You dusted each surface, even hand-wiped your anime figures, cleaning out each spec of dust between the hard, plastic locks of hair with a goddamn Q-tip. Soft music plays from your TV, a random playlist, something to keep your brain busy so you can pretend it’s empty while you clean. All the trash, the half-drank coffee cups, the chip bags, the wrappers, receipts, you threw it all away, and the worst part is that you didn’t even do it because Yunho is coming over tomorrow.

It’s because you came home, looked at your bed, and your first idea was to lay on your bed and shove your hand under the waistband of your shorts. In the shower, fingers wrapped around the shower head, you stood perfectly still for at least forty-five seconds mentally convincing yourself to not turn the dial to the highest pressure setting.

Now, with nothing left to do but wait to turn your laundry over, your bare bed stares back at you. Not only is it painfully mortifying that you’ve masturbated more times in the past three days than you have in your twenty-one years of life, now you don’t even care that your bed sheets are in the washing machine. It’s a surface. A comfortable one.

Emotion organization could come later.

You don’t even crawl onto your bed. You lay on it, knees bent up, heels hanging off the edge, and slide your hand between your legs. Slow touches at first, light pressure on your clit, you sigh in relief, legs loosening, falling further apart. 

There you go… Use me… 

You circle your clit, eyes screwing shut, a sharper gasp tumbling off your tongue. It’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough, but it takes the edge off, calms your reeling mind. 

So pretty…

His fucking face between your legs, his bronzy, tanned skin, his hair fucked up from knotting your fingers in his roots, the glint of focus in his eyes. The way his tongue felt, soft but solid, flicking so perfectly at your clit– you moan, chin tipping upward, hips twitching into your hand.

Give me one more, baby, you can do it again… 

Heat pools in your belly, and you refuse to acknowledge the speed it took to get you here. Your fingers circle faster, other hand sliding beneath your tee, squeezing at your chest, pinching at your nipples. Your jaw cracks open, slacked, breath catching in your throat, a small squeak slipping through. You fantasize about his fingers slipping inside you, curling so perfectly, massaging against your front walls until you saw stars.

Three hard, aggressive knocks at your front door make you shriek. Your knees snap shut, hand splayed across your lower abdomen, terror washing through you, kicking your orgasm far, far away. You take a second to slam back into reality, forgetting for a second that knocks mean someone is at your fucking door.

They don’t seem to be patient, knocking again, three more harsh, aggressive pounds of knuckles. “Fuck,” you mutter harshly, hopping off your bed, pulling your shirt over your thighs. “I’m coming!” you yell, and you wish it were true. 

Unlocking your door, pulling it open, your first thought is that manifestation is real, and this is the immediate consequence of your lustful thoughts. 

“How the fuck do you know where I live?” is your second thought, one hand on your door frame, the other curled around the side of your door. 

“You know I fucked Jen,” he says, like it should be easy to put two and two together. “I’ve been here before.”

“Didn’t you fuck, like, a long time ago?” There's a repulsed attitude in your tone. “Why do you remember?”

“What, a guy can’t have a good memory now?” His arms fly out on either side of him, brows kissing, top lip lifted.

“No,” you spit. “Leave.”

You move to push the door closed, but he pushes from the other side, and the strength of your anger isn’t enough to get the slab of wood closed. His words sling together, “It wasn’t even that long ago, fuck, Jesus fucking Christ you’re strong.”

You were seconds away from an orgasm, his face was getting you there. You need him to not be here, to not come anywhere near you for the rest of ever. “You need to go.”

“Why’d you leave the Penny?” he asks, and your muscles give ever so slightly. He gets the door open again. 

“Because,” you start, and then stop. Crossing your arms, you frown in the middle of your doorway. “I don’t feel good.”

“You feel fine, don’t give me that shit.” He shakes his head, leaning up against your doorframe. “They’re all still there, Jen is going home with San.”

“I don’t care what she does.” You look him up and down, he hasn’t changed his clothes. He doesn’t seem drunk. His hair is still perfectly styled the way it was when you saw him over an hour and a half ago. “Since when did she give you the Jen-pass?”

“Since I came inside her,” he shrugs, tone flat. 

You fake a gag, turning away, covering your mouth, “You’re fucking vile.”

“Stop avoiding the question,” he presses further.

“I’m not avoiding, there’s just more conversation to have–”

“Virgin.” You don’t answer. His head tilts, “What was up with Yunho telling me to stop calling you that, by the way? That’s my nickname that I created, I can use it as I please.”

“He knows I don’t like it,” you’re defending him, and you don’t know why. You didn’t want him to defend you. “Funny how listening to what a woman wants is a foreign concept to you.”

He laughs in disbelief, “What the fuck kind of jab is that? What are you even referring to? I listened to what you wanted and I made it happen, twice.”

Your hands find your face, ignoring the heat that spreads, you pretend it’s guilt. “Do not bring that up right now. You seriously need to go, Wooyoung.”

“Why? You got to come to my house and barge into my room,” he argues. “I can’t talk to you from outside of your apartment?”

“I don’t want you to talk to me at all!” Your hands leave your face, your words exasperated, far past your Wooyoung-limit. “I want you to pretend Monday never happened, I want you to forget I exist.”

“Well, that’s gonna be a little hard since you’re doing whatever the fuck it is that you’re doing with Yunho.”

