alternate universe

you stared at him, heart pounding against your ribs. moonlight sharpened his features—the stubborn set of his jaw, the dark intensity in eyes, his pretty moles. “you could’ve texted or just called me, this is so unnecessary and unsafe. you could’ve seriously gotten hurt.”

“necessary,” he corrected softly, stepping closer. the scent of night air and sweat clung to him as he closed the distance. “missed you,” his voice dropped, rough around the edges. before you could protest, he buried his face in the curve of your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. his arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. you felt the hard press of his erection against your thigh, unmistakable even through layers of denim and cotton. a shiver raced down your spine.

“sunghoon—” you started, but his lips brushed your ear, cutting you off. “couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your neck. his fingers dug into your hips. “kept thinking about how sweet you taste,” you felt his heartbeat thudding against your chest, rapid and insistent. his hips shifted subtly, grinding against you with a low groan. the friction sparked heat low in your belly.

he lifted his head, eyes dark and liquid in the moonlight. “tell me you missed me too.” his voice was gravel, rough with need.before you could even answer, his lips are already on yours as he kissed you. hard, desperate. his tongue slid against yours. his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. you gasped into his mouth, arching instinctively. he broke the kiss, breathing ragged. thumb circling your nipple through thin fabric.

his hips rolled against yours, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against your core. you could feel every inch through the layers. wetness pooled between your legs. his groan vibrated against your lips. “fuck, you feel that?” he whispered against your mouth. “what you do to me?”

you whimpered. he was everywhere—his scent, sweat and just him, filling your lungs. his hands slid down your back, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pajama shorts. he yanked them down your hips in one rough motion. cool air hit your bare skin. his palm slid over your ass, fingers digging in possessively.

sunghoon’s mouth crashed back onto yours. messy. hungry. his tongue pushed deep. you tasted mint and desperation. he walked you backward until your knees hit the bed. you fell onto the mattress. he followed, knees bracketing your thighs. his jeans scraped against your bare skin. he grinded down against your core. the thick ridge of his cock pressed exactly where you needed it.

he tore his mouth away, panting. “need you.” his voice cracked. fingers fumbled with his belt buckle as the metal clinked. he shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself. his cock sprang free, thick and flushed with precum glistening at the tip. he didn’t hesitate as he ripped your panties aside. the fabric tore with a sharp sound as you gasped. his fingers slid through your slick folds, spreading you open. he groaned. “so fucking wet for me.”

he positioned himself at your entrance. eyes locked on yours. moonlight caught the sweat on his brow. “look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. he pushed in slow and deliberate. stretching you inch by inch. you cried out as he filled you completely. he paused, breathing ragged. “fuck. so tight.” he pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in hard. the bed frame slammed against the wall.

he set a punishing rhythm immediately. hips snapping forward. skin slapping skin echoing in the small room. his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise. each thrust drove the breath from your lungs. he leaned down, teeth scraping your neck. “mine,” he growled against your skin. his thrusts grew erratic and desperate. you clawed at his back. nails digging into muscle. he groaned low in his throat. the sound vibrated through your chest.

“h-hoon, i’m close, nghh—”

“me too, fuck—” sunghoon’s voice shattered against your ear, his hips stuttering as he slammed into you one final time. his body locked, a low groan tearing from his throat as he spilled deep inside you, pulsing hot and thick. the sensation tipped you over the edge. your back arched off the mattress, a cry ripping from your throat as your climax crashed through you, white-hot and consuming. you clenched around him, milking every last shudder from his body as he collapsed against you, breath ragged and damp against your neck. 

for some moments, the only sounds were the frantic hammering of your hearts and your breathing. moonlight streamed through the open window, painting silver streaks across sunghoon’s sweat-slicked back. his weight was heavy, anchoring you to the rumpled sheets, the scent of sex and exertion thick in the air. slowly, his breathing began to even out, his fingers tracing idle, possessive circles on your hipbone where he’d gripped you hard enough to bruise.

he stirred eventually, lifting his head just enough to look at you. his dark eyes dazed in the low light. a stray lock of hair clung to his damp forehead. he didn’t speak, just watched you, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip where he’d bitten it earlier.

you traced the line of his jaw, the question had been clawing at your throat. you took a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “sunghoon... what is this?” your voice was barely a whisper, raw from crying out his name. “are we... real? or am i just another one of your flings?"

his gaze sharpened instantly, the dazed softness vanishing. he pushed himself up on one elbow, looming over you. “you think this—” his hand slid possessively over your hip, thumb pressing into the bruise he’d left, “—is how i treat flings?" his voice was low, dangerous. “you think i climb through the windows in the middle of the night for anyone else? that i lose my fucking mind just by the scent of your fucking shampoo?”

he leaned down, his nose brushing yours as his breath hitched. “i don’t do relationships,” his voice dropped, rough and raw, stripping away all pretense. “but i can’t breathe right when you’re not near me. i see your face when i close my eyes. i crave your taste like its oxygen.” his thumb traced your swollen lower lip again “you’re not just some random fling. you’re the fucking exception that terrifies me.”

Everyone knows Sunghoon has someone he’s madly in love with. His acquaintances know that it’s an amazing girl who he’s known for most of his life. His friends know it’s the girl who’s all over his social media and usually by his side. His closest friends know that it’s not his girlfriend, Song Jihyun.

No one ever brings it up because it’s obvious that Jihyun (and every girl before her) is a placeholder until he gets what he really wants. It’s not right, but Sunghoon never feels guilty. He’s never hidden how important you are to him, and he never will.

That’s why he doesn’t care that his girlfriend is eagerly waiting for his call like she does every night. Instead of acting like a caring partner, he’s more interested in drinking with you after bar hopping all night. It’s not like he can be fully to blame for his disinterest in Jihyun. You are, without a doubt, the prettiest, most alluring girl Sunghoon has ever seen. He would do anything to spend more time with you even if it meant disregarding his girlfriend’s feelings.

Even just drinking and talking with you is more exciting than any time he spends with her. That’s why he always keeps a bottle of wine for when you come over. You two have gone through a full bottle, and Sunghoon hopes you’ll be too tired by the end of the night to go home.

“You know how pretty you are?” Sunghoon sighs dreamily as he watches you drink the remainder of his favorite wine.

Endearing laughter fills the room as you nod. There’s a mischievous gleam in your eyes when you look back at your friend. “Yeah. I see how you and your friends look at me.”

Sunghoon’s gaze is lidded. He loves how confident and secure you are—how you’re not afraid to show it. Everything about you is completely mesmerizing, and he can’t help but want to have you all completely to himself.

“Me?” He tries to act surprised as he tilts his head.

You nod and give him a grin that has his heart pounding in his chest. He knows you can have any guy you want, and that’s why he has to push your buttons so he can get you where he wants you. 

“You couldn’t pull me.”

Sunghoon holds back a smirk when he sees that he’s successfully gotten under your skin. His cock starts to come alive when he sees you pause, eyes alight with a challenging look he recognizes all too well. 

“Is that what you think?”

You don’t let him answer. “I could, and we both know that. That’s why your little girlfriend hates me so much.”

It’s true. Ever since Sunghoon introduced Jihyun to you, she all but asked him to find another best friend. He was quick to shut that ridiculous idea down. There was a lot he was willing to do so he could be a decent boyfriend, but cutting you off was where he drew the line. If Sunghoon had any say, you would never leave his side.

Jihyun caught onto this almost immediately after she met you. The way her boyfriend’s eyes light up any time you enter a room or whenever he gets a call from you. How attentive he always is to your needs and how he practically drops everything to run to you—even when he’s balls deep in her. Obviously, Sunghoon is obsessed with you. It killed her to realize it, but Jihyun still refuses to let Sunghoon go. After all, no matter how much he likes you, he’s still hers. She is the winner in this, not you.

“You think I’m that easy?” Sunghoon says with a faint blush.

You smirk at him, tongue swiping your bottom lip to capture the remnants of wine. His eyes are locked on your movements, and you have to hold back a laugh.

“So if I asked you to fuck me right now, you wouldn’t?”

Sunghoon smirks, and your fate is sealed.

Minutes later, you end up on your best friend’s bed in only your underwear. Sunghoon stares down at you like a hungry beast as his large hands smooth over the inside of your thighs. You can see the thick outline of his cock in his underwear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming in excitement. 

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he groans when he sees that your panties are starting to stick to your cunt.

Sunghoon savors the sight. He feels something insatiable burning inside him as he pulls your panties to the side. 

“Oh fuck me,” he whispers reverently. “You have the cutest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

His fingers delicately trace your slit before they circle your clit. Your best friend pulls away when you start to whine.

“So fucking pretty,” he moans before licking the juices from his fingers. “And you taste good. Fuck.”

Sunghoon’s pupils are blown wide when he finally pulls his heated gaze away from your pussy to meet your own half lidded gaze. “You’ll let me eat you out, right? Let me kiss and suck on this cute pussy until you cream on my face?”

“Fuck, Hoonie,” you whine, knowing you’ve gone too far, but feeling too good to stop. “What about Jihyun?”

Sunghoon’s fingers go back to toying with your wet cunt. You roll your hips up into the motion with a needy mewl. His brain hears you a second later, and he rolls his eyes. As always, you’re goading him into being honest for your own satisfaction. 

“What about her? She never has to find out.”

You smile and bite your lip as he slowly circles your clit until you whimper again. A mean grin spreads on your face. “Filthy boy. She must not be enough for you.”

Sunghoon doesn’t feel any guilt because this is something he’s wanted for a long, long time. His girlfriend is nice and sweet, but the intimacy between them is boring and unexciting. He’s never even fucked her raw.

“I knew it,” you laugh gleefully as your best friend’s fingers trail down your slit to gather more juices. “Don’t worry, baby. This’ll be our dirty little secret.”

Honestly, Sunghoon can care less if Jihyun does end up finding out. All he can think about is your pretty pussy as he presses his slick coated fingers down on your throbbing clit. He grabs you and tugs you closer until you’re straddling his lap. 

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, aroused by his display of strength. 

Your best friend smirks as he goes to nip at your collarbone. “Our little secret? I like the sound of that.”

With that, he dips his middle and ring finger into your soft pussy. You moan and clench around his fingers, eagerly bouncing on his lap. His bulge presses against you and makes your mouth drop open with a sigh. 

“Yeah?” You breathe out harshly. “You like that I’m gonna let you fuck my tight little pussy?

“That’s so—fuck. You’re so hot,” he scissors his fingers slowly in and out of your cunt. “I’m gonna treat this pussy so good, baby. Way better than I treat Jihyun’s.”

Your cunt clenches down on his fingers as you go to tangle your own in his hair. A loud whine escapes you as you ride his fingers, pussy wet and dripping all over his lap. 

“God, Hoon,” you mewl as he grinds his long fingers across your g-spot. “Right there, fuck.”

Shuddering, your eyes roll back as his fingertips rub the spongy spot at the front of your cunt until your arousal gushes around the digits. Sunghoon licks a stripe up your neck, eager to have you fall apart for him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this, baby. Fuck. You always get me so hard every time I see you. Just want to shove my face between your thighs and eat you out until you’re crying.”

Your head is swimming as he tells you all his dirty desires. You’ve always known it, but hearing it out loud just makes it so much better.

“Hoon,” you sigh into his mouth when he goes to kiss you heatedly. “God, you’re so hot.”

“Fuck. I need to taste you before I fill you up,” he murmurs against your lips. “Need to kiss your sweet little cunt until you’re soaking my sheets.”

It shouldn’t sound this hot—him cheating on his girlfriend with absolutely no remorse—but you’re kissing him again as arousal pools in your abdomen. Sunghoon eases you off his lap before he spreads your legs and wedges himself between your thighs.

He slowly takes off your underwear, groaning loudly when he sees the clear strings of arousal connecting to your pretty lips and panties. His eyes are dark when you take off your bra and toss it somewhere in his room.

Sunghoon’s dark gaze drags up and down your body. It makes you clench and drip with more arousal. He drops to his elbows and pushes your thighs up to your stomach. He whispers another sweet praise before he licks a broad stripe up your slit with his tongue. You cry out loudly when the wet muscle circles your clit softly before pulling away. 

“So wet,” Sunghoon moans, kissing your pussy lips sweetly. “Fuck. I can’t wait to get my cock in this pretty pussy.”

“Hoon,” you moan when he goes back down on you. 

Lewd slurping noises mix in with your filthy moans as Sunghoon devours your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better in his entire life. His tongue spears you open before fluttering against your walls. He repeats the delicious motions until your toes curl and your eyes cross. Your best friend pulls away with a grunt, licking and sucking his way back up to your swollen bundle of nerves. Another loud moan tears from your throat as he starts to kiss and suck on your puffy bud.

One last swipe of Sunghoon’s skillful tongue has your thoughts slowly turning into mush. His tongue flattens and he laps at your cunt with broad stripes until your hips start to move to roll your pussy against his mouth. 

With a devious laugh, Sunghoon pulls back and moves his hands to spread your cunt. His cock throbs as your pussy pulses and glistens with your juices and his saliva. He groans at the erotic sight.

“So fucking pretty,” your best friend murmurs before he gently kisses your clit.

You whine desperately. “Please, Hoonie. I’m so close.” 

As always, he’s eager to give you what you want. Sunghoon fucks his tongue back into your pussy with a low groan that sends vibrations up your cunt. You mewl out his name as he buries his face into your pussy. His thumbs hold your pussy open, nose bumping and grinding against your clit with every toe-curling movement. Sunghoon fucks his tongue in and out of your clenching hole until you’re making a mess all over his sheets.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You moan as your hips roll into his face.

Licking back up your pussy, Sunghoon sucks your clit into his mouth and runs his tongue around the swollen bud until you’re writhing and yanking on his hair. You let out a loud cry as you toss your head back and soak Sunghoon’s face with your orgasm. Your best friend moans and drinks up all of the slick gushing from your pussy.

“That’s it, baby,” Sunghoon hums fondly. He kisses your messy pussy before straightening up. “You came so hard. Did it feel that good?”

You give him a fucked out grin before yanking him down to give him a sloppy kiss. Sunghoon swallows your moans as he gives you a taste of yourself. He grins before sucking your tongue into his mouth. Eventually, he pulls away and gives you the prettiest smile.

“My cock’s going to feel even better.”

That’s how you end up in his lap with your bare pussy grinding down on his clothed bulge. Your juices and his precum have soiled the fabric of his underwear, and you’re becoming more desperate with each grind. Sunghoon is patient enough to savor the moment as he watches you with hooded eyes.

“Wanna sit on my cock, pretty girl? Want me to stretch this cute little pussy out?” He coos as you continue to rub your needy cunt all over him.

“Yes,” you hiss when he moves his hips to meet your movements. “Let me sit on your big cock, Hoon.”

Sunghoon grins victoriously and lets you tug his underwear down to free his aching cock. He raises his hips to slip them off completely before settling you right back on his lap. You both moan in sync when his girthy cock presses against your dripping pussy.

“God, Y/N. You drive me crazy,” Sunghoon groans before he leans forward to take one of your stiff nipples into his mouth.

You whine when he sucks it into his hot mouth. “Fuck, Hoon.”

His dark eyes watch you as his tongue circles your nipple before he nips it with those pretty fangs of his. The sight has you dripping with more arousal as you slide your cunt up and down his throbbing dick. He switches to the other one, giving it the same treatment before he starts to leave gentle bites all over your pretty tits. The more he teases at your nipples, the more juices drip onto his dick. Sunghoon groans at the feeling of your pussy parting around his cock perfectly. 

“You’re soaking my cock with that cute pussy,” Sunghoon whispers against your heated skin. “You love having my mouth on your tits, don’t you, baby?”

“Yeah,” you whine. “I fucking love it.”

Sunghoon grins when you press his face against your tits, forcing him to suck your nipple back into his mouth. Your best friend groans when as he runs his tongue over your stiff bud until you’re tugging on his hair.

“Fuck, Hoon. I want your cock,” you mewl desperately. “Need to feel you inside me.”

“Soon, baby,” Sunghoon grunts as he continues to lathe his tongue over your sensitive nipple. “Let me finish having my fun first.”

You moan again, pussy leaking even more juices. To have Sunghoon worshipping your tits makes you feel a pleasure you didn’t think was possible. You run your nails across his scalp and down his neck, watching with a satisfied grin as his eyes flutter from your touch. His eyes lock with yours, and they’re completely dark as his hand slides down your body to thumb your slippery bud.

“Whose pussy is this?” Sunghoon wonders as he pinches your clit to make you cry out. “It’s mine, isn’t it, pretty girl?”

You nod through a needy whine. The sharp smack to your clit that follows makes you moan his name. Sunghoon smirks deviously as he repeats his actions until your cunt soaks his palm.

“Of course it is.” Sunghoon laughs in delight.

Then, he drags the leaking head of his cock up your slit to smack against your puffy clit. Sunghoon groans when he notches the head of his dick against your hole. You moan quietly when he sinks the tip inside your cunt. Your best friend laughs and pulls out of you completely. His grin is devious as you whine in protest. Once again, his leaking cockhead teases your fluttering hole.

“So hot and tight,” Sunghoon’s dark eyes seem to be sparkling as he looks up at you. “So fucking pretty.”

With that, he sinks the fat head of his dick back inside your fluttering walls. Your eyes roll back with a loud moan as you slide down his cock. The stretch is delicious, and you’re eager to take him down to the hilt.

“Gonna fuck this cute pussy until my balls are empty. Keep you stuffed full and dripping with cum.”

“Fuck, yes,” you moan as you bounce down to try to get Sunghoon to bury his cock all the way inside your pussy. “Want your cum, Hoonie.”

His large hands squeeze your ass as you lean down to kiss him. Sunghoon readily welcomes the messy kiss as he sinks you down on his cock. A loud plop fills the room once you sit on it completely. 

“Goddamn,” he groans. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. Feels like your little hole’s never had a cock in it.”

You whine at the praise, happy that your pussy is clamping down on the biggest cock it’s ever taken. “Never had a cock this big, Hoonie. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Sunghoon grunts as he rolls his hips up into you until his fat tip is hitting the deepest part inside you. 

You miss the pleased grin on his face when you slump against him with a fucked out nod. Sunghoon takes the opportunity to ram his girthy cock into your hot little cunt. His hips pump into you in a punishing rhythm, loving how you’re clearly already addicted to his cock.

“Want me buried as deep as possible, pretty? Want me to rearrange your guts until you cum all over my cock?” Sunghoon hisses against your ear.

“Yes, yes! I want it so bad, Hoon!” You moan as you start to roll your hips and clamp down on his dick.

Sunghoon lifts you up, letting his cock slip out halfway before thrusting up at the same time he drops you back down on his cock, plunging so deep in your pussy that it makes you scream. He repeats the actions with the most attractive smirk on his face. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy as he keeps using you like a fucktoy.

“That’s it, baby. Fucking scream for me,” Sunghoon groans as your pussy paints his cock with your juices. “Let everyone know how much you love my cock.”

Your cries of pleasure fuel the insatiable beast inside Sunghoon. He wraps a strong arm around your waist and flips you on your back while keeping his throbbing cock inside you. The carnal look you give your best friend has him pressing your legs to your chest. Your mind is dizzy with white hot pleasure as Sunghoon starts to drill his cock into your g-spot.

Filthy moans fill the room along with the lewd squelching coming from your cunt. Sunghoon pumps his cock into your greedy pussy, loving how your tits bounce with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping together mix in perfectly with your pretty cries of pleasure as he fucks you stupid. 

“You’re getting so tight around me, baby,” Sunghoon moans. His eyes are locked on where you’re connected, and just the filthy sight of being buried balls deep in your cunt pushes him closer to the edge. “Shit, Y/N. I’m gonna keep you on my cock until you’re cumming over and over again—fuck—gonna cream your little pussy until you’re full of me.”

Your eyes roll back at the promise, pussy clenching and dripping around his girthy cock. “Please, Hoonie. Fuck. Give it to me!”

Somehow, his thrusts get rougher. Loud cries spill from your pretty lips, and it makes Sunghoon drive his fat cockhead right into your g-spot. 

“I’m close!” You mewl, completely lost in pleasure. 

Sunghoon gives you a tantalizing grin before dragging his hand down your body to slap your clit. You writhe like you’ve been electrocuted, and Sunghoon laughs in delight as he goes to smack your clit again. He thumbs and presses into your clit as you grind into his movements. 

