijoo’s hands roamed your body over your clothes at first, tracing your curves until you arched into him. He kissed down your neck, sucking lightly on your skin as he tugged your shirt up and off, exposing your bra. You shivered, feeling exposed yet safe under his gaze.

“Euijoo…” you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair.

He laid you down gently on the couch, his kisses trailing lower, over your stomach, fingers hooking into your shorts and tugging them down along with your panties.  Naked now, vulnerable, you tried to close your thighs, but he nudged them apart with his knee, settling between.

Euijoo hovered over you, his weight a comforting cage as he kissed you again, slower now. His tongue explored your mouth, intoxicating strokes that left you breathless, while his hand ventured to your skin, palm warm against you. You arched into his touch, innocence cracking under the wave of need he ignited.

“So fucking beautiful baby.” He whispered, voice rough. You squirmed beneath him, heat pooling between your legs as he lavished attention on your body, kissing your thigh softly. His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at your bare pussy, already glistening from the make-out session.

God she’s so adorable.

Euijoo leaned down, mouth latching onto one peak, sucking firmly while his thick fingers teased the other, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you. The size of his hand dwarfed your chest, making every caress feel overwhelmingly possessive. 

You knew what he was going to do—stick those thick, girthy fingers into your wet folds and make you see heaven. You’d read about it so many times, letting your little fingers wander and leave you on the edge of an orgasm but never quite hit that sweet spot. Would your best friend really be able to reach it?

“Love.” Euijoo said, calling your gaze to his, “Just breathe for me, alright? I’ll go slow, I promise.” How sweet he sounded, even as his index finger nudged dangerously high up your inner thigh. The size of his hands made your breath hitch; you were so very untouched and you weren’t sure if they were even going to fit. 

But then he was pushing one finger inside and your back was already arching, your head pressing deeper back into the cushion as your mouth hung open in an ‘o’. The stretch burned slightly as your walls gripped him tight tight tight.

“Fuck you’re tight.” Euijoo swore under his breath, tilting his head at you, eyes full of (faux) sympathy, “You want me to continue baby?” He was fighting a battle with himself not to moan at your already fucked out face, hair sprawled all over, those eyes looking up at him so very drunkenly. 

“Hmmm…” You hummed, “Feel so good Ju….want more, please?” 

Oh you were going to be the death of him.

“Of course, my love.” His touch was electric, making a string of whimpers seep out of your mouth. His eyes went to where he had breached you and Euijoo almost moaned. You were taking his finger so well, he couldn't help but imagine you taking his cock.

You moaned loud, the discomfort fading into bliss, and he added a second finger, scissoring to stretch you wider. The fullness was intense, the girth filling you in a way that bordered on too much, but the pleasure overrode it. 

“Oh oh fuck!” You screamed as he curled his fingers to hit a particular spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids, “Euijoo right there—oh goddd….”

So that was where your clit was. And how easily Euijoo found it, as if he’d been training for this moment his entire life. How funny it was that your best friend knew you so very well.

“Right there?” Euijoo cooed, now rubbing slow circles on your clit with his thumb, his ego was filled to the brim that he’d found her so quick, “You like that, my love?” He thrust them deeper, thumb on your clit, and your orgasm crashed over you easily—body shaking, pussy clenching around his fingers as you cried out his name.

That precipice of pleasure you’d always stood at but never crossed was gone now, and you were floating in the ocean, the waves cradling you to their warmth. You cried out his name like a ballad, body trembling as he coaxed you through it, whispering how good you were for him. 

 As you came down, panting, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean. The sight made your core clench again, a fresh wave of heat flooding you. His tongue swirled round his finger like he was licking up nectar. Euijoo watched you with affectionate eyes, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

“See how sweet you are?” He murmured, one hand gripping your thigh open, “I’m just going to do something, and I promise it’ll feel good, okay?” 

You merely nodded, desperate now to feel that wave of pleasure in your chest again. Whatever Euijoo did would feel like heaven and you were up for it wholeheartedly.

Euijoo's gaze locked onto yours, dark with desire, as he slid down your body slowly. His hands parted your thighs wider, making you shiver in anticipation. He settled between your legs like he belonged, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending sparks racing up your spine.

Without a word, Euijoo dipped his head and pressed his mouth to your pussy, his tongue flicking out to trace a long, firm stroke from your entrance to your clit. The warmth of his tongue contrasted with the lingering ache from your recent orgasm, reigniting the fire in your core. You gasped, hips bucking instinctively toward him, but he held you steady with firm hands on your inner thighs.

"Stay still, love," he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice humming through you. 

Then he dove in fully, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking gently at first, drawing it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make your toes curl. His tongue swirled in tight, insistent circles, lapping at the swollen nub with expert precision, as if mapping every nerve ending.

Pleasure built rapidly, a coiling tension in your belly that had you threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Euijoo groaned in response, the sound muffled as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing your mound while his tongue delved lower. You tasted like no heaven could ever compare. 