“I’m getting to know him,” you say confidently. “I like him, I like spending time with him and I’m seeing where it goes. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” His words fill you with fire all over again. Anger, and whatever else was cocktailing in your gut. His shirt fits him too well. His chain hangs too low. “You’re going to like him when you get to know him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a whore, but he has a nice, loving side to him, too. I saw it tonight.”

“So you’re here to give me your blessing?” you ask, arms crossing over your chest again, shifting your weight to one foot. “Are you here to put in a good word, as his friend?”

“I’m here to find out why you left,” he says, and you wait, expecting more. More doesn’t come. 

“I left because I didn’t want to drink at the Penny,” you respond, as short an answer as the one he gave you. 

“Then why didn’t you invite Yunho home with you?” 

“Why are you interrogating me?” Your brows furrow, one hand grabbing into the door again. “Do you want to hear about how he kissed me against my car? That if I kept kissing him, I would’ve begged him to fuck me in my backseat?” 

Wooyoung’s lips bend, only on one side. “Yes. It convinces me that there’s a human in there, you’re not fully robotic.” 

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you make rules for yourself that do nothing to benefit you, yet you still follow them.”

“Like what? That I don’t do casual sex? You think I’m robotic because I want to get to know someone before I fuck them?” 

“I don’t think it’s because you want to get to know them.” He uncurls his arms from his chest, stepping into your apartment, and he does it so confidently, you let him. “I think it’s because you don’t trust your own instincts. Hook ups, casual sex, whatever, that requires trusting your own instincts.” 

What the fuck?

“Fuck you,” you spit out immediately. 

He continues, stepping forward, making you take a step back. Your front door closes behind him. “You won’t fuck anyone unless they’re dating you, because that means they’re committed to you. Right?”

You swallow, feeling ice cold, refusing to answer. You don’t trust your anger enough to keep your voice level. 

“But you got cheated on,” he says, like it's a new piece of information. “You’re trusting your rules like they’re fucking gospel when they didn’t save you. You’re using them as a crutch so you never have to admit what you actually want.”

You don’t care that your voice is shaky as you ask, “How would you know what I want?”

“I can see it all over your face,” he says, a little louder. “I saw it when you were talking to Jungwon, I saw it while you were arguing with me, it’s even there when you’re talking to Yunho. You’re waiting to be chosen.” 

“What does that have to do with my instincts?” 

“If someone chooses you first, they make the decision for you,” he says bluntly, his tone even. He's serious, and he’s reading you like a fucking book. “That’s security to you.”

No one’s ever seen you so clearly. It’s terrifying, and it hurts, but it’s true. It’s all fucking true. 

“What about you?” Anger returns tenfold, the question slicing through the air. “Being chosen might be security to me, but you don’t give anyone the chance to even think about choosing you.”

“I don’t want to be chosen. I just want to fuck.”

“That’s the lie you tell everyone, huh?” Your head tilts, eyes sharp, tone cutting. “Sex is the closest thing to vulnerable you’ll ever get, I think it’s because you’re scared of what comes next.”

“Scared?” He reiterates, grinning like it’s laughable you’d even suggest it. “I’m scared of what, a relationship? Someone nagging me all fucking day long?”

“Someone knowing who you actually fucking are outside of a bedroom,” you nearly shout, strain in your voice. “That’s all anyone gets to know about you. Your friends, everyone on campus, me. You’ve curated your own reputation, Wooyoung, and it’s for a reason.”

He doesn’t answer. It might be the first time you’ve ever rendered him silent. You heave a deep, grounding breath, and finalize the argument, “We both have rules, Wooyoung.”

He steps to the side, running his hands through his hair as he glances at the door, moving for it. “I’m gonna go.”

“No.” You reach for his wrist before he can grab the door handle. His skin feels warm, soft, it sends memories playing through your mind like a fucking movie wheel. 

“No?” He pops a thick, ebony brow. “You have more you need to say? I think you covered it all.”

“As if you didn’t do the same shit to me. You started it.”

“And you fucking finished it,” he pulls his wrist from your grip, reaching for the door handle again. “I’m going.”

“Wait!” you try again, skipping in front of him, inserting yourself between him and the door. “Why are you so pissed? You can dish it out but you can’t fucking take it?”

You can feel the heat radiating off of him like this, even if the door is cold against your back. As if your air conditioner couldn’t touch him, or he’s so pissed off his body is steaming, you can’t tell. 

“I’m not pissed,” he defends himself, a master at keeping his voice even when his eyes prove different. Almost the same size, sitting at half-mast, darker than usual, like the heat of anger plunging through him burns his vision. 

The last time you were in this position, back up against a door, him in front of you, exuding control... Your toes press harder into the hardwood beneath you as the memories turn vivid. 

“I can see it,” he tells you, voice lower. “I can smell it on you. Desperation.”

“I’m not desperate,” you argue, but it has less bite to it because you’re lying. “Smell it on me? Are you a dog?”

“You’re deflecting.” His lips curve, eyes flaring amusement. “What do you want?”

Your breath turns shallow, heart picking up speed. “I don’t want anything from you.” 

“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you,” he presses further, leaning closer. You can smell his cologne, it’s not strong, just masculine enough. 

“You can’t,” you murmur. “You can only give me what I crave.”

“It’s the same fucking thing, you just don’t want to admit it.” 

It pisses you off, the intrigue in his eyes, how he seems to have you all figured out. You don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to answer. You don’t want to talk. 