“Cream on my cock, pretty girl. Do it for me so I can fill you up with my load,” Sunghoon groans as he swoops down to give you a sweet kiss.

“Fuck, Hoonie. Fill me up,” you moan as he continues to run rough circles on your puffy bud.

Sunghoon pounds his cock into your squelching pussy so hard that it makes his bed shake. “I will, baby. Just tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

Even fucked out, you give him a teasing grin that he loves so much. “Yours, baby. Just yours.” 

“That’s right. All mine.” Sunghoon growls as he presses down on your clit until your toes curl. 

You cry out his name as the tight band of arousal in your stomach snaps. Sunghoon’s fingers and hips don’t stop even as your orgasm bleeds into a second one.

“Just like that, baby. Squeeze my fucking cock.”

“Cum inside me, Hoon,” you say deliriously. “You promised.”

Sunghoon’s moan is loud as he buries himself balls deep in your cunt, cock kicking and throbbing as your pussy milks him for every drop of his cum. You feel the hot spurts of his thick spunk filling your hole until it slowly drips out around his cock. He grunts and rocks his hips a few times, pumping the last ropes of his seed deep into your pussy before slowly pulling out. His dark eyes watch your messy pussy drip with his load, wanting nothing more than to go again.

Instead, he lays next to you and pulls you into his chest.

“You drive me crazy,” Sunghoon hums into your hair.

You grin into his collarbone. “I know.”

“Can you please answer Sunghoon’s messages?” Jay groans as soon as you let him into your house.

“Bro has not stopped bitching in the group chat,” Jake adds as he comes in right after Jay.

You try not to smirk as you lead your friends into the kitchen. It’s not like you meant to ignore your best friend, but after you two fucked you got unexpectedly busy and didn’t have time to hang out. After a few days, you realized unintentionally ignoring him made him react in a way that gave you a sick amount of pleasure.

“I did answer,” you say as you get some water bottles for them. “Told him I’d see him at Jihyun’s party on Friday.”

Jay raises a doubtful eyebrow while Jake zeroes in on the massive bouquet on the kitchen table. The size and detailed arrangement of the pretty flowers make it obvious that it’s expensive.

“Who are these from?” Jake wonders when he doesn’t see a card.

Luckily, you put the card in your room. It’s not like they couldn’t guess the flowers are from Sunghoon, but that card would go into details that you’re not ready to get into with them. Not yet, anyway.

“Don’t know,” you say casually. “There was no card.”

“You should throw them out.” Jay says.

“Yeah. What if they’re from some creep?” Jake exclaims as he recoils from the bouquet like it bit him. “Plus Sunghoon will actually crash out if he finds out some guy sent you flowers.”

“You don’t know that they’re from some guy!” You exclaim to cover the laughter bubbling in your throat.

“Guy or girl, it doesn’t matter. Hoon will still go crazy if he finds out someone is sending you flowers with romantic intentions.”

“He has a girlfriend,” you remind Jay with a small smirk.

Your friends roll their eyes at the same time. Everyone knows Jihyun is his girlfriend in name only. She doesn’t compare to you when it comes to where you stand in Sunghoon’s heart. 

“Sure,” Jake laughs. “Are you going to show us this dress or what?”

You squeal in excitement and lead them to your room.

The party is in full swing by the time you get there. You say hi to a few people before going to the kitchen to find Jake. As luck would have it, he’s in the middle of a conversation with Sunghoon. You try your hardest to keep the smirk off your face as you call their names.

You don’t miss the way your best friend’s eyes get dark once you reach them and give them friendly hugs. He doesn’t let you give him a side hug like you do to Jake. Sunghoon pulls you flush against his body and cages you against him.

“I missed you, baby,” he whispers in your ear. “You’ve been torturing me lately.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the face since he refuses to let you go. “I told you I was busy, Hoonie. Don’t be mad, okay?”

His arms tighten around your waist as he lightly sways you. The cute pout you’re giving him is irresistible, and he knows he won’t be able to pretend to be mad at you anymore.

“Park Sunghoon.”

Jihyun saying his full government name doesn’t make him let you go. Instead you two turn to her like she’s interrupting.

“Hey, Jihyun,” you say with a friendly smile.

Her glaring eyes flicker to you for a fraction of a second before they settle back on her boyfriend. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

Sunghoon still doesn’t let you go, and you decide to have a little fun. “Go ahead, Hoon. I saw Hee earlier, and I want to go say hi.”

Sunghoon’s head snaps back to you, a dangerous anger already swimming in his pretty eyes. Lee Heeseung is a friend of Jay’s who you’ve hooked up with once before. The idiot thinks that he actually has a real shot with you. Everyone knows it, and Sunghoon thinks he’d rather break up with Jihyun right now than let you go anywhere near him.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him when you see that he still makes no move to let you go. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Your words hold a promise and so does your gaze. It’s the only reason Sunghoon lets you go and wander off to find the boy with the stupidly pretty eyes. With a glare he turns back to Jihyun who’s red in the face and looks angrier than he’s ever seen her.

“What do you want?” Sunghoon asks, wanting to get her tantrum out of the way so he can go find you.

“I want my boyfriend to stop embarrassing me in front of all these people,” she hisses, close to tears.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. He can’t believe he let you get away just for Jihyun to bring up some bullshit like this. “Here we go again. When are you going to stop being so fucking insecure?”

Jihyun sucks in a sharp breath like she’s been hit. Up until now, Sunghoon had never been mean or disrespectful even if he did things that bothered her.

“You looked like you would’ve literally kissed Y/N if I hadn’t walked in!” She exclaims hysterically.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “And what if I had? Don’t act like you don’t know how I feel about her—how I’ve always felt about her.”

Jihyun’s heart is pounding and her throat is tightening up. Yes, she’d known it, but she also thought he was starting to really like her. 

“So that’s it then? I was just a placeholder?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Think what you want, Jihyun. If you have nothing else to say, I’m going to go find Y/N.”

Before he can leave the kitchen, she stops him with tearful words. “You’re still mine, Sunghoon. I’m still your girlfriend no matter how you feel about her.”

There’s a tense pause, and just as Sunghoon debates breaking up with her, she says something that makes the most insane part of him snap.

“Y/N doesn’t feel that way about you. That’s why she’s never picked you in all this time.”

Jihyun lets out a quiet sob when her boyfriend walks away from her instead of responding.

Several shots later, Jihyun stumbles into her balcony where you and Lee Heeseung are talking and laughing. She scowls, hating that the second most attractive guy she’s ever met is also very enamored with you.

“Y/N, where’s Sunghoon?” She slurs as she stumbles into you.

Your eyes widen as you catch her. You help her stand, nodding back to the living room where Sunghoon is watching with the most predatory stare you’ve ever seen on him. “Over there.”

Jihyun unseeingly glances his way before settling her angry gaze back on you. “Is he watching me or you?”

“No idea,” you say placatingly. “Probably you since you’re his girlfriend.”

Even on the verge of blacking out, Jihyun catches the way you say that to her mockingly. She frowns again, stumbling slightly as she looks back at a watching Sunghoon.

“Will you get her some water, Hee?” You ask sweetly. “I think she’s had a little too much to drink.”

The boy gives you a pretty smirk. “Sure. Be right back.”

“Are you gonna fuck him?” Jihyun slurs as you settle her into one of the chairs. “He’s hot.”

You laugh a little as you watch her slump into an awkward position. “He is, but I don’t feel like fucking him tonight.”

“Then are you gonna fuck my boyfriend?” Jihyun wonders through a hiccup. “I know you want to.”

“It’s the other way around,” you say with a mean smirk. “You’ve always known that it’s the other way around.”

Jihyun scoffs, getting angry all over again. “You two really are best friends.”

It’s silent for a while until she looks at you with a determined glare.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone? Why can’t you go fuck Heeseung or Jake or–or anyone else that’s not my boyfriend?”

Jihyun sounds hysterical at this point, but you remain unfazed. After all, you’re not the third wheel here.

“Sunghoon is the one who can’t leave me alone. Why do you think he chose the same university as me? He’s the one who moved to the same city as me and always assimilates himself into my friend groups. You think he did all that just because he’s my best friend?” You laugh.

Only you know about his stalker tendencies, but you doubt Jihyun will remember any of this. Even if she does, you don’t care. You’re sick of her and her willful blindness.

“H-He did all that?” Jihyun feels like throwing up, and it’s not because of the alcohol.

You laugh again. “I think you’re mistaken about something, Jihyun. I’m not coming between you and your boyfriend. You’re the one who’s coming between Sunghoon and I.”

Jihyun’s head is spinning, and the last coherent thought she has gets in oblivion as darkness takes over her consciousness. You laugh again and go to help her up. Even though you don’t feel bad, you’re not mean enough to leave her passed out on her balcony.

“Let me help, baby.”

You let Sunghoon pick her up. He looks at you, waiting for his next orders. You smile and tell him to lead the way to her room. Sunghoon dumps Jihyun onto her bed, not caring to be gentle. You laugh and turn her on her side so she doesn’t choke on her vomit if she gets sick later.

Sunghoon stands behind you and settles his hands on your hips. “You look so good, pretty girl. I didn’t get to tell you earlier.”

“Did you break up with her?” You wonder through a grin.

“Not yet. Not until you tell me to.”

“You can do what you want, Hoon,” you say as he presses himself closer to you.

“What I want is to fuck you right here, right now.”

His nasty words send a thrill straight to your cunt. “Filthy boy. You want to fuck me on your girlfriend’s bed while she’s passed out?”

“She won’t know,” he says as he rolls his bulge into your ass. “And I’ve been wanting to break this bed in.”

You laugh in disbelief. Of course he wouldn’t have fucked Jihyun in her own bed. Instead he’s giving you that pleasure, and you can’t say it doesn’t please you. Arousal starts to make the fabric of your panties stick to your cunt. You bite your lip and let Sunghoon carry and set you down on the other side of the bed. He follows in suit and gives you a messy kiss. You moan into his mouth as he slips a hand under your dress to brush across your soaked slit.

“Fuck, baby. You’re already so wet. You want my cock that bad?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Probably as bad as you want this pussy.”

Sunghoon groans as he pushes your panties to the side. He uses his middle and ring finger to part your slick folds. You whine softly and roll your hips into his hand. 

“Gotta prep this tight little hole or I’m not gonna fit,” Sunghoon grunts. “Cute little pussy hasn’t had a cock this big in a while.”

He knows because he’s been watching to make sure it hasn’t. Arousal burns hot inside you as he fucks his fingers into your fluttering hole.

“Seems like you haven’t had some good pussy in a while,” you counter through a moan. “That loser doesn’t fuck you like you need, huh?”

Sunghoon groans when he finds the spot inside you that has your pussy squeezing down on his fingers. “No one compares to you, baby. Just look at this pretty pussy. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

Your cunt clamps down on his digits again. A fleeting glance to the side confirms that Jihyun is still very much passed out. You grin and give him the look that drives him crazy.

Sunghoon slips his fingers out of you with a wet squelch and pops them into his mouth with a loud groan. “So fucking good.”

You watch with hungry eyes as he gets up and takes his clothes off. The tip of his fat cock drips precum down the length of it, making your mouth water for a taste. He grips the base and shakes his dick at you. Your clit throbs and your pussy drips with more arousal. He’s so big and thick. Just knowing he’s about to fill you up and stretch you out on his cock makes your pussy clench in eagerness.

You get up and push Sunghoon down on the bed. You slip your dress off, only leaving your panties on. He settles against the headboard as you straddle his lap, you trap his cock inside your panties, grinning as your dripping pussy rubs along his throbbing cock

“Fuck,” you whine as you grind slowly against Sunghoon. 

“God, baby,” Sunghoon groans as he watches your pretty tits bounce. “You know how to drive me crazy.”

“Yeah? You like feeling my pussy rub all over your fat cock?” You goad as you rock against him harder.

“You know I do,” Sunghoon groans as he tosses his head back when your clit catches in the tip of his cock. “Let me suck on your pretty tits, baby. I know you like when I do.”

Licking your lips, you lean forward and shove your tits in his face. Sunghoon captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth, sucking and licking like he can’t get enough. He groans deeply as his lips and tongue work one hard bud while his fingers tweak and pinch the other. Your hips keep grinding into him as arousal pulses in your clit. Sloppy sounds of sucking fill the room along with your moans and whines as Sunghoon lathes your tits with his hot tongue. 

“Fuck, Hoon. You’re so hot. Need your cock inside me,” you gasp as he bites your nipple and runs his tongue across it over and over until you’re squirming against him. 

“Think you deserve it?” Sunghoon wonders as kisses across your breasts, teeth nipping at the skin as he swaps to the other nipple. 

“Don’t I?” You wonder through a moan.

“I don’t know. You’ve been ignoring me, pretty girl,” Sunghoon says as he pouts up at you. “You know I hate that.”

“I’ve been busy, baby. Plus, you had your hands full with your little girlfriend.”

Sunghoon pinches your nipples hard until you’re grinding against him. “You know that loser means nothing to me.”

With that, he slides his girthy cock into your pussy. He’s so much bigger than you remember. The painful stretch has you arching your back in pleasure. You toss your head back with a loud moan as Sunghoon bullies his cock deeper into your pussy until he’s bottoming out. He kisses you sweetly as you sink down on his dick with a lovely moan.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Fuck. I missed this tight little pussy.”

You shove your tits into his face when his hands tighten on your hips. Sunghoon kisses across your tits, sucking bruises into the sensitive skin. With a deep groan, he suckles on one of your nipples eagerly until you’re bouncing on his dick. You let your hands hold onto his soft hair as you rock your hips down on his throbbing cock. Mewling, you tug on the silky strands as Sunghoon’s tongue laps across your swollen nipples. His hands move up to your waist as he fucks your hot pussy.

Your eyes cross as he pounds your fluttering hole. Neither of you care to be quiet even though Jihyun is lying next to you. That’s the last thing on either of your minds as Sunghoon buries his cock deep in your throbbing cunt. Sunghoon groans, suckling your hard bud deeper into his mouth. His cock kicks and throbs as you slump forward, messily smashing your tits into his face. 

“You’re gonna leave marks, Hoonie,” you whine as he nips at the swell of your breasts before pulling away. 

“But you like it, pretty. I can feel you squeezing down on my cock,” he grins, shaking the hair from his face as he tilts his head up. “Now give me a kiss.”

You whine in the back of your throat and drop your mouth down on his. Unlike most people believe, you’re just as weak to Sunghoon as he is to you. You’re just a little better at controlling it. 

Sunghoon moans in pleasure, licking into your mouth to run his tongue against yours teasingly. He tugs you closer, and the kisses become more sloppy. He laughs softly when your fingers drop from his hair to cup the back of his head, pulling him forward until there’s no space between you. 

Even after you pull away for a short breath, Sunghoon just tugs you back in for another messy kiss, his hot tongue licking into you once again.

“You have no idea how bad I missed you, baby,” Sunghoon whines as you keep rolling your hips into him. “You gave me the best sex of my life and then pretended like I didn’t exist after it.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” you say, pussy fluttering when his cock grinds against the spongy spot inside you. “I didn’t do it on purpose. You’ll forgive me, right?”

“You know I will,” Sunghoon coos up at you, letting one of his hands drop down to tease your swollen clit. “But to make it up to me, you’re gonna let this sweet pussy milk a nice thick load outta me, right?”

“Fuck yeah. I’m gonna milk your cock so good, baby,” you slur, arching your back so your tits brush against his mouth. 

He grunts and bites at your soft tits. “That’s it, squeeze my cock.”

You whine, body jerking as he pinches and rubs your pudgy clit. Sunghoon sucks each of your nipples between his teeth before running his tongue across them. The coil in your stomach is winding tighter and tighter as Sunghoon teases your nipples and clit at the same time. 

“Oh!” You gasp. “I’m gonna cum, Hoonie—!”

A loud cry spills from your mouth as you clamp down on Sunghoon’s dick, pussy walls fluttering and milking his throbbing cock as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“So fucking hot,” Sunghoon groans as he fucks his cock up into your squelching pussy. “Fuck. Gonna make me cum, baby. Ready to get your cute little pussy creamed?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders, making him curse under his breath and bury his cock deep into your sopping wet hole. 

You feel rope after rope of hot, sticky cum spurt inside your cunt. It doesn’t stop. You’re stuffed so full that it leaks out around his throbbing cock. 

“So pretty,” he places open mouthed kisses across your clavicle up to your neck, letting his tongue tease across your skin. “My pretty girl.”

You sigh, feeling blissful and completely satisfied. He tugs your head down to kiss you softly at the corner of your mouth. You two kiss for a while until you have another urge.

“I want more.”

Sunghoon gives you a filthy grin and slips out of you to lay you on your back. He kneels in front of you and rips off your panties in one fluid movement. You mewl when he slides his aching cock between your messy pussy lips. His cock rubs against your slick folds and across your clit deliciously. With a whimper, you spread your legs to entice him.

“Please, Hoonie.”

His leaking cockhead presses against your hole but doesn’t sink in any further. He grips his cock and rocks the tip in and out of your cunt. Sunghoon slaps the fat head of his dick down onto your wet pussy. “I’m gonna stretch this little pussy out until you’re shaped like my cock.”

With a filthy moan, your eyes flicker over to Jihyun. She’s still passed out, completely oblivious to all the filthy things her boyfriend is doing to you on her bed.

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “This pretty pussy wants my cock, huh? Look at how wet it is.”

“Just fuck me, Hoon,” you whine. “Please.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when Sunghoon finally sinks his thick cock into your hot cunt inch by inch. He buries himself to the hilt with a deep grunt.

Your pussy flutters and pulses around his cock as your juices coat his length. “Fuck, it’s so big.”

“Yeah, it is,” he laughs before kissing your temple. “And your cute pussy is a perfect fit. So tight and wet.”

You scream in pleasure when Sunghoon starts to fuck you with hard, deep strokes. Eyes rolling back in your head and toes curling in pleasure, you rock your hips against his thrusts. His pelvis grinds against your clit every time he bottoms out in your cunt, making your pussy grip his cock like a vice.

Just knowing his girlfriend right next to you as Sunghoon pounds into your needy pussy makes everything feel so much better. 

Sunghoon drops all his weight on you, pinning your body to the bed and grinding the fat tip of his cock into your cervix. Tongue feeling heavy and useless, you babble out his name. That’s his cue to pump  his cock in and out of your greedy pussy so fast that it sounds obscene. Loud, wet squelches and the slap of skin are barely heard over your own cries and screams as Sunghoon fucks you stupid. 

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he whispers with a grin. “Gonna fill up this slutty pussy.”

“Yes!” You cry out. “Do it, baby. Cream this tight little pussy!”

Sunghoon swivels his hips, the fat tip of his cock rubbing against your g-spot hard enough to make you squeal. “Just look at you. Fucking gagging to have me stuff you full. Fuck. You love my cock rawing this sweet little pussy.” 

You tangle your hands in his hair and bring him closer for a dirty, tongue-filled kiss. Your pussy grips his dick tightly as you whine impatiently. “Want you to cum in me.”

“Fuck, baby. What if Jihyun wakes up and hears you?” Sunghoon laughs in your ear, dick harshly rutting in and out of your squelching cunt. “This cute pussy’s so loud. You’re gonna get us caught.”

“Don’t care,” you whine, nails digging into his bare shoulders. He hisses in pleasure, thrusting harder into your clenching heat. “She knows you belong to me.”

Sunghoon’s cock throbs in delight. “That’s right. And you belong to me. That’s why this tight pussy can’t stop creaming my cock,” He coos in your ear. 

Eyes fluttering closed, you moan loudly, legs wrapping around his waist to lock behind his back. Sunghoon groans as his hips roll against yours, cock plunging deeper into your dripping hole. “Gonna blow my load in your greedy cunt until you can’t handle it.”

Pulling out suddenly, he grips your hips to manhandle you over onto your front. He yanks your ass back, pressing his palm on your shoulders to push your head onto the pillow. His cock bullies back into your sopping wet pussy. Filthy plap plap plap sounds fill the bedroom along with your cries of pleasure. 

You moan into the pillow, drool soaking the material as Sunghoon rails you into the bed his girlfriend sleeps on every night. Eventually he slows his pace, dragging his dick halfway out before sinking back in. “Whose cock is better, mine or Heeseung’s?”