He licked broad stripes along your slit, gathering your arousal on his tongue before plunging it inside you, fucking you with shallow thrusts that mimicked what he needed to do with his currently painfully hard cock. Your breaths came in ragged pants, each lap and suck sending jolts of ecstasy radiating outward. 

"Euijoo... oh! Just like that—oh fuck Ju!" you whimpered, your body arching off the couch. He hummed approval, the vibration intensifying everything, and alternated between sucking your clit hard and flattening his tongue to rub firm, relentless pressure over it.

He was relentless, affectionate in his hunger, one hand sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple while the other kept your thigh pinned. Your pussy throbbed under his assault, walls fluttering as another climax approached, faster and fiercer than the last. 

Euijoo sensed it, redoubling his efforts—tongue flicking rapidly, lips tugging, until you shattered again, crying out as waves of bliss crashed through you, your release coating his chin.

He didn't stop, gentling his touches to guide you through the aftershocks, kissing your inner thighs softly before looking up at you with a satisfied, glistening smile. 

“Taste so perfect, my love.” He said, voice husky, crawling back up to claim your lips in a deep, sharing kiss, “So good for me…” 

“Ju…” You kissed him back, mind already hazy, “Euijoo…..want moreee..” You were whining away your words, not even sure if they were coherent enough. Euijoo only chuckled.

“More?” He said, eyes meeting yours with a spark of deeper hunger, “Baby, aren’t you tired?” The afterglow of your orgasms lingered, but the air between you crackled with unspoken want.

“Mmmhh…” You moaned, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes that made his dick twitch, “—promised you’d make me feel good….” You were blabbering yet again, trying and failing to raise your hips to meet his pelvis, “want your cock Ju please please pleeaseeee…”

It was in that moment that Byun Euijoo truly realised the beauty of life. The day had started off with him waking up to a raging boner because of a wet dream with you and now the sun was about to set with his cock nestled deep in your warm walls. Life was amazing.

“Oh?” Euijoo said, his voice roughened by desire, “What was that sweetheart?” 

“Want your cock…” You whined again, bold hands coming up to tug at his hair. You pulled him down for a sloppy kiss and Euijoo swore he could have busted a nut right there and then, “Please Ju?” 

“Of course, my love.” He cooed at you, as he scooped you up effortlessly, your body limp against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, heart racing at the intimacy of being carried like this.

He carried you up the stairs to the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him as he laid you down on the soft sheets. The sheets you two had once cuddled in, talked each other’s ears off and cried your hearts out. The very bedroom Byun Euijoo would be making use of the one talent he commanded well. What is it, you may ask? Taking the virginity of his best friend, of course. 

You bit your lip, hesitation flooding back as he stripped off his shirt, revealing the lean muscles of his torso. His pants followed, and when he pushed down his boxers, your eyes widened at the sight of his cock—thick and long, veins pulsing along its length, the head already leaking pre-cum. 

The size of it dwarfed anything you'd imagined, making your untouched pussy clench in a mix of fear and curiosity. Thought of him inside you sent a cold shiver down your spine. And heat to your legs but never mind that. 

“Ju…” You murmured, voice trembling as you sat up slightly, pulling the sheet over yourself, “I don’t know if I can…”

Euijoo knelt on the bed, his hands gentle as he pulled the sheet away, exposing you again. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing over your features, making you look even more beautiful. 

“Hey, look at me.” He said softly, cupping your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, eyes locking onto yours with that loving reassurance, “You trust me right? I’ll make it good for you baby, I swear.” His words melted your resistance, “But if you want to stop, just tell me and I’ll stop, hm?”

You nodded, lying back as he positioned himself between your legs, his broad frame hovering over you. He kissed you deeply, tongue stroking yours to distract and soothe, while one hand guided his cock to your entrance. 

In all honesty you couldn't believe this was happening. You'd always imagined your first time, chocolates, candles and roses and a man with a brow piercing. You’d imagined softness, hands perfectly molded and the feeling of ultimate pleasure.

Euijoo’s hand was warmly familiar in yours and the scent of him was comforting, chocolates and roses and soft laughter that never failed to steady the ground beneath your feet. You let yourself sink into the mattress, going almost dumb and pliant for him. My my, did he look weirdly gorgeous.

Euijoo gripped the base of his cock, guiding the thick head to your entrance, rubbing it slowly along your folds to coat himself in your wetness. The pressure against your clit made you gasp, a fresh spark of arousal igniting low in your belly.

“Breathe for me, my love.” Euijoo whispered in your ear, kissing just beneath it, one of his hands entwined in yours and the other holding your hip.

“Euijoo….” 

And then you could feel him everywhere. 

From between your legs to your chest to your throat, everything was just Euijoo Euijoo Euijoo. Sweet Euijoo, pretty Euijoo, your Euijoo. 

“Baby?” Euijoo panted, ever so worried about you even when his dick was being squeezed for all it was worth by your walls, “Baby, you with me?” His hand intertwined with yours, squeezed gently as he paused, not even halfway in yet. You were just too damn tight. 