You grab onto the thick pendant around his neck, fingers curling around the chain, and pull him down to kiss you. He meets you halfway, a collision of your lips instead of a kiss, fueled by anger, frustration. His hands fold over yours, uncurling your fingers from his chain, certain. He pulls away from you, keeping his forehead pressed to yours. You lean in for his lips again, but he pulls backward, refusing you the chance. 

“No,” his tone is quiet, but firm. 

You clench your fists, still swallowed by his palms. “Why not?”

He lowers your hands and takes a step back, you don’t like the way he looks at you. “I’m going. I hope you feel better.”

You’ve always thought you knew yourself pretty well. You’ve spent twenty-one years understanding your feelings, your morals, how you make decisions, what’s most important to you. Romantically you’ve always chosen stability over chaos, finding comfort in what seems mundane, but simplicity is easier to understand, it fits into a routine. 

After Wooyoung left last night, you barely thought about kissing him again. What kept you awake that night, throwing your entire nervous system into a scramble of unease, is how effortlessly he read you, where the fuck that read even came from. The traits you possess, what you look for in other people, the standards you pride yourself in; your brain was grasping for straws, begging for reprieve, and it couldn’t find any. You feel like you’ve been stripped raw.

You tried to think about everything you loved about Yeonjun, what made him feel compatible with you when you met him. You only came up with surface level things, traits that fit into your life, your schedule. He wanted to marry you, yet you never truly let him in, you never let him see the side of you that you keep shielded, barricaded. Is it because you were scared that if he knew that part of you, he wouldn’t want you anymore? Wouldn’t love you anymore?

Did he ever love the real you to begin with? Did you only love him because he loved you?

You finally stopped fucking thinking when Yunho showed up at your apartment, two hours after you finished class. He texted earlier in the day, asking what you wanted to eat from the pho shop just outside of campus and brought it with him, still hot and fresh. Yunjin had left earlier in the day, letting you know she’d be out with Jihyo and the rest of the girls, and she’d either sleep there or go home with San again. Leaving only you and Yunho, all night long.

Which was perfect to eat on the couch with him, a show you’ve both already seen playing in the background in a language neither of you speak. You didn’t want to pay attention, you didn’t need to, because you’ve been talking since he showed up. 

You’ve learned about his family, his brother, his parents, where he grew up, south of where you go to school. His classes, his major, communications, and why he chose it, what future he wants with it. He’s learned the same about you, your family, your mom and sister, that you’re a journalism major, and that you want to focus on digital journalism. The basic, getting to know each other shit. 

He’s laughing at a story you’re telling now, both of your bowls on the coffee table, empty. He’s in comfortable clothes, sweats hanging off his body like he didn’t feel the need to impress you, which in turn made you feel comfortable in your own cozy clothes, because you didn’t have the brainwidth to perform. At all. 

It doesn’t feel like performing with him, though. It feels like easing back into something familiar, something practiced. Routine. “I told her not to curse out the driver,” you’re laughing through your words. “She didn’t listen to me.”

“So now when you go out, either you drive, or the Uber is ordered with your account,” he confirms, and you nod. “I can’t believe they banned her.”

“Uber runs a tight ship,” you explain. “If you hang halfway out the window scream-singing, the driver will drop you off on the side of the street, and Uber will ban you. Just in case you were planning to.”

“I’ll tell Sannie, he’s the only one who would.” He’s sitting beside you on the couch, one cushion between you. “Maybe he and Yunjin are meant to be.”

“The more I interact with him, the more I agree,” you sigh. They would make a good couple, if either of them are interested in dating. Yunjin might get into a relationship for the right man, but you don’t know enough about San’s opinion on dating to make a guess.

“You don’t have any crazy stories?” he asks, brows high and curious. “That was the second story about Yunjin. You haven’t had any wild nights where you’ve gone off the deep end?”

Your lips scrunch, eyes wandering around your living room in thought. “I don’t think so,” you admit after a quick ponder. “I’m usually the one leaving early or keeping Yunjin on a tight leash. Dancing on a counter is probably the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done.”

His blonde hair is messy, freshly washed, frizzy and unstyled. He looks soft, especially in comfortable clothes, no jewelry. “You’re not much of a risk taker, huh?”

“No.” Your scrunched lips try to bend in a smile. “I don’t like not knowing what’s gonna happen. I’m most comfortable in situations where I can see an outcome clearly.”

He makes an ah sound, leaning forward, bending his elbow over the back of the couch to support his head, facing you. “Can you see a clear outcome right now?”

Your head tilts, “Like, with us?” He nods. “I can see a favorable outcome, but it’s not necessarily clear. Maybe I’m becoming a risk taker by hanging out with you.”

He punches out a laugh, “Oh, being with me is a risk?”

You smack your teeth, grinning. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

He smiles, too. “I know what you meant. And if it’s the same outcome as what I can see, then I don’t think it’s a risk at all.”

Your cheeks flush, smile spreading, covering your eyes with one of your hands. “You’re so corny.”

He laughs, reaching forward to pull your hand from your eyes, “You like it, you find it endearing and attractive.”

“You wish,” you jab, laughing with him. He holds onto your wrist, laying your arm flat over the back of the couch, only letting go to drag a finger over the inside of your arm. You snatch it back in a panic, blurting, “I’m ticklish, you can’t do that or else I’ll tweak out.”