“Huh?” Your brain is mush at this point, your thoughts concentrating on cumming all over his cock while he creampies you. 

“I said, ‘Which cock is better?’” Sunghoon punctuates his question with thrusts deep enough that his tip bumps your cervix, making you moan weakly. “‘Mine or Heeseung’s?’”

You stumble over your words, not able to think until he reaches under your body to play with your clit. 

“Better question,” he purrs into your ear. “Which cock do you love more?”

“Yours, Hoonie,” you cry out when he fucks his cock deeper into your cunt. “Love your cock. It’s the only one that makes me cum.”

Sunghion smirks as he pounds his cock into your drippy hole. “And? What else?”

“A-and it’s the only cock I want to creampie my pussy,” you mewl, thrusting back against him. “Please, Hoon. I want you to cum in me. Cum in my little pussy.”

“Goddamn,” he groans, fucking you so hard and fast the bed shakes. He slips his hand around your hip and begins rubbing your slippery clit in quick circles. “Good fucking girl. So fucking good—fuck! Cum for me. Need to feel this slutty pussy creaming my cock so I can fill you up. Cum for me, so I can give you what you want.”

He slaps your clit with the flat of his fingers, and it pushes you over the edge, climax overtaking your body. You squirt with a loud cry of his name. Slick gushes from your hole and completely coats his pelvis until it’s running down your thighs and ruining Jihyun’s sheets

“Fucking shit. That’s it, baby. Show me how much this pussy likes my cock,” Sunghoon moans. 

You tremble and cry out, burying your face in the pillow to muffle the noise. Fireworks explode behind your eyes while your pussy milks his cock over and over, dripping slick all over the two of you. 

“That’s it, fuck, gonna cum inside you nice and deep like I promised,” Sunghoon curses under his breath and thrusts against you a few more times before sinking his cock inside you to the hilt. 

Hot, thick spurts of cum fill your fluttering walls until it spills out around his cock. Rutting against your ass, he grinds his cock in your pulsing cunt. After a few minutes, he takes in a deep breath and pulls out with a low groan. You lay there, panting heavily into the pillow, body completely spent. 

He smacks the head of his cock against your sensitive and puffy cunt, “Since this naughty little pussy is just pushing out all my cum, guess I’ll have to stuff it again.”

You wiggle your ass in agreement.

Jihyun wakes up with a terrible headache. She recognizes her room, and she has faint memories of a conversation with you before it all goes black. When she slowly sits up, a nasty, familiar scent hits her. She looks around, eyes zeroing in on the filth left on the opposite side of her bed. She feels sick, and before she can process anything, her phone buzzes.

Several messages are waiting for her, but the one that sticks out is the one of a video her friend sent to her. It’s a short, five second clip of Sunghoon carrying her into her room with you following behind.

the first game was simple: “red light, green light.” you’d played it as a kid, but here, the stakes weren’t bruised knees and scraped palms. here, the doll didn’t chant instructions for fun. its voice echoed over the yard in a flat, mechanical rhythm, and every time it said “red light,” players who moved even a fraction of a second too late were gunned down where they stood.

the sound of the first gunshot made your stomach flip. the second made your knees buckle. by the third, your heartbeat was so loud you couldn’t hear anything else.

you wanted to cry. you wanted to turn and run, but you knew what would happen if you did.

so, you forced yourself forward on shaky legs, moving in short, stiff sprints every time the doll called “green light.” you could feel the weight of its gaze even when you weren’t moving.

sweat clung to your temples. your limbs ached from locking in place. every step felt like it could be your last.

you were halfway across the field when it happened. you miscalculated the timing, legs too slow and your reaction too sluggish. you stumbled, your foot catching on uneven ground, and you pitched forward as the doll called “red light.” you weren’t supposed to fall. now you were not going to survive this.

you landed hard, your palms scraping against the cracked asphalt. you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the gunfire. your breath caught in your throat as you waited.

but nothing happened.

the silence stretched on, broken only by the distant shuffling of other players. you lifted your head slowly, your heart still hammering in your chest, and looked around. you could feel the doll’s sensor locked on you. you could feel the way the air thickened around you, like the system was holding its breath.

the gun never fired.

you scrambled back onto your feet, legs shaking violently, and forced yourself forward again.

the rest of the game passed in a blur. your ears rang, your vision swam and when the final countdown ended, and the doors slid shut behind the last surviving players, you barely registered that you’d made it. you just stood there, gasping, your hands trembling at your sides.

the others whispered about system glitches. about how sometimes the doll missed a player by accident. about how maybe you were just lucky.

you wanted to believe it too, but you knew it deep down that you hadn’t been fast enough. you hadn’t outsmarted anything. you should’ve died. the doll’s sensor had locked onto you. you saw it.

someone or something had spared you.

you noticed him that night in the dorms, one of the masked enforcers standing near the exit. his uniform was the same as the others, but something about the way he watched you felt wrong. his head tilted slightly when you caught his eye, his posture shitfinh when you moved past him, gaze lingering too long.

it wasn’t just that he was watching. it was the way he was watching. like he was studying you. like he was waiting for something. like he already knew you.

the next day, you overheard two players whispering in the corner, their heads bowed low. they were talking about the guards. about how some of them had special clearances. about how one in particular was known to move differently, to linger in the control rooms when no one else was allowed. a guard connected to the vips. someone with access. someone dangerous.

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. until it did.

you should’ve died again.

when you broke one of the rules in the second game—a mistake so obvious that a guard should have dragged you away immediately—no one moved. the others stared at you, waiting for the punishment, but none of the guards reacted. none of the guns fired. you stood there, frozen in place, breathing too fast, waiting for the consequences that never came.

it didn’t make sense.

the same masked enforcer—the one who lingered too long—was stationed near the control panels this time. his hand rested near the emergency override key. his head tilted toward you, almost like he was waiting.

almost like he wanted you to see him.

the next game, you slipped during the tug of war, your grip loosening, your body tilting dangerously backward—but somehow, the rope didn’t pull you down. the other team lost their footing at the last second, their weight shifting inexplicably in your favour.

you barely held on and your team barely survived. when you stumbled off the platform, the same masked enforcer stood near the exit, watching you.

you didn’t know his name. you couldn’t see his face. but you knew. it was him. it had to be.

you began to realise you weren’t surviving because you were clever or strong. you were surviving because someone wanted you alive. someone was bending the system around you. someone who didn’t follow the same rules as everyone else.

you caught him again after the fourth game. it was subtle. a moment where his hand brushed the control panel too casually, where the timer extended just long enough to save you, where a guard hesitated when they should’ve pulled the trigger. you saw the way his head turned toward you, as if he could feel your eyes on him, as if he wanted you to notice him.

the rumours grew bigger, spreading around like hot tea. it was about guards with ties to the vips. about ones who didn’t have to follow protocol, who could break the rules if they wanted to.

you had dismissed them before. but now you weren’t so sure.

you didn’t know why he had chosen you. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you could feel it pressing in on you now—the weight of his attention. instead of feeling lucky, you felt more trapped

whatever this was, it wasn’t over. you weren’t safe. you were being kept alive for a reason.

a reason that didn’t feel like mercy.

you noticed little things after that. little cracks. the way his hand would twitch near his weapon when other players got too close to you. the way his breathing would hitch when you stumbled, like the idea of losing you—even by accident—rattled him in a way he couldn’t quite hide. you caught him staring too long, standing too close, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides when someone else spoke to you.

there was something desperate about it which felt very off.

it built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore. you needed answers. you needed to see him. not the mask. not the uniform. the real him.

you waited until the halls thinned out and the guards dispersed, slipping away from the dorms under the buzz of half-working lights.

your bare feet slapped softly against the cool floor as you moved through the empty corridors, your heart pounding hard in your chest with every step. you didn’t know what you were walking toward, but you knew you wouldn’t stop until you found him.

you slipped past the security gates you weren’t supposed to cross, toward the back rooms—the ones you’d heard about in snatches of conversations, where the control feeds were hidden from the players. only select staff with connections to the vips were allowed here apparently.

you caught him in a maintenance room, just beyond the restricted zone. the door was cracked open, just enough for you to see his back, the pink uniform still clinging to him like a second skin.

you stayed frozen in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as you watched him slowly lift the helmet from his head.

his hair was dark, matted slightly from sweat, sticking to the nape of his neck. he set the mask aside and flexed his shoulders, rolling the tension out of his muscles like he didn’t know you were there.

but he did.

he turned toward you, calm, steady, and met your wide-eyed stare with a small, knowing smile.

you didn’t recognise him. you had never seen his face before. he was just a boy—a stranger.

but it didn’t feel like you were meeting him for the first time. his eyes held something familiar, something that made your skin prickle and your lungs seize. it was the same weight you’d felt pressing on you during every game. it was the same suffocating attention you’d carried since the first round.

“you found me,” he said, his voice soft like it was meant for you alone.

he didn’t sound surprised or worried. it was like he’d known you would come.

your throat went dry, body locking in place. you wanted to run, but you couldn’t make your legs move.

“you’ve been…” you forced the words out, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “it was you.”

his smile deepened, a slow curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“you’re safe because of me,” he said simply, as if it was obvious. “i’ve been protecting you since the beginning. i didn’t want you to die.”

your stomach twisted painfully. you didn’t know him. you didn’t understand him. but the pieces had already snapped together in your head, each impossible survival, each glitch in the system, each unspoken warning—he’d been behind all of it.

“why?” your voice cracked, barely audible. “why me?”

he stepped closer, slow, unhurried, like he was giving you time to run, knowing you wouldn’t.

“because you’re mine,” he said, his tone so calm, so sure, it left no room for doubt. “i couldn’t let them take you.”

you could feel the panic building in your throat, but you stayed rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.

his hand lifted to touch your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. his touch was warm, careful, almost reverent.

“you only made it this far because i wanted you to.”

his words settled over you like a trap snapping shut, but there was no malice in his eyes. only certainty.

you didn’t know what scared you more—the way his touch felt almost gentle, or the way your body leaned into it despite the roaring alarm in your head.

his touch was slow, careful, but not gentle. it felt like the kind of patience that could snap at any second. like the stillness before something dangerous finally broke loose.

his fingers dragged along your waist, slow and deliberate, tracing circles over the thin fabric of your uniform like he was burning your shape into memory. his gloves pressed firmly into your skin, just tight enough to remind you that you wouldn’t be walking away from this.

your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away.

maybe you should have. maybe you could have. but your body didn’t move. you told yourself it was fear. but the truth settled heavier than that. the truth tasted like surrender.

“you don’t even realise what you do to me,” jungwon murmured, his voice low, frayed at the edges. “how long i’ve been watching you.”

“you were… watching me?” your voice came out small and shaken, heart hammering against your ribs.

his hands slid up your sides, pausing just beneath your ribs, holding you there like you were something fragile. his grip tightened, a silent warning, his thumbs pressing in hard enough to sting.

“you didn’t think you were surviving this on your own, did you?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “you didn’t really believe that, right?”

“i…” your throat closed up. “at first i thought i was lucky.”

he let out a dark laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “you weren’t lucky. you were mine.”

his grip moved lower, guiding you backward until your thighs bumped against the edge of the console table. when he lifted you onto the cold metal surface, his palms didn’t leave your body, his hands sliding down to your hips, caging you in place like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“look at you,” he breathed, his voice slipping, his composure fraying. “so perfect. so soft for me now.”

“please,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. “i don’t… i don’t understand what you want from me.”

his thumb dipped under the waistband of your pants, teasing the skin there, but he didn’t pull them down yet. he just stared at you, his eyes drinking in every tiny tremble, every shaky breath, every small way your body leaned into him despite yourself.

his other hand came up to cup your face, tilting your chin until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“i’ve seen every part of you,” jungwon whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “you didn’t know i was watching, but i was. always.”

his voice cracked a little on the last word.

“i watched you when you slept. when you cried. when you begged to be saved.” his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. “and you always will be. you’ll always be safe with me.”

you whimpered, your lips closing around his thumb without thinking, your breath trembling as you looked up at him.

“you’ll let me take care of you now, won’t you?” his voice softened, but it wasn’t a question.

“yes,” you whispered around his thumb, shame heating your cheeks.

his breath hitched, like that tiny, broken word shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispered, withdrawing his thumb just long enough to grip your jaw, his touch rougher now, his desperation bleeding through.

“you’re always so sweet for me.”

his other hand finally moved, dragging your pants down slow and deliberately, savouring the reveal like he’d waited too long for this moment to rush it. when his fingers slipped between your thighs, he groaned low in his throat at the first brush of your slick against his glove.

“fuck,” he breathed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your jaw, his voice breaking. “you want this. you’ve always wanted this.”

“i… i don’t know,” you gasped, your hips jerking into his touch.

“yes, you do,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “your body knows. you’re already so wet for me.”

his fingers moved slowly at first, spreading your arousal, circling your clit in soft, measured strokes that made your stomach knot and your legs tense. he worked you open with dangerous patience, dragging two fingers through your folds, pushing them inside you until you gasped.

“say it,” he breathed, curling his fingers inside you just right. “say you want me.”

“i…” your voice trembled, your fingers fisting in his uniform. “i want you.”

his breath faltered. “again.”

“i want you,” you whispered, shame and pleasure sinking deep into your bones.

his thumb pressed firm, steady circles over your clit while his fingers curled inside you, coaxing desperate, shaky sounds from your throat. your hips rocked into his touch without thinking, the pleasure drowning out your guilt, your fear, your logic.

“that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave it stinging. “just feel me. don’t think. just let me have you.”

“it’s too much,” you whimpered, your walls tightening around his fingers.

“you can take it,” he growled, his breath heavy against your skin.

his breathing frayed as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his control slipping with every heartbeat. when you tightened around his fingers, trembling, he didn’t stop. he didn’t give you space to pull away.

“mine,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “you’ve always been mine.”

when you came, your body clenching around his fingers, your cry breaking the silence, jungwon’s eyes snapped wide, his pupils blown out like something inside him shattered.

“you’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, dragging his slick coated fingers across your lips. “taste.”

your lips parted before you could think, your tongue flicking over his fingers as he watched you with a trembling, starved gaze.

his composure cracked.

he tugged your shirt over your head with shaking hands, his mouth already moving across your skin, licking, sucking, biting along the soft curves of your chest, his desperation sharp and barely contained.

“the rest of you think i’m just an enforcer,” he whispered against your ribs. “but i have access the other guards will never have. i can override the system. i can pull you from the games whenever i want.”

his mouth worked hot, wet kisses over your stomach, his hands clutching your waist like he could anchor himself to you.

“you’ve heard the rumours, haven’t you?” he breathed, his hips grinding into your thigh. “about the ones who can bend the rules. the ones the vips can’t control.”

“what are you?” you choked out, your heart slamming against your ribs.

he kissed lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your hips.

“i’m the one who kept you alive,” he whispered. “i’m the one who’s going to keep you forever.”

his voice dropped, “i can break you. i can keep you. and no one can stop me.”

he pressed his cock against your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. the slow tease made you writhe, your hands gripping his shoulders, your thighs pressing against his hips like you couldn’t decide whether to pull him in or push him away.

“please,” you breathed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “please, jungwon…”

“please what?” he coaxed, his voice thick with amusement. “please stop? or please fuck you?”

you sobbed, your hips tilting forward despite yourself. “please fuck me.”

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your waist like he wanted to snap you in half.

“that’s my girl,” he growled, dragging you down onto his cock in one slow, brutal thrust that stretched you to the edge of pain. you cried out, clinging to him as his hips began to move in relentless, claiming thrusts.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he groaned, driving into you harder. “so tight around me. you were made for me.”

“you’re too deep,” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“you can take it,” he snarled, his teeth grazing your ear. “you’ll take all of me.”

he fucked you harder, each snap of his hips brutal, desperate, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

“you’re mine,” he gasped, his voice unravelling. “i’ve waited so long for this. i’ll keep you. i’ll never let you go.”

“you’re not supposed to—” you whimpered, your legs shaking.

“you belong to me,” he growled, dragging your legs higher around his waist, slamming into you so deep you sobbed. “you belong here.”

his rhythm never faltered, every thrust deep and claiming, every kiss desperate and filthy. his cock split you open, the obscene, wet sounds of your bodies echoing through the room.

“you’re so messy for me,” he groaned, watching your slick coat his cock. “so wet, so fucking perfect.”

“jungwon, i can’t—” you sobbed, your body teetering on the edge.

“yes, you can,” he growled, his hips snapping harder. “cum for me. now.”

when your second orgasm hit, your body clenching around him, your release washing over you in sharp, overwhelming waves, jungwon groaned into your skin, his rhythm stuttering as he spilled inside you, his cum hot and heavy, dripping out as he rocked into you through the aftershocks.

his arms stayed locked around you, his lips pressing frantic, desperate kisses to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder like he could carve his place into you.

his voice trembled against your skin, a soft, dangerous promise.

“you’re mine. forever. i’ll keep you safe. i’ll keep you forever.”

and the worst part about all of this was the part that made your stomach twist—you believed him.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

You can’t actually see him. The lights are too bright, the crowd too dense. But for a split second, it feels like you’re looking at him. Through him. Like you know exactly who he is. And performed for him. Like you’ve already decided what that secret meeting meant. 

It guts him. 

The applause detonates, snapping everyone else out of their trance, but Sunghoon doesn’t clap. His fists are already clenched so tight his knuckles burn.

By the time he reaches the doors, his hand crashes into the wall with a hollow, bone-jarring thud. Pain blooms up his arm. Blood smears the pristine paint behind him. But he rushed so fast out, he didn't stop to look.

Sunghoon barely knows you. But he already knows he’s going to hate you. Maybe more than he hates himself.

You don’t come back to yourself until the applause detonates. The lights warm and bloom across the theater, resurrecting reality. People stand. People cheer. They clap until their palms sting, but none of them feel real — like a mirage conjured just to watch you. Compliments fly like rose petals. Flowers land in your arms. You smile, bow, let them paint you in praise.

Your instructor kisses your cheek with wet lips that make your skin crawl. Hands — always too many hands — land on your hips, on your shoulder blades, as strangers purr, “Exquisite control.” “You really feel the music.” “Such a shame about the Bolshoi opportunity… your mother should’ve pushed harder.”

You smile. You thank. You nod like a good girl.

And you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it a little. The thrill. The hunger in their eyes. The way your name hangs in the air like smoke, like perfume, like a promise.

Until she appears.

Your mother glides toward you in a gown that costs more than your tuition, with a smile you know was cut and stitched together in front of a mirror. Her arm snakes around yours, grip deceptively light for something bruising. “Your foot rolled on the last turn,” she whispers, lips curling in a way the cameras will think is maternal. “Not bad enough for them to notice. But I noticed.”

Her nails dig in deeper than her praise ever has.

“The cry thing wasn’t bad, though,” she adds with a laugh that’s real in the ugliest way. “Almost felt real. My daughter might become an actress, who knows.”

It takes you a moment to realize she’s not even talking to you anymore. She’s talking to them. Always them. The plié of benefactors and critics she adores more than her own blood.

And then she leans closer. The fake smile doesn’t move. “Your future father-in-law brought his son tonight. You better play it well.”

Your eyes do the speaking for you. She hates that. “Stop overreacting,” she hisses. “Just… make a good impression. He’s been generous with our family. We owe him that much.”

You don’t say it. How owing men anything has never ended well for her. Or especially for you.

But still, dating the CEO of her company seems to be serving her well enough. For now.

It takes ten minutes and a polite excuse to pry yourself out of her talons. Ten minutes before you’re weaving through a labyrinth of sharp suits, fine linen, fine lighting, fine dining, the suffocating finery choking you as badly as her touch.

You need air. Loneliness. And maybe a bandage for the foot you’re definitely walking on broken.

By the time you reach the elevator, your hands are shaking. You stare at your reflection in the mirrored walls and don’t recognize yourself. The girl in the glass is someone your mother built.

The doors slide open.

And you see him.

A boy around your age. Black suit, black hair, black gaze. His eyes are wet in a way that makes you freeze—but not from softness. From something else. Something heavier. He looks at you half surprise half like he could cut you open with a glance.

Fuck.

You hesitate. But not stepping in would be stranger. You wipe at your eyes quickly and step inside. The rooftop button’s already lit.

The silence is practically unbearable. You steal glances at him from the corner of your eyes. His hand is bruised, scraped raw, blood drying at the knuckles.