“Ju ohhhh…” You groaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “feel so—fuckkkk—feel so full Ju…”

And he wasn't even halfway in. 

Euijoo's dick twitched again as he chuckled and brought his hand up to cradle your cheek. “I know, my love I know. I’m going to push in, ok?”

The stretch burned as he pushed, his thickness forcing your walls to yield. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, the pain sharp and unfamiliar. “It hurts..” you whimpered, tears pricking your pretty eyes, which only drove Euijoo more insane. He paused, letting you adjust, his breath warm against your lips.

"That's it, you're doing so well," he praised, voice low and soothing. He kissed you softly, tongue slipping in to distract as he sank deeper, filling you halfway before stopping again. Your body tensed, god you were so fucking full, but the ache blended with a deep, throbbing pleasure that made your toes curl.

“Euijoo…..oh…” You moaned sweetly against his lips.

“ know, shh…” he breathed against your lips, freezing until you adjusted. “Breathe with me. You're so tight, taking me like this—fuck, you're perfect.” 

Inch by breathtaking inch, he sank deeper, his cock filling you completely, the size making you feel impossibly stretched. He bottomed out with a groan, hips flush against yours, and held still, letting you acclimate to the fullness.

“Are you alright, my love?” Euijoo said, eyes tracing over you, “Open your eyes baby, let me see those pretty eyes, thaaat’s a good girl.”

“So good Ju….” You moaned, the air whooshing out your lungs at the sight of him, strands of hair falling onto his forehead, slightly hiding his eyes, plush pink kissable lips, “Move…please.”

The pain ebbed into a dull ache, replaced by a growing warmth as he began to move—shallow thrusts at 

first, pulling out just enough to slide back in. You moaned softly, the sound escaping unbidden, your body betraying your initial hesitation.

"Feels good?" he asked, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. You bit your lip, nodding, shifting your hips experimentally.

His pace was unhurried, each thrust long and measured, draaagging his cock along your inner walls to hit sensitive spots that made constellations flicker in your vision. The friction built gradually, your arousal easing the way, turning the stretch into pure bliss.

Euijoo's hand released yours to brace on the mattress beside your head, his other sliding under your thigh to hook your leg higher on his waist. This angle let him grind deeper, the head of his cock nudging your cervix with each full stroke, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your core. You moaned, wrapping your arms around Euijoo’s neck, pulling him closer as your bodies moved in sync like voices harmonizing. 

He kissed your neck, sucking lightly at the skin while his hips rolled steadily, fucking you with a rhythm that was both tender and insistent. Sweat beaded on his skin, his lean muscles flexing with every controlled push, the dim light casting shadows that highlighted the intimacy of it all. Your pussy fluttered around him, growing wetter, the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room alongside your shared breaths.

Your whines grew louder, pornographic moans spilling out as you clutched at him, hips starting to rock in rhythm. The corruption of your innocence fueled his desire—he watched your face contort in bliss, his shy girl giving way to raw need. It snapped something in him; his eyes darkened, grip tightening on your hips as he went feral.

“Fuck baby—ah hahh—sound so pretty for me—shit…” He growled, thrusting harder now, the bed creaking under the force. 

His cock pounded into you, relentless and deep, the size making every plunge overwhelming. You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist, the pain fully forgotten in the haze of ecstasy. Euijoo buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin before biting down—sharp nips that marked you as his, followed by his tongue licking the spots soothingly. 

“Mine.” He murmured between licks, sucking at your pulse point while his hips snapped forward, “Mine all mine, aren’t you pretty girl?” The loving bites sent jolts straight to your core, heightening the build-up, “Say it for me, my love.”

“Y-Yours…..” You managed to stutter out, almost screaming when his hand slipped between your bodies to circle your clit with his thumb, “Yours Euijoo! God, only yours—oh fuck fuck!”

The first orgasm hit you suddenly, your pussy clamping down on his thick length as waves crashed through you. “Euijoo!” you sobbed, body arching off the bed. He didn't slow, fucking you through it, his groans vibrating against your neck.

“One more, my love.” he demanded, voice husky with control, “You can do it, I know you can.” 

His thrusts turned punishing, cock stretching you wide with each brutal drive. He bit your neck again, harder this time, tongue lapping at the sting as his hand pinned your thigh open wider. The coil in your belly tightened, pleasure mounting with each deep plunge.

"Euijoo... closer," you gasped, and he obliged, draping his body over yours fully, his chest pressing to your breasts as he thrust harder but still languidly, drawing out every inch. 

Your orgasm hit like a slow wave this time, crashing over you in shuddering pulses, your pussy milking his cock as you cried out, nails raking down his back. Cum leaked from where you joined, your moans turning to breathless pleas.

Euijoo followed soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his bites softening to tender licks as he rode out his release. He rocked through it, prolonging both your releases, before collapsing gently beside you, both panting in the afterglow. He pulled you into his arms, his hand smoothing over the back of your head, cock still twitching inside as he kissed your marked neck.

“You did so well.” He shepherd, kissing the crown of your head, holding you close in the quiet of the room, “Perfect, my love.” 