His brows raise. “You should not have told me that.”

“I’ll actually beat your ass if you try to tickle me,” you bite. 

His expression doesn’t change. “You’ll beat my ass? This six-foot-one ass?”

Damn. Confirmed, he’s over six feet tall. “Don’t underestimate my strength.”

“Don’t underestimate mine,” he sends right back, mimicking your tone.

Your lips bend, eyes flaring with excitement, you like how that sounds. He seems to like your reaction, because his smile grows, teasing, “I see that fuckin’ smile.”

“You don’t see anything,” you argue, turning your head to the side. “I smiled because you’re funny.”

“You smiled because you want to find out how strong I am,” he teases, leaning his cheek into his palm. “It’s okay, you can admit it. You were curious about my dick, now you’re curious about my strength.”

You gasp, turning your head back to him, feeling heat in the tips of your ears. “You’re making me sound like some kind of pervert, Yunho.”

“You are a pervert,” he says with confidence. “You just won’t succumb to your pervertedness.”

“Pervertedness?” You quirk a brow. “Is that a word?”

“It’s a word used to describe you,” he quips. “You and your pervertedness.”

“Fine.” You shift on the couch, facing him with your back straight, your legs crossed. “I admit it, I succumb to it, I was curious about your dick and now I’m curious about your strength. What now?”

“Now I wait until you’re curious enough to find out,” he says, like he was ready to give that answer. Heat pools, you resist the urge to uncross your legs and clamp your thighs together.

“How long will you wait?” you find yourself asking, thirsty for all the knowledge you can get tonight, a part of you secretly hoping he doesn’t want to wait anymore, and kisses you now. 

Noticing the glint in his eye, you know he won’t. His brows furrow, lips still bent upward, “Is that a trick question?”

“Loser,” you drag. “Be honest.”

“As long as we’re still seeing each other and building a connection, I don’t mind waiting. I told you I’m patient, and I seriously wasn’t lying,” he says, and there’s honesty in his eyes, his tone even, calm. “Do you only sleep with people you’re dating? Genuinely curious.”

“I mean, in the past I’ve only slept with people I was dating,” you explain, shrugging. “It seems like an ongoing theme for me, but it’s more about comfort, opening up to someone who I know won’t hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says softly. “And I’m not trying to get in your pants, I’m just saying that because I mean it.”

Sparks ignite in your spine, blending with the heat in your belly. You smirk, “You’re not trying to get in my pants?”

“Here we go,” he groans, full of amusement, head tipping backward. “You knew what I meant by that.”

You laugh, cuddling into the back of the couch, laying your head on the top of the cushion. “You’re sweet. Yunjin told me you’re the only good guy in your frat.”

His face bends like this is new information, and he’s impressed. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Is it true? Are you the only good guy in your frat?”

He’s quick to answer, “No.” He takes a second to think, to properly phrase his next words, “All the guys are good guys, great guys, for the most part they all have good intentions. People throw around opinions on character based on sex, and sometimes I don’t think that’s fair.”

Your brows raise. “Like…?”

“Wooyoung, for example. He’s a good guy, a really great friend, he’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked him for it, not even if you needed it. But because he’s had a lot of sex with a lot of people, that’s all he’s reduced to, and it’s used in an insulting way. Like he’s not a good person because he enjoys sex, I don’t think that’s fair.”

You nod, choosing to not add in your two cents. Instead, you comment on your observation, “You love your friends.”

“I love them all,” he says, and he means it, you can tell in his eyes, his smile. Wooyoung talks highly of Yunho, too, you wonder if they’re all close. “They’re my brothers.”

“That’s how I feel about Jen,” you explain, then correct yourself, “Yunjin. She’s my sister.”

“What about the other girls in your friend group? Jihyo, Momo, Sana…?”

You sit up to clarify, “We aren’t bonded the way your frat is bonded. They’re my close friends, yes, but Yunjin is my sister.”

“Yunjin gave me an earful about you last night,” he confesses, cheeks glowing baby pink. 

“An earful?” Your brows raise, confused, scared, amused. “What the hell did she say?”

“To be patient with you,” he says, brows flat, insinuating that he was going to do that already. “She also told me you’ve never been in a relationship you were actually happy in. At least from her perspective.” 

“Hm,” you start, folding your lips in between your teeth. “That’s not true, I’m not like, hard to please or something. I was fine with Yeonjun.” 

“Fine?” He half-smiles, a huff of something like amusement passing through his lips. “I know you weren’t happy at the end, but to conclude the entire relationship with fine…”

“I was happy,” you correct yourself, feeling heat in your cheeks, your ears, your chest. “We don’t have to talk about him.”

His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s deciding whether or not to push the subject. “Okay,” he accepts, instead. “I’ve only been in one relationship, it was my freshman year, and it lasted like, six months. I don’t have much baggage to dig through.” 

“Is that what we’re doing? Digging through baggage?” you tease. “We don’t have to talk about your past either, if you don’t want to.”

He studies you again, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “I don’t mind,” he finally says, tone careful. “I’m a pretty open book about that stuff.”

“I can tell,” you smile, trying to smooth whatever tension has just stretched between you. “I hear you’re popular.” 

“So you have heard about me?” His eyes widen like you caught his interest, brows wiggling. “What’s the consensus? Do I suck? Am I a terrible fuck?” 