“Y-your hand…” you blurt. “It’s—”

“I know,” he responded, flatly.

And now you’re here, huh. Sunghoon thoughts. Why did you have to appear where I wanted you gone?

Too-close in a gilded elevator, smelling faintly of a familiar expensive perfume and sweat from the stage. Your eyes are red, and on the verge of breaking into tears, but your chin is up like you’re trying to hide it for good figure. You loser. He wants to press you back against the wall just to see if that chin would stay there.

And now he knows something dangerous: you’ve been crying for some reason he might use.

But which one?

—

The rooftop air tastes different. Less expensive. Colder on that thin silk dress.

He sits at the far end of a bench, posture loose but coiled, like a lonely soul that wants to be left alone. You. You hover near the exit for a moment, the polite thing would be to leave him alone— but something about him refuses to let you.

You gather the scraps of your courage and walk over. “You should clean that,” you say, holding out the little emergency bandage kit you carry for yourself.

His gaze drops to it, then to you. Curious, but acting unimpressed. “I don’t need—”

“Take it,” you insist, softer than you intend to.

He must say no. But he doesn’t. He takes it, almost irritated in his move, but the way he fumbles with it like a kid, almost makes you laugh.

“Do you… want help?” You smirk.

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop you when you kneel beside him, and even lends you his hand. You eye him and it’s like being with a black stray cat. It looks like he might bite but still let you do.

Your fingers are delicate, careful as you sanitize and wrap the bandage around his knuckles, avoiding the rawest parts. You don’t notice his stare, the way he studies your bent head, your flushed cheeks, the tremble in your lashes as you concentrate on touching him without hurting him. You don’t notice the way his jaw flexes when he imagines those same careful small fingers trapped in his bigger, stronger hands.

He hates this kindness of yours. He hates you. He hated you before you even spoke. Hated when he met you in the elevator. And hated when you spoke to him. 

And yet.

You’re so close he can smell the faint perfume clinging to your hair. You look so delicate right now, so breakable, so fucking sincere and simple it’s weird, but so pretty with those wet bambi eyes.

“Why were you crying?” His voice slices through the quiet, blunt and uninvited.

You flinch. “That’s… I-I didn’t—”

Sunghoon likes the way you flinch.  “You don’t have to tell me. But you clearly were.”

You swallow. “I… I just thought… I just wished… I didn’t have to live by my people's choices.” The words come out before you can catch them. “I’m supposed to meet someone important tonight. But I’m scared. If I don’t please them… They, can be… Very…”

“Cruel?” he offers.

You nod, after a second of hesitation.

Sunghoon wants to laugh. The little prodigy with the sad eyes—more like him than expected. And he says something that surprises you. 

“Then fuck them. Go do or find what pleases you.”

You look at him, startled, and find no sarcasm in his face.

“And you ? Why are you here?” you ask softly.

He hesitates, smirking as he lets his head fall back. “Avoiding someone. Didn’t work.”

“Oh.”

“But it wasn’t all bad,” he adds. I found something interesting in the meantime.” And it almost sounds like he means you.

The silence stretches. Your eyes drift to his hand for a bit of time. “You were crying too?” you say smug's.

He leans back, jaw tight. “One of my parents died recently…” Your smirk drops. “And the other… replaced them. And me, I guess... Came home one day and I didn’t recognize my family anymore.”

Your throat closes, your face crumples like you felt it. “That’s so… unfair.”

“Yeah.” He laughs, dropping his eyes to you, just to surprisingly find you sobbing. “Hey…” 

You don’t even notice it at first—the way you look at him all tears gather in your lashes, threatening to spill, until it finally does. His hand moves before you can flinch away. Fingers cold, calloused, pressing to your cheek with a touch that’s far too intimate for a stranger. He doesn’t just wipe it away—no, Sunghoon drags his thumb slowly through the wetness, spreading it, smearing it like he’s testing the texture.

“Thought you were holding it good.” His voice drips with quiet mockery, but his touch… it’s too careful to match his words. “... Guess I was wrong.”

“Why are you even crying for now, huh?”

You should pull back. But you don’t. 

“That’s just…” you’re a mess, that even speaking is complicated. “It’s so sad,” you hiccup. “I feel so sorry for you…that’s…Fuck…”

He laugh and nod, “Hm, Fuck.”

And for one sharp, dizzying second, you’re caught in the feeling of his skin against yours—rough, unyielding—and the heavy, unreadable look in his eyes as he studies the evidence of your weakness like it’s something rare and valuable.

You want to tell him you know what that feels like. That you’ve been replaced by a version of yourself too, but even that doesn’t feel as sad as his story.

“Why do we have to… Live like this?” you hiccup. “Why do we have to live up to their choices?”

For the first time, he doesn’t answer like he has something sharp to say.

You sit together for almost half an hour, two strangers on the edge of the city, quietly sharing pieces of yourselves neither of you meant to really give away. 

It hits him as you avoid his gaze, fiddling with your dress like it’ll shield you.

He misjudged you.

You’re not what he expected you to be. There’s something coiled in you, restrained and begging to snap. And Sunghoon’s very good at making things snap. Maybe you’re not worthless after all. Maybe you’re valuable. 

And valuable things?

He always keeps them close… 

Until he’s bored.

—

When you realize how long you’ve been gone, you panic. You stand so quickly you nearly trip, mumbling a goodbye.

But before you leave, you rush back and grab back his bruised hand. “I hope we both find our escape,” you say, giving him a shaky little “fighting~” gesture.

His lips almost twitch into a smile. 

When you’re gone his thumb finds his lips. Caressing the salt of tears on the verge of his tongue. 

His mind remembering how you cried for him. Then his eyes catch something in the corner of the bench. You forget your purse.

A smirk traced his lips, maybe it’s not gonna be this boring having a new family.

You come back from the restroom — lipstick touched up, smile rehearsed, every part of you adjusted into place — and stop.

The dining table feels like a trap now.

Your mother, dazzling like a diamond with teeth. Your stepfather, smug with wine and wealth. The chandelier casting everything in golden judgment.

And him.

Park Sunghoon.

Not the boy you knelt beside on a rooftop, wrapping his bruised knuckles. Not the boy who wiped your tears like he wanted to taste them. No.

The CEO’s son.

He sits at the table like he was born in that chair. Crisp suit. Bored posture. A prince in exile who decided the kingdom could burn.

“Ah—” your mother’s voice snags you by the throat. “There you are. Sit, darling.”

He turns his head lazily, like you’re background noise. But his eyes — God, his eyes — cut through you like you’re still kneeling there in the dark, still bleeding confessions.

He extends his hand across the table. Perfect stranger.

“Nice to meet you.”

You take it. Pretend your pulse isn’t rabbiting in your neck.

“Nice to meet you too.”

And just like that, the rooftop vanishes. Packed up and buried where no one else can touch it.

Dinner is suffocatingly civil. Your stepfather drones about quarterly earnings, your mother performs the role of charming wife. Sunghoon cuts his steak with surgical precision, silent but present, like a blade sheathed in velvet.

Then your mother turns her performance on you. “She’s been improving,” she says sweetly, the kind of sweet that hurts. “But her landing was sloppy last week. She needs discipline if she wants to impress the right people.”

You laugh it off. Like you always do. Like you were taught.

And then Sunghoon speaks.

“I liked it.”

The words are mild. But the room tilts.

All eyes swing to him. His face doesn’t move. His voice is almost lazy. “I’ve been incorporating dance into my skating. Her movements… they were... hypnotic.”

Hypnotic?

You can’t breathe.

Your mother blinks, knocked off balance for once. “That’s… generous of you, Sunghoon.”

He shrugs. Stabs another piece of steak. Like he didn’t just pull you out from under her heel with a single, lazy sentence.

But when dessert arrives, he leans in — close enough you smell his cologne, expensive and sharp.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he murmurs, low enough for only you.

And then he pulls back like nothing happened.

The weeks after are worse.

No one talks about the rooftop. No one mentions that night. But his words—Go find what pleases you—rot in your head.

Your parents fade out of the house almost entirely. All the conversations become indirect: “Dad said.” “Mom sent this.” You don’t see them except when they need you polished and pretty. The house becomes Sunghoon’s — or maybe it always was.

There’s not a single picture of his mother. Not in the halls, not on the mantle. The only face staring down at you is his father’s.

And Sunghoon. The actual one and only.

Front stranger to stepbrother, he became a storm you can’t read.

One day he ignores you like you’re furniture. The next, there’s a package on your bed: a dress your mother would call “inappropriate,” with a handwritten note — For your next recital. Don’t embarrass big bro. Hwaiting~ He offer help on day, than suddenly leaves in the middle of a party you know no one. Enter your room without being invited but also brings you soup when your sick and cancel his training to stay with you sitted at the foot of your bed.

Yeah, that type of shitty guy...

And you want to be angry. But can’t find yourself speaking up. Something about him makes you weaker than usallly.

One night, before a gala, you’re standing in your room struggling with the zipper of a dress. You curse under your breath, twisting your arm uselessly when you hear a knock.

“Come in,” you say, distracted.

The door opens. Sunghoon.

You freeze. “I—I thought it was—”

“Your mom?” He half smirks, closing the door behind him without waiting for an invitation. “She’s waiting downstairs.”

Your back is to him. You don’t know whether to run or stay still.

“Need help?”

You should say no. Actually you were about to, but then—

You feel him step closer, his heat behind you, and then, with feather-light fingers, he brush your bare back. Slow, deliberate, as he takes hold of the zipper and drags it up, teeth by teeth, until the dress is tight against your skin.

But he doesn’t stop there. His fingertips, they skim up your spine, barely there, until they rest at the nape of your neck.

“Better,” he murmurs, looking in the mirror. His breath grazes your ear. “You should thank me, little one.”

You can’t speak. You can’t even look up or turn. And when you finally do, he’s already walking away like nothing happened.

You find yourself changing your training complex, waiting for him after practice. Pretending it’s convenient. When really, you just want to watch him.

He’s… 

Magnetic. The way he glides across the ice, sharp and fluid at once, like he’s cutting the world open and stitching it back together. You learn the names of his jumps, the rhythm of his breathing. It makes something ache in you, watching him free in a way you’ve never been.

And then he starts showing up to your training. Always at the back, just a shadow. He never says anything. But he’s there, waiting for you too.

And then, small things begin.

In the training complex’s hallway, you would pass each other and his fingers would graze the inside of your wrist. Light. Too fucking light. And when you turn around he doesn’t even look at you, still laughing at his friends.

At breakfast, he would take food off your plate without asking, pop things like strawberries into his mouth, and smirks when you glare. “What? You weren’t eating it.”

Once, you found a new pair of skates in your room. The exact ones you’d been eyeing online to begin skating. No note this time. But you knew it’s him.

And then there’s the worst one.

You’re sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase, hair still a bit wet, scrolling your phone half-asleep, when his shadow blocks the light of the sunset. He crouches down to your level, elbows on your knees.

“You’re always zoning here,” he says, voice soft. “Like a cat waiting at the door.”

You roll your eyes. “I live here, Sunghoon.”

He smiles—the slow, predatory kind. “So do I…”

And then he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Just like that. Like it means nothing. Like he doesn’t notice the way your breath stops, the way you blush and look down.

“You should be careful,” he adds. “You’ll catch a cold like that. Come downstairs, I'll dry your hair.”

And he did. 

He towels you off like it’s nothing. Like it's a domestic routine. The fabric against your skin makes you shiver, or his hand lingering at your shoulders, the way he seems to love grazing the back of your neck and massaging it.

“You should take better care of yourself.”

You can’t look at him. You can’t breathe. You can’t understand his games. When you finally meet his eyes, there’s nothing to read there.

Nothing but that quiet, infuriating smirk.

You get used to it. The moods, his provocations. The way he lingers in doorways like he’s deciding whether to bite.

Sometimes he’s protective. He cut off boys who made a crude joke about you at the rink when you waited for him—didn’t even raise his voice, just said his name, low and cold, and the boy stammered out an apology.

At your performances when he showed up, he would stay next to you making sure no one could come close enough for unwanted touch and comments. He had it in him, that thing that made people respect him anywhere anytime. 

But sometimes he was cruel. “You cry too easy..." he told you once when you teared up after a mistake. “Stop asking for it,” He told you after some dance partner made a move on you. He wouldn’t talk to you for weeks. Then sometimes he was… almost kind, and even soft in his moves toward you.

But you can never tell which version of him you’ll get.

And the worst part?

It was for his pure enjoyment, you weren’t naive enough not to snap out of it most times. But… God… You actually enjoyed it a bit… Maybe a bit too much sometimes...

You try to tell yourself it’s innocent. That you’re just a girl with a small crush, the way everyone your age have.

How long has it been since someone touched you in a way that pleased you? In a way you wanted? What experience do you have with these things?

But then he catches you staring, and you get shy. And he smirks like it’s a private joke. And sometimes you think—no, you feel— that he’s staring too. And that’s when it gets dangerous.

Because you can’t tell anymore if he’s protecting you. Or hunting you.

Or both… 

But like the rest you got used to it.

For exemple, today.

The garden was blinding in its prettiness.

Perfect hedges. Perfect white chairs. Perfect little patch of sunlight you’d claimed like a starving animal. You were curled up on one of the loungers, pajamas thin like joke, hair messy, pretending your book mattered more than the rare chance to actually do nothing and feel the sun on your skin.

And then his shadow fell over you.

“You look ridiculous,” Sunghoon’s voice cut in, flat and amused.

You didn’t look up. “Don’t you have training or brooding to do?”

He ignored that. “Pajamas in the garden? You’re going to burn.”

“I’ll be fine.”

His foot nudged the lounger. “Go inside.”

“No.” You clung to the book like it was proof you belonged there. “It’s called touching grass, Sunghoon. Try it sometime.”

He crouched so you had no choice but to see his face—that pretty, infuriating face, half-shadowed, hair falling into his eyes. “I’m telling you. You’re about to regret it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not moving.”

The smirk sharpened. “I warned you.”

he counted. 3. 2. 1.

And then, with a hiss of pipes, the auto-sprinklers kicked on.

Cold water exploded from every corner of the garden, drenching you in seconds. Your book wilted in your hands. Your pajamas clung to every inch of your body.

“Fuck!” You scrambled to your feet, dripping and sputtering. “Are you serious?!”

Behind you, Sunghoon laughed. Really laughed. Low and pleased.

You bolted for the house, leaving your book to die in the grass, and tore through the hall to the downstairs bathroom. It was a sanctuary of white marble and gold fixtures — too pristine for how frantic you were as you grabbed at a towel, patting yourself uselessly.

You didn’t even hear him until he spoke.

“Told you.”

You spun. He was in the doorway, also soaked, his white loose shirt clinging obscenely to his chest. He peeled it off in one motion, tossing it over the towel rack like he's the owner.

“Don’t look so smug,” you snapped, flustered and shivering.

His grin widened. “You make it too easy.”

“Why didn’t you just warn me?”

“I did,” he said simply, stepping inside, shutting the door as he took a towel.

Both of you were small laughing stocks until you faced each other. His smirk softened into something quieter—heavier—as his eyes, still lit with laughter, dropped slowly. He traced over you like he wasn’t allowed to, but did it anyway, memorizing every place that thin fabric kissed your skin.

You tried for a scoff, some defense. “You’re... really... an—”

But it faltered as he let the towel on his head fall off to put back on your shirt strap as he stepped forward.

The faint laugh between you both died slow. Like a flame burning out. And then there was nothing but the sound of your breathing heavier and heavier. And that water, dripping off you both, dotting the tile.

You didn’t notice you were backing up until your hips hit the edge of the marble sink. He didn’t stop coming until you were perched on it, barefoot and trembling.

His gaze met yours. For a second, the world narrowed to that—two pairs of eyes locked, neither looking away, both daring the other to admit what was happening.

And then his hand lifted.

Fingertips on your lips tracing them.

Then pushing your hair back, slowly, fingers grazing your temple, trailing deliberately down to your neck. Light. Feather-soft. Cruel in how delicate it felt when everything in him wanted to grip bad.

You swallowed hard. The bathroom felt too small suddenly, too white, too quiet for this.

“Hey… Please, Hoon…”

Your voice. Barely above a whisper. Weak. Like it cracked open something in you you didn’t want him to see.

He froze. Then—cupped your face in one hand, his thumb brushing over your lips, slow and deliberate.

Not outwardly, not violent, but something broke, where the coil of restraint he always wore so well pulled taut. The sound of his name on your lips like that… it wasn’t innocent. Not to him. It sounded like a plea.

And maybe you didn’t even know it, but to Sunghoon it felt like you were begging.

Begging him to close the distance even more, between your thighs. Begging him to ruin you like he does every time he pictured you since that night he saw you.

His hand slid lower, from your neck to your shoulder, grazing your collarbone, the inside of your arm, until both of his palms framed your hips.

And then he pulled you flush against him. You jolted, breath ticking.

The grind was slow. Obscene. Deliberate. From him first, or you… None of you really knew. 

But it felt like he wanted you to feel exactly what you were doing to him in his eyes, what he could do to you if either of you stopped pretending this was just some game.

You gasped—shaky, surprised at yourself.

Was he dick the massive bulge humping you?

Fuck it's scary.

His head dipped, lips hovering dangerously close to yours, almost caressing over his thumb. His breath fanned your cheek. His eyes were heavy, blackened with something dark and raw, tracking every twitch of your lips, every quiver of your body like it was his private show.

To him, you looked like a vision you didn’t even understand you were offering. Breakable. Naive. Too soft for the monster in the room with you.

And that made it worse. Because Sunghoon lived for dangerous things recently.

His thumb brushed the side of your mouth under his desireful gaze. His breath hitched when your hips unconsciously rolled harder, chasing friction.

“Do you even know,” he murmured, so low you barely heard it, “how dangerous it is… around me?”

You couldn’t answer. You shaked your head as much as he allowed it.

And then the footsteps.

Someone was calling faintly from the hall.

You tried to jerk like you’d been electrocuted. But he kept you there. Gripping at the back of your neck and hip, humping faster and messier searching for something he knew was coming. 

“Sunghoon—St—”, then his hand clapped at your mouth, shushing your moans. When you jolted, a filling filled your belly, something new and raw, you shoved off the counter as he stepped back both of you heavy breathing, almost tripping.

By the time the maid’s voice grew closer, he had his wet shirt back on and no practiced smirk plastered to his face anymore, just realisation of what happened.

He slipped out without a word, leaving you, still shaking, soaked, and achingly aware of how far that almost went.

The bathroom incident should have changed everything.

But instead, it changed nothing. Or maybe it changed too much.

For days after, you and Sunghoon circled each other like nothing had happened—only everything had. The touches stayed unspoken, the breathless almost-kiss buried under silence, but it lived in the air between you.

Glances lingered too long. Passing each other in the hallway felt like stepping on live wire.

And somehow, that strange moment had made you… closer.

You ate breakfast together without speaking, him scrolling his phone at the counter, you pretending to read. He'd hand you the honey jar without you asking, and you’d notice his fingers brushing yours deliberately—or maybe accidentally.

But it also made you farther.

You didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even look directly at him for too long, because when you did, it felt like inviting trouble.

And now, with both your parents finally home for a stretch of time, the house felt suffocating in a different way.

You threw yourself into preparations for the year’s big event. Your mother’s words still echoed in your head: “This is your season to prove yourself. No excuses.”

It meant late nights at the studio, hours of practice, and—as if to twist the knife—meeting your new partner for the performance.

He was handsome, talented, and disarmingly passionate. The kind of boy who threw himself into the music without reservation, who learned your rhythms quickly, who held you like you were meant to be held when the choreography demanded it.

And yet, every time his hand slid to your waist or your shoulder, every time his breath fanned your cheek in a turn, you thought of Sunghoon.

The ache Sunghoon had left in you that night didn’t fade. Of his fingers in your hair. Of his voice in your ear. Of that massive rock.

If anything, it only grew. How many times had you tried to recreate that friction—only to fall short, never building it enough to actually make yourself come?

“Would you… maybe like to grab dinner tomorrow?” your partner asked one evening after practice, scratching at his neck, trying to look casual but failing. "Like... A date."

“Okay!” you blurted, too quickly, like agreeing would keep you from thinking too hard about it. About what Sunghoon would say if he knew. About why you cared what Sunghoon would say at all.