 His heart pounded against your ear, the steady rhythm gradually slowing as exhaustion seeped into your bones. Euijoo eventually pulled out as slowly as he could, peppering your face with soft kisses as he did, fingers combing through your hair in soothing strokes.

“Hmm Euijoo…” You hummed sleepily, opening your eyes only a slight crack.

“Yes, love?” 

“I think….” You giggled tiredly, wrapping your arms around him, “I don't like Yixiang any more.”

“Oh?” Euijoo fought his smile back, tucking your head under his chin as he rolled onto his side, keeping you firmly tucked against his chest, “Then who do you like baby?” 

Your breathing evened out, growing slow and steady. Euijoo watched as your lashes fluttered closed, a look of pure adoration on his face. 

“I think I like you…” You mumbled, “I think I really really like you.” You giggled drunkenly again, “Is that stupid Ju?” 

For a moment, Euijoo didn’t breathe. The words were quiet, slurred with sleep, barely more than a murmur but they settled into him like something sacred, like something that had been waiting patiently for a place to land.

I think I really, really like you

His chest tightened first, sharp, almost startling  before it gave way to something warmer. It spread slowly, blooming beneath his ribs, petal by petal, until it filled him completely. Achingly, impossibly full.

He looked down at you, half-curled against him, your face relaxed in sleep, lashes resting gently against your cheeks. You had no idea what you’d just done to him, no idea how those few drowsy words had unraveled something deep inside his chest.

“No my love, it’s not stupid.” He hummed, thumb brushing absent circles against your arm as if to pull himself to earth, “It’s not stupid at all.”  Euijoo swallowed, his hold on you tightening instinctively, like some small, instinctive part of him was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t, “I really really like you too.” 

“Mmmh good.” You mumbled before giving in to your sleep, your breathing becoming more shallow as you drifted off to sleep. 

“You have no idea, do you?” Euijoo murmured under his breath, voice so soft it barely existed. His lips pressed gently to your hair again, lingering this time.

 "I love you," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. "So fucking much." Carefully, like you were something fragile, he pulled you closer and for once, he let himself feel it fully. As the last rays of sun faded from the sky, Euijoo followed you into a peaceful slumber.

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents.

Getting his girl was now officially one of them.

fin. 

A/N: gang im not lying i legit came writing this fic UGH BYUN EUIJOO MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN if yall know anything about me you guys know i am no 1 cheater BUT I HAVE LEGIT NEVER CHEATED ON THIS MAN WITH ANYBODY ELSE IN &TEAM like that's the power he holds over me. anyways im gonna go stare at his concept photos now bye

Puppy!Taki who gets too lost in your tight heat, overwhelmed by his instincts and emotions and accidentally draws blood when he bites down on your shoulder too hard.

"I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t-to!" He frantically babbled out, pulling away with the slightest amount of blood smeared on the corner of his mouth. "Please don’t be mad…"

You had felt the sting when he bit you, whining like you normally would any other time because you know Taki gets too eager, but you only realized you were bleeding when you sat up and looked to see the small bleeding wound where his teeth broke your skin. Taki’s panicked apologies poured over you as he pitifully pulled out, feeling undeserving of being inside of you.

"It’s okay…" You whispered. Sure you were flustered and, yes, the bite throbbed, but seeing your puppy all sad and in such distress ached more than any nip could.

Taki’s ears twitched forward cautiously as you wobbly patted his arm to comfort him. "...Really?" He whispered, hesitantly leaning into your touch, fully expecting you to scold him and shove him off the bed in disgust.

But when you didn't, his tail gave a hopeful wag at your reassuring words. Taki’s golden eyes were glassy with tears and regret, but slowly, some of the tension began to leave his shoulders.

Puppy!Taki still couldn’t control himself when he got emotional, so he lunged forward and buried his face into your neck. "I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid. Please don’t hate me." He mumbled into your skin between frantic wet kisses and licks he left across your neck and face. Your arms naturally clinged around his bare shoulders. Feeling how his entire body trembled with guilt over an accident really pulled the strings on your heart.

"I promise I’m not mad, Taki." You murmured softly, allowing your fingers to thread through his blond hair that stuck to his forehead before gently threading the fur at the base of his puppy ears. A tiny broken whine escaped him once your fingers made contact with that sensitive spot. "You’re too nice…" Taki mumbled, nuzzling against the soft skin of your hands before his puppy eyes, which were still shimmering with guilt, met yours, causing him to immediately melt at how earnestly you reassured him for hurting you.

And because Taki couldn’t help himself, he suddenly kissed you in a slightly messy, but achingly sweet way. He poured every ounce of love into it, relief at your forgiveness, and adoration for how kind you were despite everything. "Love you," He breathed against your mouth, pulling back to playfully brush his nose against yours.

Taki’s tail started wagging again, happy little swishes against the bedsheets unknowingly. "Love you so much." He repeated quietly, dazed and utterly smitten as the warmth of your skin and scent made him feel safe again.