You laugh, folding into the couch again, but you quickly realize you don’t have an answer. You’ve only heard that he sleeps around from Wooyoung, so you bullshit, “The girls say you’re a great lay, huge down there. Hard to take it all.” 

He immediately frowns, “I do my best, that’s not my fault.” It only makes you laugh harder, and his frown turns into a pout. He whines your name before continuing, “I’m serious, I really do my best to make it pleasurable.”

“They said you’re a great lay!” you try to comfort him, still laughing. “Hard to take isn’t an insult, it’s an achievement in girl talk.” 

“You swear?”

“I swear,” you nod, reaching across the back of the couch. He lays his head on your open palm, making your heart squeeze. “You think I’ll be able to?” 

“Probably not,” he mumbles, his lips still pouty. “But I’ll try to make it so you can, comfortably.” 

You can imagine it, his fingers, his mouth, him between your legs, stretching you out. You think you might start salivating. Your tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth, caught between your teeth. “What’s that mean?” 

He snorts, eyes closing as he chuckles. “It means exactly what you think it means.” 

You suck in a breath through your teeth, showing your bottom row. “Unfortunately, I think you might have to spell it out for me. Or you can show me.”

You can’t believe you just said that. It was a thought slipping out, but you don’t want to wait for something to happen. You want to choose. You’re capable of choosing. 

He picks his head up, surprise written across his features. “Yeah?” 

Timidly, you nod. “I think so.”

“You think so, or yes?” 

“Yes,” you nod, more confidently this time. “I meant yes.”

He sits up, moving over to the cushion closest to you. “Are you sure?”

“Please just kiss me,” you beg, fingers curling into your sweatpants, adrenaline rushing through you so hard your heart pounds against your chest.

He shifts upward, using the same palm against your cheek as the night before, and kisses you. It’s the familiar soft, delicate press of his lips, no intent behind it, no heat; yet somehow you’re filled with fire anyway, blood carbonated beneath your skin, melting into his hand on your cheek, leaning into him, meeting his lips with your own passion. 

You let him deepen it, following his pace, his tongue sliding between your lips, carefully exploring your mouth like he’s preparing for you to take back your yes. Your hands fly to his tee, fists clenching over the fabric, pulling him toward you, silently telling him you won’t.

His hands fall to your waist, pushing you backward, crawling over you as your back hits the cushions of the couch. With his hands pressed on either side of your head, he pulls away to smirk, “Eager for someone who said I think so.”

Your knees bend backward under the weight of him, fingers still tight in his shirt. “Sorry.” 

His brows knit together, like someone had hit pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t– I don’t know,” you stutter, cheeks flaming, too coy for being under someone his size. You lean into his touch, his hand on your skin, “I don’t want to seem… I don’t know.”

“You’re in your head,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t think you’ve cursed once since I’ve been here.”

“That’s not true,” you object. “I said ass at some point, I’m pretty sure.” 

He laughs, chin dipping downward. “Wow, I’m telling the sailors and the truck drivers they’ve been out-mouthed. You said ass.” 

Your hands slide up over his shoulders, a silly grin on your cheeks. “I’m not in my head. I just want to be… I want you to like me.” 

“I like you already,” he says, tone slipping into that comforting, velvety cadence again. Then teasing, he continues, “I liked you when you were burping after shotgunning beers with me.” 

You groan, full of anguish, stealing your hands back to cover your face, turning to the side. “Why did you bring that up? I already removed that from my memory.” 

He laughs again, leaning back on his knees to pull your hands from your face, using his strength to push you onto your back again, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. 

Your breath catches, your heart a bone drum in your chest.

“Be you,” he orders, and it’s final. “I like you.”

You take a second, letting his words settle you, fingers flexing, feeling the weight of his hold, his grip grounding. You try to move your wrists, he doesn’t budge. You joke, “You are fuckin’ strong.”

His grin is satisfied as he leans down, whispering, “You haven’t even seen it yet.” 

He kisses you harder this time, needier, his tongue slipping between your lips as soon as you meet. Your legs hook over his hips, back arching into him as he moves your arms upward, over your head, fingers sliding over your palms, tangling with yours. 

This closeness, this heat, it’s different. There’s intent, determination behind it, like he wants you to feel reassured in the press of his body against yours. He lets go of your hands to press his elbows into the couch on either side of your head, whispering dominance into your mouth, “Keep them there.” 

Your hips twitch, bucking into him, remembering his words from the night before. “Yes, sir.”

“What a quick learner,” he muses, smirking. He drops to bury his face in your neck, speaking into your skin, “Remember that for another night.”

Anticipation consumes you, fingers flexing, reaching for pillows you can’t find as he kisses your neck, tongue poking out to lick a stripe up the side, sucking on the sensitive spot beneath your jaw. You hiss, hips bucking toward him, elbows bending ever so slightly with pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you mutter sharply as he reaches one hand between you, lips working your bones into jelly as his palm splays over your stomach, beneath your shirt. 

“Tell me if I go too far,” he whispers, fingers traveling upward. “If you want to stop.” 

“If you stop I’ll fucking kill you,” you push out in one breath, back arching, needing to feel how big his hand feels over your bare chest. 

He huffs a laugh into your neck. “That’s better.” 

“Take it off?” you ask, but it sounds somewhere between an order and a request. Heat thrums beneath your skin, one touch away from begging. You’ve needed this for too long to take it slow. 