That’s how you find yourself throwing dresses around like none of them are good enough.

They all were. But none of them felt right.

Too demure. Too flashy. Too much like your mother’s taste, too little like your own. Until your eyes landed on it.

The one Sunghoon bought you.

That burgundy back-ribbon dress your mother hated. The one you’d only worn once, just to piss her off.

You pull it out, smoothing the fabric over your bed like it’s nothing — like you’re not aware of what you’re doing.

But you are.

Fuck.

Even you know what you’re trying to do. You tell yourself it’s because it’s the perfect dress. That it matches the restaurant’s mood. It's short and fun but still classy.

But the truth?

You’re thinking about what Sunghoon's face will look like when he sees it on you. And that’s how you end up zipping yourself into the softest rebellion you’ve ever worn — Sunghoon’s choice, Sunghoon’s taste — curling your hair just enough, painting your lips cherry-gloss sweet.

Perfect.

Perfect enough to strike Sunghoon silent? No, no, no, for your date...

___

You didn’t mean to run into him. Not like this.

The clack of your heels against marble betrayed you first, and then he appeared—Sunghoon—fresh from the gym, hair damp, shirt loose over broad shoulders, a towel slung lazily around his neck like he owned every inch of this house.

His gaze hit you like a hand. Lingering. Slow. From your ponytail to the exposed ribbon-tied back, down your bare legs.

“The hell is that?” he asked finally, voice too casual to be real.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of every inch of yourself under his stare. “A dress.”

“Where are you going?”

“Dinner,” you said, breezy, trying to walk past.

He shifted. Blocking the doorframe without touching you. A wall of quiet, unreadable boy.

“With who?”

You tilted your chin up. “Someone.”

His jaw twitched. “A date? Tch...”

You rolled your eyes. “You told me once to go find what makes me happy. So—”

“Don’t.” He cut you off, voice low. “Don’t throw my words at me like you even understand, or remember them.”

You tried to move past him. He didn’t budge.

“What are you trying to find?” he asked, and the way he said it wasn’t a question. It was a knife. “A dude who’s gonna crave you? Someone who’ll sit there the whole night wondering how fast he can get you alone ? Fuck you first date ?”

“Excuse me ?”

He leaned down, his words suddenly against your ear, dark and deliberate.

“‘Cause that’s what I’d be thinking. If you walked in wearing that for me.”

Your breath caught.

His hand rose—not touching—but close enough to graze the dangling ribbon at your back.

“I’d be wondering how easy it would be to untie this,” he murmured, “and watch it slip off your shoulders. How your back would arch if I touched it a litlle. How that ponytail would bounce when—”

“Stop!” Your voice cracked.

He smiled—not kind. “Find your own thing, right? That what you told yourself?”

You hated how your knees felt weak. How your heartbeat tripped over itself.

And then he stepped back. Just like that.

“Go on, then,” he said, that smirk sharpened to cruelty. “Let’s see if he’s worth my..."

"Dress...”

You left before he could see your hands shaking.

—

You hated yourself for it.

For the way his words followed you. Sat across from you at the table, louder than the music in the restaurant, drowning out the voice of the perfectly nice boy sitting across from you.

“Someone who’ll crave you.” “Wondering how fast he can get you alone.” “I’d be thinking about untying that ribbon.”

You could still feel his breath in your ear. The ghost of his words crawling down your spine.

Your date—Eunwoo, right?—was good. Handsome. Sweet. Polite. He complimented your dress in the safest, most boring way imaginable. He held the door. He laughed at your jokes.

He didn’t touch you. Not once. Not a hand on your lower back. Not a brush of his fingers when he took your menu. Even when you stood too close outside the restaurant, post-wine warm, hoping for something— actually anythin he just gave you a soft smile and chaste kiss on your cheek.

And that was it.

Your mom would love him. She would approve the hell out of Eunwoo. But you didn’t want your mom’s approval. You wanted the thing Sunghoon had put in your head in that hallway. You wanted ugly. You wanted to be wanted.

By the time you got home, you were more than tipsy, your cherry lip gloss smudged a bit and sadly not from a kiss, your heels dangling from your fingers. And you were depressed. Actually pouting. Like some teenager with a crush. All because : safe boy didn’t even try.

You hated it.

But most of all—you hated how you couldn’t stop replaying Sunghoon’s voice, low and sure and dangerous :

"If you walked in wearing that for me…"

You yanked open the fridge, grabbed the first bottle of anything cold, and made your way to the living room.

Sunghoon was there.

Loose pajama pants. A plain t-shirt. Lounged like sin itself had found a couch and decided to stay a while, eyes lazily tracking the screen of some movie you couldn’t care less about.

Yeah. Maybe you should’ve just stayed home like him. It would’ve saved your feet. And your pride.

Big girl adventure to the big world: 0–1.

You plopped on the couch as far from him as you could get, dropping your head back like you were waiting for the ceiling to swallow you whole.

He glanced over, a smirk playing on his mouth. “What? Didn’t go how you expected?”

You hated him for that.

For the way he made you feel sexy and still caused you shame. For being the one person you wanted to lean on and vent to. For making it all feel like a game you were never going to win.

“No,” you muttered, too tired to lie. “You were right.”

“Poor little girl.” He chuckled.

But you didn’t join him. For the first time, you were unreadable—head tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. And drunk too...

“I had to tell him what to do,” you said finally, voice light, casual, but your heart was hammering. “It was… cute.”

It wasn’t smart. Lying to him.

But God, you wanted to see that composure of his break.

And it worked—his smirk faltered, the tiniest twitch in his jaw. You almost smiled in triumph.

“What?”

You shrugged lazily, feigning innocence. “He was so shy about touching me. You know… since it’s our first date.” You let the words hang, soft and teasing, and then added with a sly curl of your lips, “It actually turned me on.”

That did it.

His head turned fully now, eyes sharpening, tracking you like a predator zeroing in.

“Really?” His voice dropped—slow, deliberate, dangerous. “And what did you do then?”

You smirked back, alcohol making you bolder, reckless. “Why so curious?”

“Indulge me,” he said, each word bitten off, a demand dressed as a request.

You tilted your head, studying him through your lashes, savoring the burn of his stare. And then you told him.

A fake story.

One where you’d taken Eunwoo’s hand under the table, dragged it high up your thigh, your skirt hitched just enough to make him stutter. Where you’d leaned in close enough that your lip gloss smeared on his cheek, smiling sweetly while your words dripped filth into his ear. Where you led him outside after dinner, shoved him into his car, kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, until he forgot his own name. Where your fingers toyed with his belt, rolling your hips into him until you felt him hard through his slacks, whispering every dirty little thought you’d never dared say out loud.

“And then,” you said, smiling like you’d just confessed something scandalous, “I kissed him goodnight. Because good girls don’t go all the way first date.”

You laughed softly, wicked and tipsy, like you weren’t spilling this just to watch Sunghoon unravel.

His jaw flexed.

Sunghoon didn’t move for a long moment. He just stared at you, his gaze molten, dark.

Then he shifted forward, elbows on his knees, closing the distance until you could feel the heat of him.

“Cute,” he said finally, voice a low rasp. “You really expect me to believe that?”

You tilted your chin up, unflinching. “Believe what you want.”

His hand moved before you could flinch—fingers brushing your jaw, then dragging lazily across your bottom lip. He pressed there, thumb grazing the soft gloss like he owned it.

“You let him kiss you with this mouth?” he murmured, eyes fixed on your lips. “Let him touch you with his clumsy little hands?”

Your breath hitched. “Why do you care?”

His thumb pressed harder, enough to still your words. “Because I think you’re lying.”

You tried to pull back, but his other hand caught your wrist. “Sunghoon—”

“What else?” he cut you off, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Did you grind on him like you’re telling me? Did you make him think he was special? Did you let him put his hands all over you…” His fingers trailed deliberately down your neck, to your collarbone, where the ribbon strap met your skin. “…here?”

You couldn’t answer. And that’s when he snapped out of enjoyment.

In one swift move, he dragged you across the couch, onto his lap like you weighed nothing. You gasped, hands braced against his chest, your knees straddling him.

“Sunghoon—!”

He tilted his head, studying you like a predator. “Did it feel that good? Is that why you’re all smug now? Smiling like you’ve figured something out?”

You tried to twist away, but his grip on your hips tightened.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low and rough, “did he make you feel like me?”

You didn’t even know what to answer. Because the truth was, no. No one made you feel like this.

He felt your hesitation. Smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

And then his hands were moving, slow and possessive, tracing your thighs under the hem of the dress, dragging up until his fingers grazed dangerously close to where you were already trembling.

You whimpered, breathless, “Stop—”

But your hips betrayed you, rocking once, needy, against him.

His head dropped to your neck, lips brushing your skin as he exhaled hard. “Don’t stop,” he corrected in a low growl. “Not when you’re like this. I’ll take care of everything you need. Keep going.”

And when his fingers finally found you, hot and desperate, the rest of the world blurred until it was only you and him, lost in the kind of secret pleasure that felt too good to name.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your neck, the sound guttural, like it was pulled out of him. “You don’t even know what you’re doing...”

“Sunghoon—I…”

“S-say my name like that again,” His voice was sharp, command-like, his teeth grazing your jaw before his lips brushed it in the softest kiss that made you shiver. “It sounds like begging.”

You shuddered, hips stuttering against him. And then he couldn’t take it anymore.

You heard the rasp of his zipper before you felt him—hot, heavy, freed from his pants. He hissed as he gripped himself once, twice, and then pressed forward, grinding against you through the soaked fabric of your panties.

The drag of him against your clothed core made you cry out, the friction unbearable, filthy. He groaned into your ear, rutting slow but deep, deliberately angling his hips so you felt every thick inch of him through the thin barrier.

“God—” his voice broke, harsh and low, “—you’re so fucking wet. Through the fabric. For me.”

He pressed harder, grinding against you like he wanted to force himself inside without even bothering to move the panties out of the way.

Your breath hitched when his tip caught right at your entrance, the thin lace clinging to your skin, sticking between you and him like a boundary begging to be broken.

For one wild second, you felt him hesitate—felt him still—like he was about to push forward, about to bury himself inside you and never stop.

He almost did. He almost gave in.

For one wild second, you felt it—his cock pressed right against your entrance, like he was seconds away from shoving himself inside and taking what he wanted. But then he pulled back with a ragged breath, head falling back, his whole body trembling with restraint.

You couldn’t help yourself. You rocked against his lap again, harder this time, desperate for more of that unbearable friction through the thin layers separating you.

“Sung...hoon,” you breathed, his name spilling out like a prayer, shameless and needy.

His breath hitched, sharp and guttural. “Keep moving like that,” he growled, low and dangerous.

His hand slid lower, finding you through the damp fabric of your panties. He stilled, almost as if he needed a moment to process the state you were already in.

“Already this fucking wet?” he muttered, his voice hushed and laced with awe. “Didn’t need him at all. You realise now.”

A humiliating sound left your throat as you buried your face against his, but he wasn’t done. He hooked a finger under the soaked fabric and dragged it aside, letting the cool air kiss your swollen skin before his fingers touched you directly.

You jolted at the contact, a choked cry escaping.

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, deceptively gentle. “I’ve got you.”

And then he pushed inside—two fingers at once, stretching you open in one deliberate, relentless motion that made your whole body seize.

“Ffffuck,” you gasped, the sting morphing quickly into raw, liquid heat.

His other arm tightened around your waist, locking you against him as his fingers drove deep, slow at first, but with purpose—each curl hitting something that made your vision blur.

“Ride my hand,” he murmured into your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. “Show me how badly my little virgin needs it. My poor, neglected girl. My fucking charity case.”

Your hips moved before your brain could catch up, grinding down against his hand like you were built for it. Every time his fingers curled, pleasure tore through you like lightning, your walls clenching tight around him.

“That’s it,” he praised, his tone dark and soft, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. “Just like that. Use me.”

Your thighs quivered as he shifted, his thumb finding your clit over your panties and rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent shockwaves up your spine.

You whimpered, broken and lost, unable to form words.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, fingers buried so deep you felt every pulse of his hand inside you. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, his voice breaking into a low, dangerous growl.

“Just imagine it,” he hissed, hips rolling up into you, letting you feel exactly how hard he was through his pants. “The day I fuck you open with my cock. No fingers. No teasing. Just me, stretching this perfect little pussy until it can’t take anything else from how i'd leave you gapping.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ll ruin you,” he went on, harsher now, like he couldn’t stop himself. “Ruin you so much that when you even think of getting off, it’s me you see. Me you feel. Me you come to. No one else will ever make you this wet. No one else will ever fucking fit ever again.”

His teeth grazed your neck, a soft bite that made your hips jerk.

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching you wider, deliberately opening you as his cock kept grinding against your entrance through the soaked fabric—every thrust a filthy promise of what he’d do when he finally replaced his fingers with himself.

“I’ll keep you like this forever,” he whispered against your ear, voice trembling with obsession. “Dripping. Open. Mine.”

That was it. That was all it took. Pleasure slammed into you so hard it stole your breath, tearing you apart as his fingers worked you through it—slow, relentless, milking every twitch and spasm out of you while he held you down, whispering filth you couldn’t even process through the ringing in your head.

When you came down, breathless and shaking, he didn’t let go.

His fingers stayed inside you, slow and possessive, curling deep, gathering every tremble, every shiver you couldn’t hold back. When he finally pulled them free, it wasn’t to release you—it was to bring them to his lips. His tongue traced every drop, slow and hungry, tasting you like you were his addiction.

“God,” he breathed, voice rough and raw, “you taste like you were made for me.”

You blinked, dazed and drunk, a soft laugh slipping out, slurred and uneven. “Y-you’re crazy…”

He smirked, but there was nothing light in his eyes. “Crazy for you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you turned your head into his shoulder, mumbling nonsense, words tumbling out fast and messy, “S-Sunghoon, you can’t just… you can’t do that, makes me feel all fucked up.”

“Good fucked up,” he corrected, sliding his hand up your thigh again, stretching the thin fabric of your panties tight.

You whimpered, embarrassed but unable to hide the way your hips pressed into him.

His mouth brushed your ear, low and dangerous. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you slurred.

“That you want me to ruin you.”

Your breath caught, your body betraying you with a tiny gasp. “S-Sunghoon…”

He ground into your soaked panties harder, voice dropping to a growl, “You love being drunk, shaking, begging for me. You fucking crave it.”

You whimpered, broken and raw. “I… I like you. I really like you… so much it hurts.”

Something inside him snapped. A harsh, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips as he leaned in—his mouth hovering just over yours, not quite a kiss but more than a breath.

It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t affection. It was a warning. A promise.

You didn’t pull away.

God, he could’ve had you right then—dragged you across the line you’d been circling, ripped you into the depths of his desire and drowned you there.

But then, just like that, your body gave out.

One second your eyes were locked on his, lips parted, begging him silently to take you—

The next, you were limp.

Dead asleep.

Sunghoon froze.

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to wake you, to finish what he started, to claim what was his by right of how badly you wanted him. The image of it—of dragging you back into consciousness just to make you moan for him—clawed at his skull.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Instead, he gathered you carefully, like you were something fragile and irreplaceable, and lowered you onto the couch as though it were an altar and you were his offering. His hand stayed buried in your hair far longer than it should have, combing through soft strands with a tenderness that felt like it belonged to another man entirely—one who didn’t fantasize about ruining you.

“Stupid girl,” he muttered, but the words rang hollow. They didn’t match the weight in his chest—the hot, unbearable ache that burned every time you breathed near him.

He should’ve left. Should’ve walked out before this became something he couldn’t walk away from.

Instead, he stayed.

Sat back down beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at the faint smudge of cherry lip gloss staining the corner of your mouth—the one you’d put on for someone else—and thought about how he’d lick it off slow, taste the last trace of your sin, and leave you with nothing in your mouth but him.

And that was when he knew, you’d already ruined him.

I’ll use anyone to remind you how badly you need me—because you belong here…no matter what.

—

After that night, he couldn’t stop.

Watching you. Thinking of you. Wanting you so badly it made him restless, made him reckless.

At first, it was subtle. Eunwoo stopped texting. Stopped showing up early to practice, stopped lingering after, stopped smiling at you like he used to. When he did look, it was from across the studio, wary, like someone who’d been warned.

Sunghoon hadn’t touched him. He didn’t need to. A quiet word in the parking lot was enough.

No one else would hold you. No one but him.

And so, piece by piece, he made sure of it. No lingering touches from others. No easy smiles you could mistake for more. He closed the world off around you until there was only him. A packed schedule he could accommodate and him. Yeah, people like Sunghoon could do this much to have something they want around them.

Even if you were good at pulling people in—like sunlight, like gravity. Sunghoon? He was better at playing games. Better at making sure no one stuck.

But even as he tried to make it about control, about winning, it was crumbling inside him.

Because he wasn’t sure anymore who was pulling who. He didn’t understand why he lingered in doorways during your rehearsals, why he stayed late, silent at the back of the studio just to watch you move.

Why the thoughts came—vivid, consuming. That’s how she’d move on me. That’s how she’d look if I told her to let go.

And it wasn’t just lust. God, how he wished it were only that.

It was the way you looked at him when you thought no one saw. Wide-eyed awe when he was on the ice, soft and quiet, like you were keeping that version of him to yourself.

The way you laughed at his jokes when no one else even understood them.

The way you kept showing up—bright, infuriating, stubbornly good—until you were woven into every corner of his life.

You brought flowers to his events. Woke up early, hair a mess, barely awake, just to have breakfast with him. You pushed back when he was an ass. You stayed silent when silence was what he needed.

You’d become a habit. Then a need. And now you were an ache he couldn’t soothe, a hunger he couldn’t feed without breaking both of you.

And still, he wouldn’t name it.

Obsession?

Love?

It didn’t matter. Because you always came back. And maybe he always fell to you. The lines blurred until neither of you knew who reached first.

—

It started small.

A brush of fingers in passing. A glance that lingered too long, carrying a weight neither of you would name. Then one night, his hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you into the shadowed hallway. He pressed you against the wall—not rough, but like the space between you was unbearable.

His mouth hovered over your neck, his breath warm against your skin as if he was memorizing the shape of you before he even kissed you. And then finally, his lips on yours.

That first kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was devastatingly careful, as if he needed you to remember every second of it. I’ll be your first. And your last. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, his forehead pressed to yours when he finally pulled back. He breathed like he’d been underwater for years and you were the first air he’d ever tasted.

But restraint is a fragile thing. And that first careful kiss only made the next ones hungrier.

Soon, it was late nights on his couch. The glow of the television filling the room, though neither of you were watching. He’d study you when you weren’t looking—how the light curved over your collarbone, the way you curled up with your knees pulled close, always unaware of how completely you undid him.

Sometimes he thought he loved you most like this: from a distance, before you even touched him, when he could see all of you and know none of it belonged to anyone else but him.

His hand would slide beneath the blanket, tracing along your arm until it rested on your thigh. You’d pretend you didn’t notice, but then you’d give up pretending and climb into his lap. He’d kiss you slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you, but no patience to wait.

It wasn’t just hunger. It was knowing that no one else would ever get to see you this way. Laughing softly between kisses, whispering things you’d never say in daylight. Letting him unspool every wall you’d built and trusting he wouldn’t break what he found there.

And sometimes, he wouldn’t even move. He’d just hold you, forehead to forehead, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

Other times, you couldn’t wait. You’d drag him to your room, leaving a trail of clothes and caution behind.

And then came that night—after his skating win—when you climbed into the car, buzzing with adrenaline. He didn’t even start the engine. He pulled you straight into his lap, hands gripping your waist like you were already his prize.

“Give me my reward,” he murmured against your lips, already kissing you again like his victory didn’t mean a thing compared to this.

It stopped being simple somewhere along the way. It wasn’t just sex education, or heat between two lonely young-adults, or whatever excuse you both tried to tell yourselves. It was him burying his face in your neck, breathing you in like a prayer. It was his fingers digging into your skin like he could anchor himself to you. It was you clawing at his back, leaving marks that would stay until the next time you saw each other.

To him, you weren’t just a body beneath his hands. You were a world—a place he didn’t want to leave, didn’t know how to.

“You never stop, Hoon…” you teased, voice hoarse, fingers still curled into his shirt. He kissed your temple, lips brushing your skin like a vow. 

“You have no idea,” he whispered.