@danisofair

nicholas: emotions. that man is full of emotions however hard it is to articulate through them, but when he does, or finally lets himself feel them, everything breaks loose. really tries to shake it off by just lower his face and fucking you harder, like he has no emotion, until you’re seeing the gleaming streaks catch the dim lighting in your room and you’re tugging him down into a tight embrace. he’d full on sob, holding you close but still rutting into you. he wouldn’t let you see him as his actively crying, shaking his head when you grip his precious hair to get him to pull away, but will finally do so when he’s nudged deep inside you after , calming himself down with sniffles. pretty tip of his nose red and puffy eyelids colored with a flushed ring circling them, lips pouty and swollen from your insistent kisses. his tired, shimmery eyes would stare at you like you’re his whole world. and you are, he just shared his soul with you. you’ve seen him spill everything in every sense, so now you’re stuck with him :’)

jo: overwhelmed with all the pleasure you’d give him; tugging and licking at his nipples, biting at his earlobe while thumbing his slit, riding him like you haven’t in weeks as you’re wrapping your hand around his throat— his eyes flicker and grow hazy until they’re glossy with brimming tears, pupils rolling slightly as they trickle down his temples when his head tips back onto the pillows. such a pretty crier honestly; whole face gets red and his tears get fatter when you either edge him or overstimulate him with other stimulations going on at the same time. it’s like he can’t even fathom the pleasure he’s feeling right now; a facial expression screaming “what the fuck, holy fuck, i’m in heaven???” eyebrows furrowing upwards as he’s staring at you, figuring out whether you’re his savior or not, awestruck until his eyes fully roll back with the intensity of his release.

fuma: OKAY CAUSE HEAR ME OUT. after a long fucking day, all he wants is you. you, you, your embrace, your warmth — that’s all that circles his mind when he gets out work, tightens his chest and makes his breath quicken with such an urge that slowly breaks him down. so when he’s finally got you, he’s already melt by the way your hands circle his large frame, inviting him into your space and caressing his heated face. and when he’s finally, FUCKING FINALLY, sliding in?? the shaky exhale he releases? you don’t realize how much he crumbles until you’re seeing his tears silently slide down his rosy cheeks when he finally pulls away from your neck. he’s really the type to lose it when it’s really intense, and you’re left hugging him close while he’s trying to regulate his sniffles before continuing on his thrusts. yes, and he cries even harder with a small sob and a bite onto your shoulder when he cums. yes.

maki: nobody questions why maki is here again, it’s cause we all know he’s a crier. weak heaves like he doesn’t want you to know he’s crying, but he ends up breaking apart when he’s about to cum. like, he’s trying hard masking his soft sobs with moans and choked groans, biting down on his lip and trying to distract himself with the pain instead but it only amplifies the entire sensation. his gasps turn into whines, and then those whines curl into sobs as he falls apart behind you and presses himself against your back and shivers through the orgasm, still smacking his hips as he presses his lips against your nape. he exhales shaky though his nose and only then do you realize he’s crying when you feel something wet fall onto your upper back and nape. mutters a small curse when he’s riding through it, sniffling quietly… you still end up teasing him about it after it all while he lets you thumb away his stray tears, giggling at his sheepish smile LOL

taki: i swear i think i always write him to be very eccentric, but i think we can all agree that’s just taki, you know… no fuckin shame. cries so hard, rambles sticky incoherent mumbles in between hiccups, eyes squeezing out the rest of his tears when you drop yourself on his cock even harder. he wants you to see his desperation, wants you to make him cry harder. LIKE YES he’s a FREAK, and he NEEDS you to lick away the streaks on his cheeks, catch falling droplets on your tongue, and would even ask you how salty it tastes afterwards. he wants to look a mess, be a physically representation of how truly gone he feels for you, how down bad he is for you. he’d cry if you deny him some, cry if you give him some, cry as he kisses your legs, cry when you’re giving him the best head— feelin so blessed. he’s all sniffles and wobbly pout, and watery giggle, crying when you’re doing something new that he’s been craving for the longest or when you telling he’s so good for you. :)

&teamies tags: @xionvlog @pageraf @makizdoll @lynaka @smidare @doyoueverthinkofrose @cerezitamour @wvlftype

maki stood by the window with his back to you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, phone still in his hand even though the screen had gone dark. the post-concert high had crashed hard. you’d watched from the side again tonight—watched the way he grinned bright and confidently as he unzipped his jacket during the rush choreo to show off his toned abs and sculpted pecks. the crowd screamed, of course they did. 

but it wasn’t the deafening, feral reaction he’d clearly been hoping for. not the way it sometimes was for the others. you could see it land wrong the second it happened. the disappointment had curdled into something sharper.

he’d been quiet the whole ride back. then one sharp comment turned into another. then another.