He reaches for your arms to pull you upright as he sits back on his knees. Manhandling you over his lap, he obliges when your thighs land on either side of his hips, his fingers reaching for the hem of your tee to tug it over your head. You refuse to feel shy at the exposure, you don’t have any time to as he pulls you back down to his mouth by the back of your neck.

His hands travel over your skin as his mouth works your brain into fuzz. “So soft,” he whispers, palms curled over either side of your waist. 

Your back arches, a soft whimper falling off your tongue, bleeding onto his. One of his hands travels through the valley of your breasts, palm flat as his fingers slide up to your jaw, taking grip on bone as his teeth clamp over your bottom lip. You gasp, hips bucking into him and he lets go, smiling into your mouth, “Is that okay?”

No one’s ever done that before. The eternal ache between your legs grows and it’s instinct to roll your hips, nodding before you can think of the words, “Yes, yes.”

His head dips under your jaw again, hands falling to your hips, grinding you against him. You find purchase on his shoulders, fingers curling into his tee as he guides you, moaning as your core bumps over the tent in his sweats. “S-shit, Yunho.”

“Just like that, keep going,” he praises into your neck, his breath hot over the line of his spit on your skin. 

Your eyes screw shut, hips moving with more confidence, and he trusts it enough to let his hands travel upward again, palms closing over your breasts, squeezing. Your hips stutter, a sharp whimper escaping you, nails leaving crescents in cotton, you wouldn’t be surprised if you marked the skin beneath. 

He supports you with a strong grip on your back to arch you upward, lips moving down your neck, your chest, and at this angle, you can watch. Your hands reach for his hair, pushing it over his forehead as his tongue lolls out of his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva between your breasts before his lips start working on the right. Tongue swirling, lips closing over your nipple, your brows furrow in pleasure, jaw slack.

“Feels so good,” you whimper out mindlessly, gripping at his roots, focusing on grinding against his cock in his sweats, desperate to get pleasure building.

He groans, the sound vibrating your skin, making your face scrunch at the feeling. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched like this, someone paying such attention to detail, focusing on every zone that brings you pleasure. Your body swarms with heat, your spine begging for more, to release the knot of pleasure you’ve been building for a long, long time.

His other hand works the left, the pads of two fingers rolling over your nipple, squeezing experimentally. “Fuck,” you curse, pitch high. “Please do that again.”

He looks up at you, dark eyes hazy with pleasure yet clear with focus. His fingers pinch again and your hips pick up speed, moaning sharply as his teeth lightly clamp over your right nipple, he watches, gauging your expression the whole time. 

“You like it,” he says into your skin, coming to a conclusion. “Pain.”

“I- I don’t know,” you blink, brain scrambling at the clear words when your mind is fuzzy. “I guess so?”

“You do.” It feels good, him deciding, him telling you. “We’ll have fun, you and I.”

Electricity sparks in the base of your spine, you and I. You like the sound of that. You smile, leaning down to steal his lips again, pressing your bare chest to his clothed one. It doesn’t feel right, not having his skin against yours, you reach down for the hem of his shirt and he helps you get it over his head, breaking the kiss only to let the fabric pass between.

You sigh when your chest meets his, arms folding behind his neck, hips still rolling against him, aching for more. You want more. You need more. “Yunho,” you whisper into his mouth, holding the back of his head, slowly sliding down to his chest. “More.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, reading your face again like he’s done too many times tonight. “How much more?”

He likes you. He’s told you several times that he likes you. You laugh with him, you feel comfortable with him. He’s safe.

“Everything,” you drawl, tone certain but full of every drop of arousal pumping through you. “Wanna find out if I can take it.”

“If you take it all,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your chin, “I’ll get you a trophy.”

You smile, a tiny laugh tumbling out. “Yeah? How big?”

“As big as my dick,” he quips, hands scooping under your ass. “Hold on to me.”

You’d yelp if you weren’t laughing as Yunho stands straight, carrying you smoothly through your living room, steps memorized like he’s been here more than once. Your arms stay wrapped around his neck, legs hooked around his waist until he brings you into your bedroom, pressing a knee into the mattress before laying you down gently. 

“Wanna make you cum first,” he decides as he crawls over you, swallowing your body whole. “That okay?”

You nod, vibrating at the idea, “Please.”

He bends your knees backward, holding onto your shins for purchase as he leans down, pressing a short kiss to your lips. You suck in a breath as he tugs your sweatpants under you, pulling them down by the waistband over your hips, your knees, your ankles. 

“No bra, no panties…” he tsks, shaking his head. “Plan this or something?”

Your lips bend in a smile, knees knocking together. Small, you mutter, “No.”

He hums, hands landing on the stretch of skin above your knees, pulling you toward him until your ass slides into the pocket of space between his thighs. He stares in awe, pupils dilated, licking his lips as he says, “You have no idea how fucking wet you are.” Your thighs push together again and his eyes flicker upward, a warning. “Don’t hide, let me see.”

You feel the stick as you slowly spread your legs again, and your face scrunches, cringing at the feeling. His hands slide down the inside of your thighs before he brings his right hand to his mouth, licking the pad of his thumb before bringing it back down to press on your clit. You shiver, a gasp of a moan slipping through your lips, a tremor racking through your body.