And he meant it. Not just about the wanting. But about everything.

You.

You didn’t hate yourself. Not exactly. But you weren’t the same anymore.

Still technically untouched in the way people whispered about innocence, because he waited for you to beg for it apparently. Yet, you were deeply altered, you barely recognized yourself. It wasn’t your body that had changed—it was something quieter, more treacherous.

You felt it in the way you carried yourself like nothing mattered from others pov anymore. the way your chest tightened only at the sound of his footsteps in the hall, how you counted time not in hours or days but in the stretches between his glances, his hands, his words. How you measured your worth by how much he told you about late at night, after representation...

And he gave you more than you ever thought you’d have.

The smile that only came out when no one else was around. The low, unrestrained laugh that made his whole body shake. The long, sprawling conversations where the two of you forgot where they started, drifting in and out of everything and nothing, until time didn’t exist.

He was already filling the void. You didn’t have to beg for it. He’d done it from the start—slipping into all your hollow places like he’d been made to fit them. He gave you pieces of himself that didn’t belong to the world. Pieces that felt like they only belonged to you.

And you let him.

You let him feed you every part of himself you weren’t supposed to have. His attention. His softness. His fire. His love, in every shape it came in, even when he wouldn’t say the word out loud.

It stopped being about curiosity or stolen kisses. It wasn’t “fooling around.” It was belonging—dangerously, completely—to someone who could never fully be yours.

And maybe that was what terrified you. Not the competitions. Not your parents’ expectations. Not the weight of your future pressing in like a storm.

Not even what he was doing to you. But how much you wanted it to keep going.

Until everything crashed.

It started with the realization that gutted you like glass.

That night at the dinner table, his father’s voice cold and unbending— "It’s time you stop wasting yourself, Sunghoon. We need to start arranging a proper engagement. Someone who will fit this family.”

And Sunghoon, the boy who owned every inch of your heart and every part of your body you’d dared to give him, said nothing. Just stared at his plate.

You stared at him until it burned, waiting for him to fight. To say something—anything.

But he didn’t.

And that’s when it hit you, hard and rough: how short this thing could survive. How stupidly, naively, you’d been treating it like forever.

You changed.

Stopped waiting for him in the kitchen. Stopped texting first. Stopped letting him touch you whenever he wanted like you belonged only to him. You smiled more at other people. You wore your confidence like armor—back straighter, words sharper, laugh louder.

If you were going to break, you would do it looking unshakable.

It worked.

He noticed.

He noticed when recruiters came to speak to you about opportunities. How your polite, delighted nod came too easily, how you glowed for people who weren't him. Not like you ever stopped. But now you weren’t pondering as long as before. Wasn’t shy anymore.

It made him spiral.

This wasn’t you you. Not his girl who came apart in the back of his car, who sobbed his name while his mouth was between your thighs. Now you were untouchable. Punishing him with kind smiles, polite and stand-offish.

And for the first time in his life, Sunghoon felt desperate.

You were already deep in practice when you felt it—the weight of his gaze in the mirror.

The private room you’d booked was empty except for you, the faint smell of rosin and sweat in the air, the music soft as you moved through the routine you’d been building in secret. Your hoodie was tossed to the side, leotard clinging to you, hair sticking damply to your neck.

When you stopped to catch your breath, he finally stepped inside.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said without turning, reaching for your water.

“And yet,” Sunghoon drawled, shutting the door behind him. His voice was low, like gravel. “You didn’t lock it.”

You gave him a pointed look through the mirror. “Did you need something?”

His answer came with a step closer, then another, until you could feel the heat of him at your back. “You’re working on something new.”

“Maybe.” You sipped, unbothered.

“Let me help.”

You laughed quietly. “Help? You think you can keep up?”

“I think,” he said, leaning down so his mouth brushed just beside your ear, “you’ve been avoiding me. And this is the only way I can get close.”

You turned slowly, letting your gaze drag over him, unhurried. “So you’re begging to be my partner now?”

His jaw tightened. “If that’s what it takes.”

You tilted your head, savoring the shift—the way he looked restless, desperate under your calm. “Fine,” you murmured. “But my routine. My rules.”

His eyes darkened. “Always yours.”

The music started again, low and pulsing. You placed his hands exactly where you wanted them—on your waist, not too high, not too low—forcing him to follow your lead. Each movement deliberate, teasing. Your body brushed his with every turn, your breath steady while his came rougher, uneven.

“This is what you wanted?” you asked, voice quiet but sharp, lips curving. “To be close?”

“Closer,” he rasped.

You stepped forward until your forehead nearly touched his, feeling the tremor in his grip, the way he was holding himself back. “Then keep up.”

It was intoxicating—how he let you guide him, how the boy who used to take whatever he wanted now only took what you gave.

But when he finally leaned in, lips hovering over yours, you turned your head, letting the rejection linger like a slap.

He froze. Then laughed bitterly, stepping back. “Right. That’s right. Better stopping now, huh.”

But his eyes—God, his eyes looked wrecked.

A few nights later, outside the luxury hotel where his parents’ matchmaking dinner was held, you sat with him in his car. Neither of you moved.

“You’ll be fine,” you said softly, trying to convince yourself too.

He turned to you slowly, jaw tight, and something in him snapped. His hand came up, rougher than usual, cupping your jaw like he didn’t trust himself not to break you. Then he kissed you—hungry, bruising, a kiss that tasted like grief and possession all at once.

And you didn’t stop him.

Sunghoon grabbed you by the waist, dragging you into his lap with a kind of desperation that made your breath catch. “Don’t make me go in there like this,” he rasped against your mouth, but his hands didn’t stop—already under your skirt, shoving your panties aside like they were in his way. He bit your throat hard enough to leave marks, like proof, like a warning.

Then he looked at you—eyes dark, unblinking—and slid down the seat. “Stay still,” he ordered, his voice low, wrecked. Before you could answer, he was between your thighs, tearing you open with his mouth.

He didn’t close his eyes. He ate you out like he wanted to memorize you, slow and deliberate at first, then rough, tongue and teeth working until you were gasping his name, your hands clawing at his hair. You tried to look away, but he growled, pinning your hips, forcing your gaze back to his as his tongue buried itself deeper. He wanted you to watch. Wanted you to know exactly what you did to him.

You came hard, trembling and leaking against his mouth, and he didn’t let go—didn’t leave your eyes even as you sobbed his name and tried to push him away. He only stopped when you were shaking so badly you could barely stay upright.

Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licked his fingers like he was tasting the last of you, and pocketed your panties like a trophy.

“Now,” he said, voice low and controlled in that terrifying way that meant he wasn’t, “I can face them.”

He walked into that dinner like nothing happened, blank-faced and cold.

The night blurred—polished laughter, his parents’ friends sizing him up, pretty girls with perfect smiles and empty eyes, and you sitting at the edge of it all like you weren’t burning alive.

He should’ve been beside one of them. He should’ve been smiling for them. Instead, Sunghoon sat next to you, defying the place cards like he owned the table. Blank-faced, untouchable.

You felt his hand under the table first—just resting on your knee. Then higher. Then higher still.

You shot him a warning glance, but his expression didn’t change. And when his fingers slid beneath your dress and pushed into you—slow, deliberate—you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

Your nails dug into the tablecloth, knuckles white as you fought to keep your composure. He didn’t care. He wanted you like this—silent, trembling, forced to take it while he played the perfect son for everyone else in the room.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear so gently it felt like mockery. “They want me to pick a wife,” he whispered, his fingers moving inside you with obscene patience. “But I already belong to you.”

Your eyes snapped to his, desperate to stay unfazed, but you were unraveling under his touch.

“You know that, right?” he murmured.

You nearly cried from how much you believed him.

But days later, he presented someone.

A girl—a little older, bright and naive, clinging to his arm like she’d been born to fit there. And Sunghoon smiled that old, cruel smile, the one that gutted you every time. The one that made you feel like you were just another one of his games.

It worked. You were jealous.

So you made him pay for it.

You skipped your rendezvous, fed him excuses so flimsy they were insults, and when he came crawling anyway, you told him exactly where to find you.

He missed brunches. Skipped meetings. Lied to his in-laws. You knew it. He didn’t care. He left you reeking of his cologne, his jaw shining with your taste, and pretended he was still invested in family, in his future. But you both knew—this was his altar, and you were his ruin.

The games escalated—spinning faster, darker, with no brakes.

He brought her to your galas like a prize on his arm, her bright naive smile like a slap across your face. She was a living, breathing insult, and every time she laughed or touched him, it felt like knives carving you open.

But all night, he was elsewhere—his eyes never really on her, his fingers twitching beneath the table, fingers tapping on your leg or slipping inside your thigh when no one was looking. His phone buzzed nonstop with your messages, tiny threads tying him to you in a web only you could see.

Then you appeared—wearing that burgundy dress. The one he told you never to wear again, the one that made his jaw twitch and his eyes darken.

He didn’t look away.

Not once.

By the time the gala was dying down, he’d found you—cornered you in the shadowy hallway, breath hot and rough against your ear, a low growl vibrating in his throat as he slid a cold key into your hand.

“This is yours,” he whispered.

Hours later, you were in his secret apartment—the one he called your hide.

You followed him silently down the narrow hallway, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

His apartment felt lived in but untouched—like a place that existed only for him to breathe when the rest of the world demanded his suffocation.

And then you saw them.

Pictures.

Not just him.

Of you two.

Your recital poster, pictures frozen in a frame on the shelf. A candid from some forgotten gala, you mid-laugh next to him, like he’d stolen the moment for himself. And there, beside them : photos of him and his mother…

She was beautiful, like him. Her hand on his cheek. His bright smile beside her proud one. Pieces of him he’d never shown anyone, now laid bare in front of you.

Your throat ached. “You… kept these?”

He didn’t answer at first, just watched you, just nodded, his expression unreadable and raw.

“Why?” you whispered.

“Because they’re mine,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Because you’re mine.”

You turned to him slowly, your breath shallow.

“I didn’t know…” you said, voice trembling. Your heart broke for him. You stepped closer, until your forehead pressed against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath your skin.

“God, I’m so tired…” you whispered.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, holding you still. “Me too,” he breathed.

You tilted your head up, and your lips brushed his collarbone—soft, trembling, like you were begging for him without saying it.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted. “How to be with you when everything around us feels like it’s trying to rip us apart.”

His hand cupped your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek as if memorizing it. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice shaking. “Not like I lost her. Not like I’ve lost everything else.”

You blinked up at him, tears threatening. I want you. Even if it hurts.” you whispered. “And it really fucking does.”

He lowered his forehead to yours, closing his eyes like the weight of the words was too much to bear.

“I want only you,” he said, his voice hoarse, breaking with the force of it. “Every goddamn part of you. Body and soul.”

You gasped softly, and then his mouth was on yours.

A kiss—messy, desperate. His hand at the back of your head, tilting you just so. His other arm wrapping around your waist, crushing you against him like he could fuse you into his bones if he just held you tightly enough.

You kissed him back, frantic, clawing at his shoulders, feeling the shudder of his breath as his lips moved to your jaw, your temple, your cheeks, kissing away your fear.

“Don’t—” he breathed between kisses, “don’t pull away. Don’t disappear on me.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, breathless. “Promise me—promise we won’t let go.”

His eyes opened, dark and unrelenting, and his lips found yours again—slower this time, bruising in its devotion. “I promise,” he said against your mouth. “You’re the only thing that’s real for me now.”

And you let him kiss you again, and again, until neither of you knew where one ended and the other began—until the world outside no longer existed.

—

You told no one about the overseas offer. Not your mom. Not your friends. Not even him.

But Sunghoon found out anyway—a passing comment from someone who didn’t know it would shatter him.

That night, he drove you home after rehearsal.

You fell asleep in his lap in the backseat, your cheek pressed to his thigh, ballerina bun half-undone, breathing soft and unguarded. You didn’t see the way his hand hovered above your hair, trembling, before finally settling there. Didn’t feel the quiet violence of his grip on his own knee as he stared out the window, teeth grinding, date forgotten, phone buzzing unanswered in his pocket.

He was burning, silently, the whole ride.

But what destroyed him—what truly gutted Sunghoon—was the moment he confronted you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low, too calm, the kind of calm that’s more dangerous than shouting.

You stood there in your ballerina robe, hair still damp from your shower, hugging yourself like that would keep you from splintering. “Because it doesn’t matter,” you whispered. “Maybe this… maybe this is all we’ll ever be. You can marry her. Forget me in time.”

That’s when something in him snapped.

His jaw flexed, his eyes blackened with something sharp and uncontainable, and before you could blink, he’d crossed the room.

“Don’t say that.”

It came out guttural. A warning.

And then he lost it.

He slammed you against the mirrored wall, the robe falling open as your gasp was muffled by his hand over your mouth. His other hand gripped your hip so hard you’d bruise, pinning you there as if the glass could keep you from running.

His breath was ragged against your ear—hot, uneven, almost feral.

“Say you’ll leave again,” he growled, voice shaking with fury and something far darker, “and I swear, the only stage you’ll dance on is my lap.”

You squirmed, but his body pressed you flat against the mirror, his chest crushing against yours. The glass chilled your bare back, every nerve screaming awake, every inch of you alive under the weight of him.

His lips brushed your temple, then your jaw, then hovered at your mouth—so close it was torture. “You’re mine,” he whispered, each word deliberate, a vow wrapped in a threat. “I’ll chain you to me if that’s what it takes.”

And God, you believed him.

Because his hands weren’t gentle—they worshiped like punishment. His mouth moved over your skin with a hunger that was all-consuming, breaking you down and claiming you in the same breath. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate—a boy on the edge of losing everything, holding the only thing he couldn’t afford to.

You couldn’t tell where pain ended and pleasure began.

And you didn’t want him to stop.

When it was over—when the storm had passed and the room was quiet except for the sound of both of you breathing like you’d been drowning—he finally spoke.

“You know,” he said, voice low, almost tender now, “I never planned on this. On you. I wanted simple. I wanted distance.”

You blinked up at him, still trembling.

“But then you showed up,” he continued, cupping your face like he was trying to memorize it, “and everything just… shifted. You weren’t just someone passing through. You became the only thing I couldn’t let go of. I didn’t choose to make you special—it just happened.”

His thumb brushed your lips, slow, aching.

“I think it was meant to be,” he added, quieter, like a confession meant for no one else.

You’ve really changed.

The old you would be a crying mess right now.

Or maybe you’ve just finally seen yourselves for what you are—two broken people clinging to each other like lifelines, bleeding into each other just to feel whole for a moment.

Your knees give out first. You don’t even realize you’re falling until you’re on the floor with him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. You graze your nails gently across his scalp, soothing the tremors in him as much as in yourself.

You lie there together between half-packed piles—clothes you chose to keep, clothes you were ready to leave behind—and wonder which one he is.

Should you keep him?

Should you leave him?

The thought presses into you like a bruise, deep and aching, with no easy answer.

He shifts closer, curling against you like he can sense the war in your head, silently begging you to choose him.

“Please,” he whispers again, so quiet you almost miss it. “Don’t put me in the pile you walk away from.”

And you don’t answer, because you don’t know when you’re with him. Not yet. Not tonight.

You’ll leave… but not without a goodbye.

One last thing. Like a gift. Like a memento to your first meeting.

An original piece. Dedicated to your first love.

To Sunghoon.

You lock yourself in the studio, pouring every ounce of yourself into it—every memory, every wound, every brush of his fingers against yours. You choose a partner who moves like him—not the same, but close enough to help you tell the story. Your story. His story.

You choose a song that aches with everything you can’t say out loud. Cellophane by FKA twigs.

— 

It’s the final night.

Sunghoon sat frozen in the front row, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a storm he couldn’t escape. The golden light bathed you—his world—turning your trembling form into something both fragile and fierce. You weren’t just performing for the crowd; you were performing for him, and only him.

He could feel the music sinking deep, each note dragging up memories he tried to bury. Your dance wasn’t just movement. It was a confession, raw and unfiltered, burning through the silence between you.

“Didn’t I do it for you?” Your body spoke the words he couldn’t say.

“Why don’t I do it for you?” You reached for something beyond the stage—beyond the crowd—to him.

“Why won’t you do it for me?” The ache in your voice cracked his heart wide open.

Tears slipped down his cheeks—silent, uncontrollable. He tried to blink them away, but they fell anyway, warm and real, blurring the golden light like rain on glass. The world around him dissolved until it was just the two of you—no audience, no noise—only you, right there in front of him, dancing through his thoughts.

Every movement you made echoed inside his mind. He could almost feel your breath, hear the quiet catch in your throat, smell the faint trace of your perfume mixed with sweat. Your skin, painted gold, glimmered under the lights as if you were some kind of fragile flame he was desperate not to lose.

“But I, just want to feel you’re there And I don’t want to have to share our love I try but I get overwhelmed When you’re gone, I have no one to tell.”

The ribbon slipping loose at your throat felt like a final breaking of barriers—bare, exposed, real. When you mouthed those words, I love you, it wasn’t just a whisper—it was a scream wrapped in silence, tearing through the distance between you.

“They’re waiting. They’re watching. They’re watching us. They’re hating. They’re waiting. And hoping. I’m not enough.”

For a heartbeat, Sunghoon felt the weight of the whole world lift, and he almost reached for you. Almost stood. Almost closed that impossible gap. But then the lights died, plunging everything into darkness. The moment shattered like glass.

And yet, even in the dark, you were still there—in his head, in his heart—the only thing keeping him alive as tears continued to fall, unbidden and relentless. It had always been just the two of you, hadn’t it? No matter how far you ran, no matter the silence or the pain, you were his truth.

He stayed seated, broken and trembling, because you—you—had danced your soul straight into his, and nothing would ever erase that.

You slipped away from the applause, avoiding the cameras, the congratulations, your mother’s fake smile, his dad's catalogue of people to sit with. 

Only Sunghoon’s phone buzzed once, with a message: 

Meet me at our place.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t even breathe right when he got there—just stormed in like a man still drunk on you, on that stage, on the sight of you bleeding your soul out under the spotlight. His lungs burned like he hadn’t stopped running since the curtain fell, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You sat on the couch, still in that golden dress, the paint smeared, the ribbon loose around your neck like a noose someone had already cut. You didn’t even flinch when he stopped in front of you, looming, silent.

For a long moment, he just stared. His chest heaved. His eyes were red—not just wet, but raw, swollen, like the tears had started at the theater and hadn’t stopped.

Then he was on you.

No words. No hesitation. His hands grabbed you like he was terrified you’d vanish—digging into your arms, your waist, your hair. He kissed you like it hurt, like every touch was a scream, crushing his mouth to yours so hard your teeth clicked. It was messy, wet, and desperate.

"I love you," he hissed between kisses, but it didn’t sound like love—it sounded like a curse, like something choking him alive. 

"I love you, I fucking love you, you hear me?"

The dress tore—not slid, not slipped—tore in his fists as if he couldn’t stand anything between you and him. He shoved you back against the couch, the cushions biting at your shoulder blades, his weight caging you in, unrelenting.

"No one gets you like this," he growled, voice low and broken, like the last thread of him was snapping. "No one but me. No one. You’re mine—do you get that? Mine."

You didn’t answer, couldn’t. He didn’t give you room to. His mouth was everywhere—your jaw, your throat, biting until it burned, marking you like he needed the world to see.

It was rough. Frantic. Almost punishing. His hips slammed into yours, each thrust so deep you gasped for air, but he didn’t slow, didn’t let up. Every movement screamed stay, screamed don’t leave me, screamed all the words he couldn’t say without destroying himself.

"You think you can dance like that for me and walk away?" His forehead pressed to yours, sweaty hair falling into his eyes, his breath jagged and hot. "You think you can leave me like that? I can’t—" His voice broke. "—I can’t survive you leaving me."

You felt him tremble against you, the sound of him unraveling—a ragged, animalistic thing—as if he’d rip himself open before he let you go.

"I don’t care if it’s wrong," he gasped, a broken prayer as his teeth grazed your shoulder. "I don’t care if it ruins me."

And then softer, hoarse, almost childlike in its helplessness: "You’re all I have. You’re… you’re home to me."

He didn’t even let you get a word out before he dragged you beneath him, the couch groaning under the force of it, his body pinning you like a weight you couldn’t escape—not that you wanted to. His hands were everywhere, gripping your wrists, your thighs, your face like he couldn’t decide where to hold you first.