“you didn’t even say anything about it,” he muttered now, voice low and rough. “not one thing. you just… smiled like it was nothing.”

you sat on the edge of the bed, heart twisting. “maki, i smiled because i was proud of you. because you looked good. i didn’t know you needed—”

“i didn’t need anything,” he cut in, but it came out too fast, too defensive. he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. 

you’d tried to laugh it off at first. told him he was being ridiculous. that you were literally there for him, eyes only on him the whole time. despite your reassurances he was already spiraling.

the words hung there, ugly and raw. you knew he didn’t mean to aim them at you. this was old insecurity talking — the quiet, constant pressure he put on himself to be enough, to be wanted in the way he saw others wanted. but it still stung.

minutes stretched. then you heard the soft clink of a glass set down too hard.

“i’m sorry,” he said suddenly. his voice was low, rough. not the bright, teasing maki everyone else knew. this was the one only you got to see—the one who still sometimes felt like the maknae trying to prove he wasn’t 15 anymore.

you stood up slowly and crossed the small space between you. when you touched his back, he didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it either. 

“i didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he whispered, jaw tight. “i just… i worked so hard on that. i just thought… i don’t know. maybe if i showed more, people would finally see me as hot instead of just cute. or whatever the fuck they think i am.” his laugh was bitter. “guess it didn’t work.”

“stupid, right? i know it’s stupid.”

your heart twisted. you turned his body just enough that you could see the faint flush still lingering on his cheeks from embarrassment and leftover stage adrenaline. maki was tall, all long limbs and loud strength, but right now he looked smaller than usual.

“it’s not stupid,” you said softly. “i get it. you put yourself out there and it didn’t feel like enough. that hurts.” you reached up, brushing his hair back so you could see his eyes. they were guarded, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache. “but maki… you’re wrong. you’re so wrong.”

he swallowed hard, gaze flicking away. “you don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

“i’m not.” your fingers trailed down to his jaw, thumb stroking the sharp line there. “i’m saying it because it’s true. every single time you move on stage, i can’t look away. not because of some choreo or abs—because it’s you. the way you smile when you hit a move perfectly. the way your shoulders flex when you’re focused. the little smirk you get when you know you’re killing it.” you stepped closer, pressing your body against his. he didn’t pull away. “and yeah… when you lifted your shirt tonight? i was throbbing, maki. i wanted to drag you off stage right then.”

his breath hitched. the guarded look cracked and a small smile fell upon his face.

you leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “you’re the sexiest man i’ve ever seen. and i’m going to prove it to you until you believe me.”

the kiss started slow—almost hesitant, like he was still waiting for you to change your mind. but when you deepened it, sliding your tongue against his, he groaned low in his throat and finally let go. hands that had been clenched at his sides came up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. he was already half-hard, the evidence pressing insistently against your stomach.

you walked him backward toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, fingers slipping under his hoodie to trace the warm skin of his abdomen—the very thing that had started all of this. he shivered when your nails grazed the defined lines there.

“fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “i love when you touch me like that.”

in the bedroom, clothes came off in layers. you took your time with his hoodie, pushing it up slowly, kissing every inch of skin you revealed. his chest, his ribs, the faint trail of hair leading down. when you dropped to your knees and mouthed at the waistband of his sweats, he let out a shaky breath, fingers threading gently through your hair.

“baby—you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” you looked up at him, eyes locked as you freed his cock. he was gorgeous—long, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. you licked a slow stripe up the underside and watched his head fall back, throat exposed. “i want to worship you, maki. let me.”

you started slow, savoring every reaction.

your tongue traced the thick vein along the underside, then circled the swollen head, tasting the salty bead of precum that had already gathered. you took just the tip into your mouth at first, sucking gently while your hand stroked the rest of his length in slow, firm twists. maki’s breath stuttered above you. one of his hands stayed tangled in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed the anchor.

“shit… your mouth feels so good,” he breathed, voice already rough.

you hummed around him in answer and took him deeper, letting your throat relax as you sank down until your nose brushed the soft skin at the base. he was thick enough to stretch your lips, heavy on your tongue. you held there for a moment, swallowing around him, then pulled back with a wet drag of your lips before sinking down again. your free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, massaging with your fingertips in the way you knew made his thighs tense.

maki was loud tonight in a way he rarely let himself be—soft curses slipping out between broken praises.

“fuck— just like that… baby, your tongue— god, you’re so good to me…”

you set a steady rhythm, bobbing your head while your hand worked what your mouth couldn’t take. every time you hollowed your cheeks he groaned. when you pulled off to lick slow, messy stripes along the shaft, letting your saliva drip down so your fist could glide easier, his hips twitched forward like he couldn’t help it.

“sorry— fuck, sorry, i’m trying not to—”

“don’t hold back,” you murmured against the head, lips brushing him with every word. “i want all of it.”

you took him deep again, faster this time, letting the wet sounds fill the quiet room. your hand twisted on every upstroke, thumb rubbing just under the head on the way down. the hand on his balls moved lower, pressing gently behind them, and maki’s whole body jerked.