He eases you into it with slow circles, adding pressure and speed with every round. “Yes,” you moan through a pleased breath, chin tipping backward, legs falling farther open, hands sliding up your stomach, grabbing onto your breasts, squeezing. 

“So sexy.” His words are mindless, his eyes on you, watching as you roll your nipples between your fingers. “Shit, I could watch you do that all night.”

“No,” you whine, head snapping forward again at the idea. “Gimme more.”

His other hand, holding your thigh, slides beneath his circling thumb, the pad of his middle finger spreading your wetness through your folds, around your entrance. Your brows furrow, moaning softly, hips twitching toward him, a silent beg for more. His middle finger slips inside without warning and the breath is stolen from your chest, jaw pried open. 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “So tight, baby, need you to relax.”

“I am,” you moan out, hips rolling toward him, meeting his pace. 

He curls his finger, massaging against the front of your walls, making you choke out a moan, hands leaving your chest to claw at the duvet beneath you. Looking at him, he’s focused; analyzing, watching your reactions, probably gauging how the fuck he’s gonna fit himself inside you. He leans down, pausing both hands to spit on your folds, pulling out his finger to spread it around, then adding his index, too.

“Yunho,” you cry, voice shaky. His fingers are so fucking long, so deep inside that you might as well be having sex. You buck your hips, meeting his pace, pleasure spreading in waves, heat beginning to pool in your belly. “Don’t stop, fuck.”

He bends down, replacing his thumb with his tongue and your hands fly to his hair with the first flick of your clit. “O-oh my fucking god,” you cry, still bucking your hips into his hand, his flat tongue, shamelessly. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Your fingers tug at his roots and he grunts, his free hand landing a heavy smack to the side of your ass. Your moan is deafening, body twitching, toes curling over his back. He does it again and heat boils, a knot in your belly forming, pleasure building as embers of pain spread, skin going hot where he hit you. 

“I’m close,” you whisper, voice shakier than it was before. The pressure grows, blooming, he doesn’t change his pace, he keeps his rhythm, a steady thrust and curl of two fingers, licking over your clit with his tongue. Your breath catches, jaw pried open, fingers tightening in his hair, and it’s the last smack of his palm hitting the same spot it did before that pushes you over the edge.

You damn near fucking convulse. Your body shakes so hard you can hear it in the bedframe, cries growing in pitch with the peak of your orgasm, thighs clamping around Yunho’s head, but he still doesn’t stop until you push him away. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out as he slips his fingers out, popping them right in his mouth. 

He hums, then licks his lips. “So sweet.” 

A smile curves your mouth, “Liar.”

He crawls over you again, your legs bending with him, toes sitting on the waistband of his sweats. He lowers himself with the question, “You think I won’t make you taste yourself?” 

Still panting, lips spread in a lazy grin, your head tilts. “Is that supposed to be a threat or something?”

He kisses you roughly, your arms wrapping around his neck, toes pushing on the waistband of his sweats. “You are a liar,” you say between kisses, “tastes like pussy.” 

“Sweet enough to me,” is all he responds, reaching one arm down to his sweats, pushing them down. “I want you to ride me.”

Your smile falters, just a little. “Like, now?” 

“Yes, now,” he says casually, sitting back on his calves, getting his sweats and his briefs down to his thighs. You would gasp if you didn’t know how big he is already— but bare, without briefs covering him, standing tall and red like it was begging for you… “It’ll be easier for you, I swear, this isn’t a ploy so I have to do less work.” 

“You sure you don’t just wanna sit back and watch?” 

“Are you nervous?” His eyes flicker upward as he gets his sweats off his legs and onto the floor. 

“Not anymore,” you respond instinctively, knees knocking together again. He deadpans, and you sigh. “Okay, maybe a little.” 

“If you’re nervous, you’re not gonna open up for me,” he explains, crawling up beside you on the bed. Your eyes bounce back and forth between him and his cock, intimidated but excited, you can’t keep your attention where he wants it. “Come here.” 

He sits up, easing you over his lap again, your knees bracketing his thighs. His cock between you, so tall, so thick, you’ll feel it in your fucking stomach. Your mouth goes dry. 

“You can take it,” he encourages, reaching up for your cheeks, making you look at him instead of his cock. “You’re a big girl, you can do it. We’ll take it slow.” Heat slices through you, making your eyelids flutter, your hips twitch. He grins like he’s just discovered treasure. “Oh, you’re fun. C’mon, big girl, let me stretch you out.”

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, not out of worry, but because of what big girl just did to you. Your hands find his shoulders, sitting up on your knees, and he spits in his palm before running it over his cock, spreading it over the tip, down the shaft. You want to see how far you can fit him in your mouth. Maybe you should find out if he’ll fit inside you first.

“Slow,” Yunho reminds you, fingers wrapped around the base as you line yourself up. You suck in a deep breath, lowering yourself down slowly, and you moan in relief the second his tip passes through the first ring. “Breathe,” he coaxes you as you slowly sink downward, face scrunching up at the stretch. 

He’s thick, and even though you’re one orgasm deep and practically a fucking waterfall, with every new centimeter there’s a pinch, a slight level of discomfort that makes your thighs shake. He soothes you with his hands on your hips, sliding up to your waist, then your chest, massaging, mixing pleasure with the pain. Which, apparently, you enjoy.

“So big,” you murmur, toes curling, one eye still squeezed shut.