You fought him—not to push him away, but to pull him closer, twisting and clawing at him, your nails dragging down his back hard enough to make him hiss. You rolled him over, straddling him, golden paint smearing against his skin, and slammed yourself down on him like you wanted to break both of you open.

"Don’t let me go," you gasped, voice shaking, forehead pressed to his as you moved over him with a pace that was more defiance than rhythm. "Don’t you fucking let me go, Sunghoon."

His grip was bruising on your hips, fingers digging in like claws. "I can’t," he bit out, thrusting up into you so hard you lost your breath. "I won’t. You’re not leaving me—not after this. Not ever."

"Good," you choked, grinding down on him, chasing that unbearable mix of pain and pleasure that only he gave you. "Make me never forget. Do you hear me? Never. I don’t want to find anyone else good after you. I don’t want anyone else—just you. Just you."

That snapped something in him.

He grabbed the back of your neck, yanking you down so his mouth was at your throat. "You want me to ruin you?" he growled, voice so low it scraped against your skin. "You want to be mine forever? Say it."

"Mark me," you begged, raw and shaking. "Do it. Mark me so I never forget you."

He bit you—deep. No hesitation. His teeth sank into the soft flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to make you cry out, the pain and pleasure blurring until you couldn’t tell which one was making you tremble.

"Mine," he whispered against the bite, breath hot and ragged. "You’re fucking mine. And I’m never letting you forget it."

You rode him harder, nails digging into his chest, the two of you moving like you wanted to consume each other whole—like this wasn’t love or even lust, but survival, the only way to keep breathing in a world that had already taken too much.

He didn’t stop at one mark.

The first bite left a deep welt, skin swelling under his teeth, but Sunghoon didn’t even lift his head—he kept his mouth on you, licking the bite, then sinking his teeth in again, lower this time, near your collarbone. You arched into it, letting him carve himself into you with his mouth, with his hands, with every brutal thrust of his hips.

"More," you sobbed, voice shaking apart. "Do more. Don’t stop. I want to feel you everywhere."

His breath hitched at that, almost like a sob, and you felt it—the tremor in his chest, the way his body shuddered under yours. You pulled back just enough to see his face, and it wrecked you: tears streaming down his cheeks, wetting his lashes, raw grief and need carved into his features.

"You’re crying," you whispered, half-broken yourself.

"Shut up," he choked, pulling you back down so your mouths met, his tears smearing against your lips as he kissed you like a man on the edge of falling apart. "You don’t get it—I can’t lose you. I can’t. If you leave, I’ll fucking die."

"Then don’t let me," you gasped against his mouth, grinding down on him, every movement rougher, more desperate. "Keep me here. Hurt me if you have to. Just make me yours. All the way."

Something inside him shattered at that. He flipped you onto your back, the couch creaking, and drove into you like he was trying to brand his shape into your body, his tears falling onto your face, mixing with your own. He kissed them away, then bit your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, until your skin was a map of his possession.

"Mine," he kept saying, voice breaking between thrusts. "Mine. Mine. Say it."

"Yours," you sobbed, clawing at his back, leaving deep red streaks. "Only yours. Please—don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you."

He bit you again—your shoulder, your chest, the soft skin just under your jaw—marks that would stay for days, reminders you couldn’t wash away. His pace was ruthless, unrelenting, until you were sobbing beneath him, shaking, unable to tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

When you came, it felt like drowning, like falling off the edge of the world, and he followed right after, collapsing onto you, shaking so hard you had to hold him in place. He buried his face into your neck, his tears wet against your skin as his breathing slowed into ragged, broken gasps.

"Don’t leave," he whispered again, quieter this time, like a prayer. "Don’t leave me."

You held his head against you, fingers in his sweat-soaked hair, kissing the crown of it. "I won’t," you promised, even if you both knew it was a lie.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, shaking, forehead pressed to your shoulder as if his body needed to remember what it was like to breathe. When he finally pulled out, it wasn’t to leave you—it was to scoop you up.

Sunghoon gathered you in his arms, as if you weighed nothing, as if you were something precious he couldn’t risk dropping. His steps were unsteady, his chest still heaving, but he carried you through the dim apartment until you reached his bedroom. He laid you down carefully on the bed, the gold of your smeared costume glowing faintly in the low light, then climbed in behind you.

"On your hands and knees," he said, voice hoarse, still raw with tears.

You obeyed, body heavy, but his hands softened, gliding up your spine—slow, reverent. He traced the curve of your back with his fingertips, down to the small of it, almost like he was memorizing the lines of you. You shivered at his touch, and he couldn’t help but think about how it used to be the other way around—how you once trembled beneath him because you were scared of how much he wanted you. But now?

Now he was the one trembling.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he rasped, leaning forward so his lips brushed the nape of your neck. "You think I’m in control, but I’m not. I’m fucking lost in you."

You pushed back against him, arching just enough for him to slide back into you. He groaned—broken, guttural—and sank in to the hilt, holding there like he needed to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.

"Please," you whispered, voice cracking, "don’t stop. Make me remember. Make me never want anyone else."

His grip tightened on your hips. "You’ll never forget me," he said, each word deliberate, a promise and a threat. He pulled back, then drove into you hard enough to make the bed creak, setting a brutal, claiming pace.

"You want me to mark you?" he growled, leaning over you, teeth scraping your shoulder.

"Yes—God, yes," you gasped, pressing your face into the sheets. "Bite me. Claim me. I want to feel you for days."

He bit you again, deeper than before, until you cried out—his tears wetting your skin as his mouth lingered on the mark. He was trembling so badly now you could feel it in every thrust, every kiss pressed between his broken whispers.

"Say it," he demanded, voice wrecked. "Beg for me."

"Please," you sobbed, reaching back to clutch at his hand where it gripped your hip. "Please, Sunghoon. Don’t pull out. Cum in me. Make me yours. I need it—I need all of you."

That undid him. He snapped, slamming into you harder, rougher, until the room filled with the sound of your bodies colliding and your broken voices tangling together. He buried himself deep as he came, groaning against your ear, his whole body shuddering as if the release tore something out of him.

He stayed like that—inside you, pressed against your back—panting into the hollow of your shoulder, his tears soaking your skin.

"You’re mine," he whispered again, quieter now, like he was trying to convince himself. "Even if it kills me, you’ll always be mine."

And you reached back, threading your fingers into his hair, whispering, "I know."

—

The morning sun felt cruel.

Sunghoon woke to the pale wash of light spilling through half-closed curtains, the sheets still warm where your body had been. He reached for you instinctively, hand brushing only cool fabric.

His stomach dropped.

The quiet was too sharp. No shower running, no soft hum of you moving in the kitchen. Just emptiness.

He sat up too fast, head pounding, hair a chaotic mess that fell into his eyes. His body ached everywhere—especially his collarbone, a sharp sting that made him flinch when his fingers brushed it. He pushed the collar of his shirt aside and saw it: a deep crescent of teeth marks, swollen and raw. You had marked him, too.

"Fuck," he muttered, heart climbing into his throat.

He stumbled out of bed, barely bothering to throw on a hoodie, bare feet hitting the cold floor as he made his way through the apartment. It felt foreign without you, like he’d woken up somewhere unfamiliar.

Then he saw it.

On the coffee table, beside an empty glass you’d used the night before, sat a single envelope. His name—just Sunghoon—in your handwriting.

His chest tightened.

He didn’t open it right away. He couldn’t. His fingers hovered over the paper, frozen. As if touching it might make this real. Finally, he tore it open with trembling hands.

Hoon,

If you’re reading this, it means I left. It means I didn’t have the courage to wake you and see your face when I said goodbye. You would’ve stopped me, and I would’ve let you.

I love you. God, I love you so much it eats me alive. From the moment you first touched me on that rooftop, I stopped being an empty object and became yours, almost mine. You didn’t just fill the emptiness in me.You made me feel alive. Brave. Like I was worth the attention.

But I can’t stay. Not now. If I do, we’ll burn each other until there’s nothing left. And yet leaving feels like ripping out my own heart.

You once told me to, “Go. Find what pleases you.” huh ? 

So I’m going to try. For me, for once. Even though all I want is you.

This isn’t the end, let’s hope. One day, I want to meet you again. On a different stage, as different people. Versions of us who can love each other without destroying everything around us and hurt people. 

Until then, I need you to let me go. Don’t come looking. Please. If you love me the way I love you, let me be brave.

I left you something, a piece of me. A Polaroid of your mark. It hurts for now and I love it, Sunghoon. I want to keep feeling it for as long as I can, because it means I’m still yours. And when the numbness comes and I know it will. I’ll cling to the hope that you won’t forget me like I’ll never forget you.

We were both paranoid somehow. We both need to grow up. To become decent adults. But maybe that’s why it mattered. Maybe that’s why it will always do. You were my first, and you’ll be my most memorable love.

I love you Sunghoon.

Yours. Always Yours.

—-

He read it once.

Twice.

A third time, the words blurring as his vision burned.

Sunghoon sank to the floor, the letter dangling from his hand, his back pressed to the cold leg of the couch. He sat there for hours, the world moving outside his apartment while his stayed frozen, your words ricocheting inside his skull.

"I will always be yours."

He traced the bite mark on his collarbone, pressing it hard until the sting bloomed—proof you’d been here, proof you’d been real.

And still, you were gone.

It was the end.

For how long ?

Thank you so much for reading, my loves!!!

I know this dropped later than expected—sorry for the wait! It’s actually my longest fic yet, originally split into three parts, but I decided to merge it into one big plunge. I didn’t get to proofread as closely as usual, so if it’s a bit chaotic... maybe that’s part of the story. The playlist? A little slice of my soul. I hope it hit just right.

I’m still anxious, though... I wanted the emotions to land the way they felt inside me while writing. Both Sunghoon and the MC carry their own scars, and I leaned into that heaviness—into trauma bonding, lust as a distraction, desire as escape. Messy, flawed, maybe not healthy… but deeply human.

This story is a reflection of something I believe deeply: even the darker moments help shape us. They may not be pretty, but they’re real. And real things have a way of leaving marks.

So if it stirred anything in you—don’t just lurk. Reblog, comment, talk to me. Show me you were here with me~

Yours dearly Lassie

MASTERLIST

-------------------------------------------------------

Jeno had both his palms pressed firm against the car, back arched just slightly, the leather of his jacket creaking as he turned his head toward you, gaze heavy. You thought you could tease him—run that filthy mouth, touch him under the table during dinner, lick your fingers extra slow like he wouldn’t notice. But now?

“Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’ll fuck you right here,” Jeno growled under his breath, eyes flicking to the empty street, then back to you. “Bent over this car, face down on the hood, skirt around your waist—let everyone passing by see who this pussy belongs to.”

Your breath hitched, heat pooling between your legs. Jeno could see it—how turned on you were by the idea. That wicked smirk curved his lips as he stepped closer, pressing the front of his jeans against you. You could feel how hard he was already.

“You feel that?” he whispered, grinding against you just enough to make your knees wobble. “That’s what you’re beggin’ for. Don’t care if it’s in the open. I’ll fuck the brat outta you with your panties shoved in your mouth so no one hears you scream.”

Jeno didn’t care that people might walk by. And honestly? Right now—you didn’t either.

He didn’t wait another second.

One harsh tug to your wrist and you were stumbling after him, heart pounding, heels clicking on the pavement as he yanked the back door open. You barely had time to breathe before he shoved you inside. The door slammed. The world outside blurred. Everything now was him.

He stayed standing for a second, towering over you from the open door, belt already undone.

“On your knees,” he rasped. “Now.”

You scrambled between the seats, breath caught, hands trembling with anticipation as you knelt on the car floor. Jeno dragged his jeans down just enough, his cock already hard and twitching, glistening at the tip.

“Open wide, baby,” he smirked, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Wanna see how much you missed this.”

You obeyed—lips wrapping around him, tongue swirling slow, deep. His head dropped back with a hiss, hand tangling in your hair. You moaned around him as he began to thrust shallowly into your mouth, letting you take him inch by inch.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice dark and heavy. “Look at you… fuckin’ made for this. Sloppy little mouth wrapped around my cock in the back of a goddamn car.”

The windows were fogging, the city still alive outside, but in here? Nothing else existed but the filthy sounds of you sucking him off… and his filthy promises of what he’d do to you after.

His breathing turned ragged, jaw clenched tight as your mouth worked him over—wet, messy, eager. But suddenly, his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you off with a pop.

“Fuck… that mouth,” he growled. “But I’m not coming until I’m inside you.”

Before you could blink, Jeno spun you around and bent you over the seat. Your cheek pressed to the leather, skirt hiking up, no panties underneath—just as he liked. The cool air hit your soaked heat, and he let out a low, hungry sound.

“You really came out like this?”

“You wanted me to lose control, didn’t you?”

He dragged the tip of his cock through your folds, teasing, coating himself in your slick. Then without warning—he slammed into you.

You gasped, one hand gripping the seatbelt for balance as he started thrusting, deep and punishing. His hand clamped over your mouth, hips snapping against your ass with every thrust, car rocking slightly with the force.

“Keep quiet,” Jeno hissed against your ear. “Unless you want someone to hear you getting fucked like a slut in the parking lot.”

You were already close—his words, the risk, the feeling of being so completely his again setting your nerves on fire.

“So tight…” he grunted. “Bet no one else ever made you drip like this.”

Your body shook with every thrust, and when his hand slipped down to rub your clit—

You came. Hard. Legs trembling. Mouth biting into his palm to stay quiet.

And Jeno didn’t stop until he was buried deep inside you, groaning against your back, filling you up completely.

psa: reader and haechan grew up in the same foster home, and are not actual siblings.

The shiny floors of the lobby clicked beneath your heels. Probably louder than usual given you were stomping. The woman behind the front desk took one look at you and panicked, quickly rising to her feet as you approached, and said, “Ma’am, please let me announce you.”

“I don’t need to be announced to my husband,” you countered, shoving the doors open.

Hovering over his desk, Haechan lifted his eyes when you stormed into his office. He did a quick scan of you from head-to-toe, and liked what he saw if the smirk on his lips was any indication. He quite enjoyed the sight of you hurdling toward him like a freight train.

You slammed the papers on his desk, between his splayed hands, and said, “Sign these.”

And to the surprise of no one, he replied, “No.”

“Haechan, sign the goddamn papers.”

“Suck my dick.”

You threw up your hands and asked, “Do you seriously want a drawn-out court case? Do you have any idea how expensive that’s going to be?”

“I have plenty of money,” Haechan argued coolly. “And, thanks to me, so do you.”

“Go to hell,” you spat angrily, white hot rage flooding through your chest that he was just so… unaffected. You wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him, but you knew he would love that.

Haechan stood upright, grabbed the papers, and walked over to his shredder, feeding them into it. The loud grinding of gears filled the small space and once it finished, harsh silence filled the void.

You watched Haechan saunter toward you, closing the distance. His eyes were alight with mischief, as usual, while you glared at him in defiance and folded your arms.

“Long time no see, darling,” he purred, blatantly eyeing you.

“Don’t try to butter me up, dear. I want a divorce.”

Haechan shrugged. “Well, we don’t always get what we want.”

You took a step toward him, refusing to back down, and said, “You can’t keep me married to you.”

Haechan’s eyes fell to your lips and you could see that he was seriously considering kissing you. He quickly abandoned that thought, but leaned in, meeting your eyes again, and whispered under his breath, “Watch me.”

You bristled with frustration. “This isn’t fair.”

“Don’t talk to me about fair,” Haechan said, tilting his head cutely. Anything he could do to get under your skin. “I made you a deal from the jump.”

Your jaw clenched. Some of your bravado fizzled out when you remembered the last time you’d seen your husband, a month ago. When you told him you were drafting up divorce papers. “I’m not going to apologize,” you seethed through your teeth.

“Then I’ll see you in court.”

You bit your lip. He was beyond infuriating. You always felt like you were a step behind him, always. Throughout your relationship, Haechan played you like an instrument. He could make you do almost anything he wanted; and then convince you it was your idea in the first place. It was no wonder he was such a good lawyer, using his skills to get your brothers out of trouble.

You’d had enough and tried to disentagle yourself from your husband. Obviously, that wasn’t going well, so you tried to do the one thing he didn’t expect.

You braced your hands on Haechan’s waist and backed him against the desk, hard enough to earn yourself a grunt from his pretty lips. Drifting your fingers to his belt, you spoke coyly, “I want to negotiate a new deal.”

Haechan snorted, but his eyes were on your hands unfastening his pants. “What do you have in mind, darling?”

You reached in and grabbed him, peering up at your husband with heat as you fisted his cock. “Sign the papers and I’ll make you feel good.”

He played dumb. “How?”

You smirked and dropped to your knees.

Now, to your credit, Haechan never anticipated this move, but he wasn’t mad about it. He viewed your filing for divorce as the start of a chess match, and behaved accordingly. He had no doubt he would win, but he also kept in mind the queen was the deadliest piece on the board.

Haechan sank his teeth into his bottom lip, fighting a grin at how impatiently you dragged his pants down around his ankles. He gripped the edge of the desk behind him and teased, “You look so good on your knees.”

Your eyes had been glued to his cock, which was hardening in your hands like clockwork, but you shot him a scowl at that and snapped, “Don’t talk. It dries me up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You parted your lips and steered him into your mouth, focusing on the head with your tongue. You’d barely gotten him into your throat and a shudder rushed through your husband’s body. Still sensitive as ever. You loved that about him. He never got used to your touch.

Haechan tipped his head back and let out a staggered whimper, like he was trying his best to keep it at bay and failed, and one of his hands came round to fist in your hair. You liked when he pulled on your strands, so you let him do as he pleased. For now.

You sat at his feet, pliant and pretty for him, gazing up at him with teary eyes as if you were made just for his use. You knew he liked that, and you wanted him to bend to your will.

Haechan guided your head back and forth slowly, sinking his cock into your wet mouth until your lips sealed around the base of him. “Fuck,” he growled, pumping himself into your throat a little faster and you tapped on his thigh.

You sucked in a breath when he pulled himself from your mouth and coughed, blinking the tears from your eyes. You shifted your weight on your knees, very aware of the dampness in your panties, and finally looked up at your husband.

“Open up,” he whispered, bringing your head forward with his hand in your hair.

“Can I hold onto you?” you asked shyly, as if you weren’t currently sucking him dry like rent was due.

Haechan smiled at you being so submissive. “Of course,” he said, always rewarding your surrender with gentleness.

You reached for him, settling your hands on his hips as you took him in your mouth again, eagerly swallowing him down. The room filled with the wet squelches of his dick thrusting into your throat and soon, his endless stream of quiet moans. You hated how much you liked listening to his noises, but you couldn’t help the vicious clenching between your thighs. You dared not touch yourself though, and kept your hands on his hips.

Haechan gave a few last jagged thrusts, grabbed your hair with both hands, and emptied his load into your mouth, easing himself on your tongue until you’d licked him clean. Meanwhile, he made sure to whisper, “Good girl…. That’s my girl.”

You shivered at those words. They always made unspeakable memories rush back to you.

Your husband finally released your hair as you rocked back on your heels. You wiped at your wet cheeks and mouth, until Haechan slipped his fingers under your chin and raised your head to make you look at him again. Fucking hell, he thought. You were the most beautiful thing in the world. He touched your cheek affectionately and rasped, “You’re so stupid, darling.”

Expecting praise, you blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You sucked me dry after I shredded the papers.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glared at him as you realized that you had lost any and all leverage at the moment. You were so fucking turned on that you were prepared to confess to him that you weren’t nearly dumb enough and he should fuck you stupid, just to make sure.

You shook your head, hoping to rattle your traitorous brain back to its senses, but your pussy was in control at the moment, and she was livid. And horny.

Haechan watched the wheels turning in your head as he fastened his pants and taunted, “Just admit it. You wanna fuck me so bad.”

You clambered to your feet shakily and hissed, “I fucking hate you.”

“Sure you do,” your husband said dismissively. “See you at home.”

You glared daggers at him as Haechan circled back around his desk, going about his day as if you hadn’t just given him the blowjob of his life. “You owe me a new deal,” you eventually said.

“I owe you a nut. No more, no less.”

You seethed with anger, but didn’t dare humiliate yourself further and trudged out of his office in defeat.