“oh my god— baby, i’m— your mouth is driving me crazy…”

his hips started rolling in shallow thrusts, fucking your mouth in careful little movements. you relaxed your throat and let him, looking up at him through your lashes the whole time. the sight of him—head tipped back, mouth open, that pretty flush spreading down his chest—made heat pool between your legs.

when his thighs began to tremble and his grip in your hair tightened, you didn’t pull away. you kept going, sucking harder, tongue working the underside with every stroke.

“baby— i’m gonna—fuck, i’m gonna come—”

you hummed in encouragement and took him as deep as you could. maki’s moan broke in the middle as he came, hot and thick, spilling down your throat in strong pulses. you swallowed around him, eyes watering slightly but never breaking eye contact, taking every drop until he was trembling. only when he gently tugged at your hair did you pull off, licking him clean with soft, slow drags of your tongue.

he was breathing hard, chest heaving, looking down at you like you’d just ruined him in the best way.

you wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb and smiled up at him, voice a little hoarse. “you taste so good.”

maki let out a shaky laugh, still catching his breath. “you are crazy.” he pulled you up into his arms and kissed you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. when he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, eyes dark and wanting.

you humed, smiling up at him. “crazy about you—”

“come on,” he whispered, voice rough and honest. “need to be inside my favorite girl,”

you didn’t make him wait.

you pushed him back onto the bed and climbed into his lap, straddling his hips.

“no, i wanna be on top.” he said as he flipped you beneath him easily.

maki hovered over you, his tall frame blotting out everything else. the flip had been so easy—big strong arms and core control turning you onto your back like you weighed nothing. it made heat lick up your spine. his cock, still slick from your mouth and his first orgasm, dragged heavy and hot against your inner thigh as he settled between your legs, knees bracketing your hips.

he was breathing hard, eyes dark and a little wild, the post-fight flush still high on his cheekbones. that pretty mouth was parted, and for a second he just looked at you like he was trying to believe this was real.

“you really want me like this?” he asked, voice low and rough. one hand slid down your side, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. “after i was such an asshole?”

you lifted your hips so he could yank them down and off. “i want you exactly like this. angry and sweet and so fucking hot you don’t even know what to do with it.” 

you reached up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “i’ve been wet since go in blind, y’know…then you lifted your shirt on stage during rush, god maki. i couldn’t stop staring at these.” your palms smoothed down his chest, over the firm swell of his pecs, then lower, nails dragging lightly across the ridges of his abs. “wanted to drag you offstage and get on my knees right there.”

a broken sound left his throat. he kicked his own remaining clothes the rest of the way off, then braced himself on one forearm so he could watch your face while his free hand slid between your thighs. two fingers stroked through your folds, gathering the slick that had already gathered there, and he groaned when he felt how soaked you were.

“fuck… all this for me?” he circled your clit once, slow and deliberate, then pushed two fingers inside you without warning. the stretch of his long fingers made your back arch. “say it again. tell me i’m hot.”

“you’re so fucking hot,” you gasped, rocking down onto his hand. “not cute anymore. hot. so fucking hot, ki. the way your body moves, the way your abs flex when you dance, the way you looked tonight when you showed them off—i wanted to climb you like a tree, maki. still do.”

he curled his fingers just right and your whole body jerked. his eyes lit up at the reaction, some of the old insecurity cracking under the weight of your praise. he pumped his fingers a few more times, scissoring them, stretching you open, then pulled them free and lined himself up.

the blunt head of his thick cock nudged against your entrance. he pushed in slow, inch by careful inch, watching every micro-expression on your face like it was the most important thing in the world. the stretch burned, but in the best way. his lock long and thick and perfectly snug against your walls. when his hips finally met yours, he stayed buried deep, forehead dropping to yours.

“god, you feel so good,” he whispered. “so tight around me. like you were made to take me.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist and rolled your hips, urging him to move. “mm maybe i was, my perfect boy. wanna show me how much i’m yours…?”

that was all it took.

maki drew back and thrust in deep, the force of it punching a moan out of both of you. he set a rhythm that was all pent-up frustration and need—deep, rolling strokes that ground the base of his cock against your clit on every downstroke. the muscles in his arms flexed where he held himself up. his abs tightened and released with every snap of his hips. you couldn’t stop touching him—palms sliding over his chest, down his slicked abs, feeling every shift and flex as he fucked you.

“look at you,” you breathed, voice shaking. “so fucking beautiful like this. my strong, sexy boy. everyone in that crowd should’ve been screaming for you tonight. i was. i still am.”

he made a wounded, desperate sound and dropped to his elbows, burying his face in your neck for a second before pulling back to look at you again. his thrusts got harder, faster, the headboard starting to knock softly against the wall. one of his hands slid under your thigh, hiking your leg higher so he could drive even deeper.

“say it again,” he panted. “tell me i’m hot while i’m inside you.”

“you’re the hottest thing i’ve ever seen,” you moaned, nails digging into his back. “love watching these abs work while you fuck me. love how big you feel. god you are so fucking—hot—mmgh—”

maki groaned like the words had physically hit him. he shifted his angle, grinding right against that gummy spot inside you with each powerful thrust—his free hand slipping between your bodies again to rub tight, fast circles over your clit.