“I know, baby,” he soothes, leaning forward, pressing his lips to yours. A distraction, keeping your brain busy as you take the rest of him, his tongue slipping into your mouth, one hand resting on your neck. You feel him in your fucking guts when you’re finally seated, painfully aware that you’ve never had anything this big inside you.

“Give it a second,” he suggests, but instead, you start lifting your hips. He curses under his breath, head falling backward before he snaps it back, “Fuck, fuck, baby, hold on–”

“So big,” you moan out, words hazy, your mind cloudier. You’ve never felt so fucking full, it’s a completely new sensation and you’ve been itching for days to have something to fill you up. Lowering yourself back down, you moan, “Feels s’good, Yunho.”

“Yeah?” he asks, stunned like he can’t believe you’re already moving. His hands find your hips again, guiding your pace, his knees bending up. “Look at you, baby, riding like a big girl, taking me so well.”

You moan through your smile, craning your head back so you can look at him over the bridge of your nose and the look on his face is priceless. Cheeks pink, hair fucked up, pupils dilated, your belly jumps at the sight, making him grunt out a sharp noise.

“Fuck,” he grits out, fingers tightening over your skin. “Clenching around me, not gonna last if you do that.”

“Too good,” you tumble out, voice layered with hazy arousal. “Look so pretty, Yunho.”

“S-shit,” he hisses, hips snapping upward, making a sharp noise fall from your lips, piercing the room. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Do it again,” you quickly blurt, leaning forward, lifting your hips. He holds them, pressing his heels into the mattress, fucking into you from below, making a serious, of pitched, stuttered cries and curses stutter out of your mouth. His cock rolls right over the front of your walls with each thrust, he reaches everywhere, making your shins lift off the bed, kicking at the air, the pleasure overwhelming. “Don’t– don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, Yunho.”

He grunts, lifting you again, turning you over in one quick motion, flattening you on your back. You yelp, but he gives you no time to process, his hands on your knees, pushing them to your chest.

Your moans die in your chest as he fucks into you, jaw slacked, brows furrowed in pleasure, only small squeaks slipping through with every other thrust. Your toes curl, watching his abdomen flex, his hips roll, the flex of his biceps on either side of your head. He’s so fucking attractive and he’s fucking you so hard it feels too good to be true.

“Kiss,” you manage to get out, reaching for him, his face. He lets go of your knees, elbows landing on either side of your head, never once losing his rhythm as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s a clash of teeth and spit and tongue, but your hands in his hair, his skin pressed to yours, his cock pressing on every spot you need it to… the knot of pleasure in your belly builds steadily, hot as hell.

“I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, his voice uneven, rough. “Need you to cum for me first.”

Mind so hazy, you reach a hand between your legs, fingers immediately rubbing circles into your clit. He looks between you, jaw slacked, panting, “You’re so fucking sexy, oh my god.”

You pull him down to kiss you again, hips rocking upward to meet his thrusts, moaning into his mouth, the band of pleasure in your gut running taut. “Gonna cum,” you whimper, your bottom lips touching, breath and saliva shared.

“Yes, good girl, cum for me,” he grits out, and the words make your jaw go slack, lips unresponsive against his, another squeak of pleasure escaping before your orgasm hits like a tidal wave. He kisses you, fucks you through it, groaning as you clench around him, thighs shaking. 

He pulls back, hands on your knees again, pinning them together as he pushes himself to the edge, head tipping back. You’re still losing your fucking mind, a moaning, arching mess, and the sight of him doesn’t make it any easier. You could go again. You could go for hours, if he fucks like that, if he looks like that.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, voice edged like he was about to blow. You spread your knees, giving him skin to paint, and he pulls out at the last second, pumping the tip of his cock until thick, hot, white ropes of cum spill all over your stomach, your pelvis, your chest. He moans, face scrunched up in pleasure, hips bucking into his own hand as he fucks himself through it, and you can’t help but wish he’d done it inside you. 

He collapses beside you, the both of you panting, eyes half-lidded and bodies covered in a layer of sweat. You stay there for a minute or two, just breathing, processing, feeling. You don’t think you’ve ever felt better, body spent in a state of fucked-out bliss, feeling stretched out and sated and perfect. You look to the side, his eyes closed, his cheeks pink, his chest rising and falling evenly. He speaks first.

“I’m getting you that fucking trophy.”

It takes a second for the memory to come back to you, but you arch with the punched, airy laugh that comes out of you, your hand reaching for his. “Should I put it next to the Gojo figure?”

He lays his palm open for you to tangle your fingers with his, opening his eyes, looking at you. “Do you think he just watched us?”

“I think he watched you.”

He grins, and it’s lazy, but it’s full of amusement. “Good.” There’s more to that good, but you don’t press him to explain. You don’t want to know. After another second of thinking, feeling, and breathing, he notices, “You washed your sheets.”

“How’d you know?”

He brushes his other hand over your duvet beside him, “They smell like detergent. The last time I was here, they smelled like your hair. Your shampoo, I guess.”

You coo, “Aww, you paid attention.”

He looks up, eyes calmer, softer, now. “I pay attention to more than you think I do.”

“Don’t be creepy about it,” you joke.

He laughs under his breath, a light, small chuckle. It could be easy like this, you think, with him. A calmness has spread over you, one you don’t fully trust. There’s a part of you that still isn’t sure that it’s right, but after everything, you don’t know if easy is the same thing as right anymore.