“come on, baby,” he urged, voice wrecked. “come for me. let me feel it. i need it—need to know i can make you feel good after i was such a dick—”

the combination of his cock pounding into you, his fingers on your clit, and the raw honesty in his voice tipped you over fast. your orgasm crashed through you in a white-hot rush, walls clenching hard around him, thighs shaking where they were locked around his waist. you cried out his name, back bowing off the bed.

maki fucked you through it, pace turning a little sloppy as your body milked him. “fuck— fuck, that’s it— so good, baby, so fucking good—”

he lasted only a few more thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken moan, pulsing hot and deep inside you. his whole body trembled with it, arms giving out so he half-collapsed on top of you, face tucked into your neck.

for a long minute the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city outside the window.

eventually maki lifted his head. his hair was a mess, eyes soft and sated, the earlier storm completely gone. he looked younger like this. lighter.

“you really meant all that?” he asked quietly, almost shy again now that the heat had crested. “about me being… hot?”

you cupped his face with both hands and pulled him down for a slow, sweet kiss. “every word. i’m proud of you every single time you’re on that stage, maki. and yeah—when you showed off tonight? i wanted to ruin you. still do. you are lucky that wasn’t the last song or i’d have dragged you backstage for a quick one.”

a small, real smile curved his mouth. he rolled to the side, taking you with him so you were tucked against his chest, one of his long legs thrown over yours. his hand stroked lazily up and down your back.

you stayed quiet for a while, just letting him breathe against your neck. your fingers moved slowly through his hair, gentle and steady. the room was dim now, only the city lights outside the big windows casting soft shadows across the bed. the heavy silence from earlier had changed into something else—something safer.

maki’s voice came out low and a little rough when he finally spoke again.

“i know i’m being dramatic,” he mumbled. “it’s just… sometimes i look at k hyung or nicholas and it’s like they don’t even have to try. they walk on stage and people lose their minds. fuma too. when he takes his shirt off, ugh—he just has that… thing. that presence. and i’m over here still getting called cute or ‘the baby’ even though i’m twenty now. i’m not a kid anymore. i don’t want to be treated like one.”

you kept stroking his hair, letting him get it out.

“i worked so hard on building up my confidence to do that tonight,” he continued, quieter. “the shirt lift. i thought… i don’t know. maybe if i showed more skin, if i looked more confident, people would finally see me differently. not as the maknae. just… as someone hot. someone they could want.” his laugh was small and self-deprecating. “guess it didn’t land the way i wanted.”

you shifted a little so you could see his face better. his eyes were still soft, but there was that old frustration sitting underneath.

“maki,” you said gently, “you don’t have to perform being hot for people to think you are. and you’re allowed to want to be seen that way. it’s not stupid or shallow. you’re allowed to want to feel attractive. especially when you’ve spent years being told you’re the cute one because your the youngest.”

he was quiet, listening.

“you’re not in competition with your hyungs,” you went on. “they have their own thing. but you have yours. the way you move is different. the way you smile when you hit a move perfectly—that’s yours. the way your whole face lights up when you’re proud of yourself. that’s sexy in a way that’s completely you. and yeah, your body is insane now. you’ve grown into it. but even if you never lifted your shirt again, i’d still be stupidly attracted to you. because it’s you.”

maki’s fingers tightened slightly on your waist, like he was anchoring himself to your words.

“i just don’t want to feel like i’m always the one people baby,” he admitted. “even the fans sometimes… they still treat me like i’m fifteen. i want to be taken seriously. as a man. as someone who can be wanted for more than just being the youngest.”

you brushed your thumb across his cheekbone.

“i see you as a man,” you said simply. “i don’t baby you. i flew here because i wanted to spend time with you—not the maknae of &team, just maki. the one who’s still figuring out who he wants to be on stage and off it. that’s the person i’m proud of. that’s the person i want.”

he let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“…you really don’t think it’s pathetic that i care this much about being seen as hot?”

“no,” you said without hesitation. “i think it’s human. you’re allowed to want to feel desired. its your job to be wanted, baby. you’re allowed to want your hard work to be noticed in that way. it doesn’t make you shallow or vain. it makes you twenty and still learning how to hold all the different versions of yourself.”

maki was quiet again for a long moment. then he tucked his face back into your neck, voice muffled but clearer than before.

“i’m really glad you’re here,” he whispered. “even after i was an ass earlier. i don’t know what i’d do if you weren’t.”

you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“i’m not going anywhere. and for what it’s worth… i think you’re already exactly what you’re trying to prove you are. you just don’t see it yet. but i do.”

he hummed contentedly, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. the heavy, suffocating silence from earlier had dissolved completely, replaced by the warm, easy quiet of two people who had fought and fucked and found their way back to each other in the same night.

after a while he spoke again, voice drowsy and fond.

“…next time i lift my shirt on stage, you’re gonna tell me exactly what it does to you the second we’re alone?”

you smiled against his chest. “every filthy detail.”

he laughed softly, the sound vibrating through both of you, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“deal, favorite girl.”