The moment the door closed behind you and he was alone again, Haechan collapsed into his chair and heaved a big breath, muttering, “Holy shit.” It had taken all of his willpower to hide just how bad he’d been shaking.

He propped his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, wondering what in the hell he was going to do to remedy the situation he’d caused.

Your car idled in the driveway of a familiar house for almost twenty minutes. You stared at the unassuming two-story home, nearly identical to the dozens of others in the neighborhood. For a while, you lost yourself to the memories.

If you divorced Haechan, another chapter of your life would come to a close. Oh well, you thought. All good things must come to an end.

Says who? Haechan’s voice echoed in your mind. He never subscribed to such ideas. There was no rule that said life couldn’t be good - and stay good - forever.

Loss was nothing new to you, but it was the loss of your brothers that made your chest hurt. They worked very closely with Haechan. He would win them in the distribution of assets, for sure.

You sighed deeply. It didn’t change all the history you had with your family. The kids nobody wanted, that was your lot. Once upon a time, you’d been among the worst; an untamed hellion of a girl who wanted to damage herself and those around her as much as she could until there was nothing left.

It was the only way to take back control.

Haechan had saved you from yourself, and for that you would always love him.

You glanced down at your phone and reread his text for the millionth time. Not long after you’d left his office, Haechan had messaged you, Wait for me at home. Please. We can talk.

You’d responded, Fine. And left it at that. Truly, you wanted to talk to him more than anything. That’s how this ridiculous stalemate had begun in the first place. The bridges of communication between you and Haechan had inexplicably broke down.

Actually, not that inexplicable. Haechan was burning them down and you didn’t understand why.

Thinking about the big fight that led to you kicking your husband out, you shook your head and decided the three boys inside would be a good distraction. You hopped out of the car, dragged yourself onto the porch, and lifted your hand to knock, but the door swung open before you could.

Mark was already flashing you that big smile of his. “We had a bet going on how long you would sit in your car,” he said with a tiny laugh.

You rolled your eyes. “And Jaemin won?”

“Jaemin won.”

You snorted and slumped into your brother’s waiting arms, huffing, “Bunch of fuckers. All of you.”

Mark chuckled, patting your back as he hugged you tightly.

You were ushered into the warm kitchen and landed in a heap in the chair pulled out for you at the dining table. Jaemin was regaling your siblings about some drama with the neighbors while Jeno poured glasses of wine. You muttered a soft “thank you” when he slid a glass your way.

A few glasses later, you said, “He’s right though. I am an idiot.”

The conversation had inevitably turned to your marriage with Haechan. It went without saying that your brothers were very invested in how things would end.

“You really went to his office just to blow him?” Jeno exclaimed, putting his glass to his lips.

“I was trying to negotiate,” you said innocently.

“Yeah,” Jaemin said, lingering on the word. “Not your best move.”

“Tell me about it,” you droned, tossing back more wine, but it did nothing to dull the embarrassment you felt at being outmaneuvered.

Mark drunkenly spoke up, “I think it’s a great move.”

All eyes shifted to him and his rosy cheeks.

Mark glanced around the table and said awkwardly, “We men are simple creatures.”

You giggled while Jaemin and Jeno bobbed their heads in agreement.

A soft buzz settled in and the familiar symphony of laughter filled the kitchen, although one voice was missing. You sat with your brothers until night fell, reminding you of all the years you spent with them, talking till the sun came up.

Nobody knew you like they did. This was your safe space, the place where part of your heart would always live; the only good piece of you that existed.

“Divorce does seem a bit extreme, though,” Mark started, his eyes batting sleepily. “I mean, did you guys even try couples therapy?”

“You can’t convince someone who knows everything to go to therapy,” you replied, your voice filled with disdain. Therapy had been one of your first suggestions, but Haechan would rather dig to hell with his bare hands than be vulnerable with a stranger.

“Good point,” said Jeno. He was probably the most similar to Haechan in that regard. They had so many wounds from the past. Talking about it didn’t make them go away, especially when they’d spent so much time trying to forget.

Jaemin scratched his head. “You guys got married so young. You had to know that as you got older you’d hit some bumps in the road. Why are you ready to throw in the towel now?”

“I can handle bumps in the road. Shit, I can handle mountains, but I don’t want to handle them by myself. A marriage is supposed to be a partnership - that’s what we promised each other,” you said softly, stopping when you remembered the day you married Haechan. Sorrow filled you then. You’d both been so happy.

“What changed?” Mark asked carefully.

You stared at your glass of wine, swirling it slightly. You knew Mark probably heard Haechan’s side; they were best friends as well as brothers. Mark was the only person Haechan confided in. Not you. He only showed you his best side, his perfect side. But you’d bared your soul to Haechan and it killed you that he wouldn’t reciprocate.

“Nothing, I guess,” you finally admitted, your voice quiet as if shame had taken over. “We were always like this, but I was too in love to notice. Now, I see everything and… he won’t let me in. I feel like I don’t know him anymore.”

“You left, because you wanted him to come after you.”

You could hear the sympathy, but also the sharp edge of Mark’s voice. It was a statement and an accusation, and you knew then and there Haechan had come to that conclusion himself and shared it with his best friend. Maybe he hoped one day Mark would get the chance to voice it to you.

Once again, refusing to do it himself.

“My ears are burning,” announced Haechan as he walked in.

You ignored him as he took off his shoes and slipped out of his coat. When he marched right up to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, you grimaced dramatically.

“Honey, I’m home,” said your husband cutely.

You deadpanned, “How was work?”

“Great. I got my dick sucked.”

You’d walked right into that one. Sneering, you so badly wanted to swing at his head. But he’d probably like that.

Haechan skipped away victoriously and poured himself a drink.

One-by-one, your brothers found excuses to leave you alone with your husband. The wine made you warm and relaxed, so you didn’t put up much of a fight. You sat across from Haechan at the table, watching him throw back a shot of something heavy, and tensed with just how goddamned attractive he was.

Your heart was mad at him. Your brain demanded you sever all ties to him for the sake of your peace. But god, your body wanted him so badly you couldn’t fathom going another night without bouncing on it.

All of which was made much worse by alcohol. You felt lighter, more at ease, and you realized too late you were now at a serious disadvantage when dealing with your husband. He could argue circles around you to begin with. Now, you were weighed down with wine. You were practically putty in his hands.

“You look drunk,” Haechan finally spoke to you, his eyes clouded.

“I’m not that drunk,” you shot back impatiently, avoiding his stare. You were going to hang onto your anger if it killed you.

“I can’t fuck you if you’re wasted.”

That snatched the wind right out of you. You looked everywhere but at him, knowing you would make a fool of yourself. “No one is asking you to,” you said, your voice low.

“That’s why you came back,” Haechan said calmly, spinning his glass of wine before taking a sip. His tone was red hot with mockery when he added, “You can hate me all you want, but you can’t stay off this dick.”

“Don’t be mean,” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“Why not?” Haechan reached across the table and snatched your hand, proceeding to play with your fingers. “You leave me. You threaten me with divorce. But I’m not allowed to be a little mean?”

You exhaled loudly. His hands on yours was ruining you. You wanted him to drag you across the table and take you in his arms, holding you until your heart healed. However long that took. But he had a point and so you surrendered. “You’re right. Be as mean as you want. I can take it.”

Haechan scoffed. He looked down at your hand and grabbed your ring finger, spinning your wedding band that he’d slid on your finger the day you married him, and whispered, “Feel this?”

“Yes.”

“You know what it means?”

“I know what it means.”

Haechan grabbed your hand tight and hissed, “It means if you wanna get out of this marriage, you’ll have to kill me.”

You tried to yank your hand back, but you were no match for his strength on the rare times he wanted to exert it. “Let go.”

Haechan shook his head. “Never.”

You glanced toward the table and watched him lace his fingers through yours, stroking his thumb over your hand gently as if he wasn’t ripping you to pieces with his words. Before you could stop it, tears slipped down your cheeks and you quickly used your free hand to wipe them away.

“Don’t cry, darling,” your husband cooed.

“I can cry if I want to,” you told him petulantly, like a fussy child. You chastised yourself for sounding so pathetic and groaned, “Fucking merlot.”

Haechan chuckled darkly and brought your hand to his lips, pressing one kiss after another across your knuckles.

Your eyes widened. Damn it. His soft lips reached your wrist and his kisses turned to nibbles then to suckling. You shifted in your chair, because you were flying at breakneck speed toward insanity. With his guard down, you ripped your hand away and whined, “We’re supposed to be talking.”

Haechan smirked, licking his lips. “I think you should take me upstairs and have your way with me,” he said shamelessly. “I owe you an orgasm.”

You let your head fall back and groaned. “Sex is not going to fix this.”

“I know that, but sex can at least do something about this tension,” he said matter-of-factly, and when you opened your mouth to argue, your husband cut you off, “You want it. Don’t even try to lie. I can see it’s eating you alive.”

It was the truth. You missed him so badly your body ached for him.

You were at the end of your rope. He was making you crazy with lust. Haechan always knew exactly what to say and do. You swung around to finally face him and said, “If I do this, you’ll meet me halfway with the divorce.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

You swore at him and got to your feet, heading upstairs to the room you shared with him. Haechan was right behind you, noting your steady gait. You notoriously stumbled all over the place when you were really drunk, but you seemed to have sobered pretty well in the past few minutes. Surely he didn’t have anything to do with that.

When you stepped into your room, Haechan slipped in behind you and shut the door, just as you wanted. You turned to him and he backed you into the wall, cornering you with his body against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat and stammered his name, but any other words died on your lips when Haechan pressed a kiss to your neck.

“I just think there’s a more…,” you trailed, eyes fluttering at his hot mouth tracing under your jaw. “Amicable way for us to handle this.”

“I agree,” Haechan said blithely, lilting back to start unbuttoning your shirt.

Your body heated up by a thousand degrees. You watched him undressing you and stammered, “But you won’t… compromise with me on anything.”

Haechan tossed your shirt to the floor and then went to work on your jeans. His eyes were on the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. “Give me something I can compromise with,” he replied, calm as ever. “You keep asking for things I can’t give.”

“But that’s…,” you hesitated, his lips back on your neck, sucking right over your thundering pulse. Sanity was throwing itself out the window. His hands palmed at your breasts, slowly but surely taking off your bra.

“I’ve been counting down the days till I could fuck you again,” Haechan said in a low growl, kissing his way across your collarbone.

“I want that,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. You quickly cleared your throat and lied, “I-I mean, I want us to talk things out. You know, in between fucking.”

Haechan’s breath was scalding on your skin when he laughed. He traveled his lips down to your breasts, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. You were so malleable in his hands. He couldn’t wait to hear you beg before the night was over.

“Babe, I…,” you rasped, raking your nails over his scalp, trying to steer his dangerous mouth away from your chest. “I can’t think right now.”

“That’s the point, darling.”

Uh-oh. It was coming. You could feel the desire and the need boiling over and flooding into your veins. Any second now you were going to snap, throw him onto the bed (or the floor), and ride him into the sunset until he begged for mercy.

You sharply yanked Haechan’s head up, making his lips brush against yours and earning a delicious groan from his pouty lips. “You’re the worst.”

He grinned with delight like the devil himself. “You knew that when you married me.”

That was true. You knew what he was and what he was capable of. Mark’s question came to you again. What changed?

“You don’t fight fair,” you sighed under your breath.

“Why should I?” Haechan smarted, nibbling beneath your ear and playing with your breasts. “This is way more fun. And I always win.”

You held onto his shoulders and whimpered when he bruised your neck, crying out his name when he pinched and rolled your nipples. “Let me win once,” you choked out, grasping a handful of his hair again.

“When I win, so do you,” Haechan said shortly. “If you win, I lose.”

Those words swam around in your mind for a moment. Haechan kept kissing and touching you, but what he’d said drove you insane. “Are you saying… that what I want hurts you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

Haechan pulled back to look you in the eyes and you wanted to crumble to the floor. “Yes, you do. For you to win, you want me to change who I am. For me to win, I want you to stay exactly as you are.”

“I don’t want you to change,” you exclaimed, cradling his head in your hands as if he were about to vanish before your eyes. “I just want to know you.”

Haechan grabbed your wrists and pried you from his face, sneering, “No, you don’t. You don’t want to know just how broken the man you married is.”

Your lips trembled as you began to cry. “You think I’m not broken too? I just want you to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, but you won’t do that. It’s beneath you.”

Haechan released your hands. “It’s above me, not beneath.”

The tears were steady now. “Just love me,” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. “That’s all I want from you.”

“And that’s all I’ve ever done,” he said coldly, leaning in to press his brow to your forehead. “But you fucking left me.”

You nodded and opened your mouth to speak.

Haechan crowded into you even closer. You didn’t think he could possibly press himself into you harder, but he did. His nose brushed yours as he whispered, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

His eyes went dark. You were ready to fold. All he needed to do was say the word.

Haechan reached up and grabbed your jaw gently. “When you left me, I wanted to hunt you down, drag you back, and tie you to the bed.”

Fire lit itself through your veins. Your heart skipped a beat. The way he’d said it made your knees weak. “Why didn’t you…,” you asked, shifting your weight. “Come after me?”

“You don’t want to stay with me. Who am I to make you?”

“You are my husband,” you said, raising your voice, and pushed his chest. “You’re supposed to drag me back to you. That’s what I wanted!”

Haechan’s eyes flickered.

You shook your head and cried, “I moved your queen across the board into enemy territory, where she was alone and vulnerable. And you did nothing.”

“I can only move one step at a time. She can move anywhere.” Haechan looped his arms around your waist and said, “She’s so much stronger than me. I knew she’d come back.”

“Don’t ever let me do that again.”

“I won’t.”

That was enough. You kissed him then, full of hunger and longing. Haechan kissed you back with so much lust and pain, you could feel it pouring out of him and into your skin. If you could just melt into him, life would be a lot easier.

Haechan steered you to the bed and shoved you onto the mattress harshly. In the next second, he was tugging your pants and underwear down your legs. Finding yourself naked while he was fully clothed, you laughed quietly. That was exactly how you would describe your relationship. You were open and real, he was sealed away and perfectly pressed.

“What’s so funny, pretty girl?”

You shook your head. “You’re so quick to strip me down. But you have to always be untouchable.”

Haechan snorted. “You can touch me.”

Your husband crawled over you and kissed you until there was not a single thought in your head anymore, chasing away the strife. You were completely tactile, only aware of his body on yours and his mouth on yours. You would be content with kissing him until sleep finally took you and put you out of your misery.

When the first cuff closed around your wrist, you weren’t surprised. Haechan didn’t stop for a moment until your hands and ankles were chained to the posts of the bed, distracting you with his tongue in your mouth. For the final touch, he smiled wickedly at you and gave you one more kiss while wrapping a blindfold around your head and tying it snug.

“Be good,” Haechan warned, climbing off the bed. You could hear his footsteps across the floor, and then nothing. With your sight gone, your hearing was all you had.

You laid there. Not that you had much of a choice. You tested the cuffs a few times, making the chains jingle. “H-Haechan,” you called out after a moment.

There was a small sound of movement, then familiar fingers touched your folds. You immediately squirmed. You must have wrestled a bit too much for his liking, because fingers became a flat hand delivering a single smack to your sex.

“I said behave,” your husband scolded.

You stilled yourself, but the rapid thumping of your heart threatened to rip you apart at the seams. Haechan touched and caressed between your legs, tormenting you, waiting for you to snap. The last thing you wanted was to give him any satisfaction. So, you bit your lip and willed your body not to move as two fingers pressed into your core.

Haechan tsked his tongue. “You think it pisses me off if you’re quiet?”

“God, I hope so,” you retorted.

Your husband laughed and the sound was downright salacious. His voice was even worse. “Joke’s on you. I’m not stopping until you traumatize the neighbors.”

You bit your lip harder, because his fingers were sinking in and out of you at a delicious pace, hooking against your sweet spot while his thumb pressed and rolled your clit. You could hear yourself getting wetter and wetter, so turned on it was borderline embarrassing.

“I’m not doing it,” you said stubbornly. “You won’t break me.”

“Famous last words.”

Your lower body tightened against your will. Damn him, you groaned inwardly. Despite your blindfold, you just knew he was smirking, his eyes on your perfect cunt as he buried his fingers inside. He dragged them against your walls, as deep as he could go.

“Remember when we were sixteen…,” Haechan started, fingering you to the edge of your first climax of the night. His tone was so dull, like he was discussing a business meeting that could have been an email.

“And you came in me after five seconds?”

A hand slapped over your mouth. Deserved, you mused. He’d lasted at least twenty seconds.

“You begged me for it,” your husband reminded, cocky. “You begged me to do it again too. You loved fucking training me with your body.”

You said something, but it was muffled against his palm.

“It’s my turn to train you. And you’re going to come now or I’m going to leave you tied up here until one of our brothers gets curious enough to check if you’re still alive.”

Fuck him and all the mean fucking filth that always came out of his mouth, you thought, but it was worthless. Your body coiled and shook as you released, your back arching on the mattress as much as was allowed by the restraints.

Haechan kept stroking his fingers in and out of you as you came, a victorious gloat on his face. He removed his hand from your mouth to press on your lower belly to keep you in place, your noises of pleasure filling the room.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” you moaned, writhing on the bed as he milked the last of your aftershocks. Finally, the need that had built inside you since getting on your knees for him was satiated.

Or so you thought.

“That’s one,” Haechan said nonchalantly and you gulped.

Time swiftly lost all meaning. Haechan worked you from one climax to another, your pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Actually, it was music to him. He loved listening to you beg.

At some point, Haechan’s phone rang and he had the audacity to answer, fielding someone’s questions levelly while still fucking you with his fingers. You partly wanted to ask who the hell was calling so late, but you couldn’t formulate the words when release was already dragging you back into its throes again.

Your husband hung up the phone and asked, “Where were we?”

“Please, Haechan. Please,” you chanted, whimpering desperately. Your body was slick with sweat, your cheeks damp with tears spilling from beneath the blindfold. You were an overstimulated mess, your body trembling wherever and whenever he touched you; even the lightest, briefest of caresses.

“Please, what?”

“I can’t take anymore.”

He chuckled. “You sure?”

You nodded rapidly. “Yes. I’m sure. Please.”

“Hm, I dunno,” your husband said, as if he were talking to himself. “I really like watching you get off.”

You were totally at his mercy and as far as mercy was concerned, Haechan had no reason to show you any.

Haechan played with your clit, his hand wet with the evidence of your many orgasms, and wiped off some of your slick on his pant leg before resuming his ministrations. “It’s probably a good thing I can’t keep coming over and over like you do, my little slut. I’d just stay inside you forever.”

“Fuck… you.” Your body arched off the bed again as you finished on his fingers, writhing. The orgasm was so intense you couldn’t even make noise, your breath stuck in your chest as you were trapped in a high between pleasure and pain.

The moment you settled down, Haechan said, “Tell me to stop.”

You took a few breaths. You were a nerve laid raw and he was still pumping his fingers in you, no matter how much you squirmed and shook. “If I tell you to stop, are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice wet with tears.

Haechan said nothing and the silence was brutal enough to crush you. For a moment, he just stared at you in wonder; your shivering and glistening body, your cheeks soaked with tears, your chest heaving for air. He had you right where he wanted you, but it wasn’t enough.

The bed shifted and you knew he was kneeling between your legs again, but this time, he propped over you and brushed his lips against yours, swallowing your cries. You felt his hard cock resting on your folds and it made you clench.

“Can I put it in?”

“Yes,” you said without missing a beat, nodding quickly.

Haechan slid into your wet, sore cunt and ripped your blindfold off, making you squint against the light. Your husband’s eyes rolled at the tight perfect vise of your walls and he groaned deep in his chest, biting his lip to keep from chanting, “Fuck.”

The sound that came out of you when he sheathed inside was mortifying. You let your head fall back on the mattress, satisfied at finally being filled, but so aching with release you couldn’t keep still.

“You don’t want a divorce. You want my attention. Now, you have it. Tell me what you really want from me,” your husband demanded, canting his hips back and forward, thrusting into you deep.

Your body accepted him hungrily. You pinched your lips together to stifle any more noises. They wouldn’t help your case. You were so sensitive it was almost brutal, your lips parted on another moan as he stroked his cock into you slowly, over and over. “I-I want…,” you trailed, your eyes rolling back. Another orgasm was already building.

Haechan smiled slightly at the twisted pleasure on your face and dropped his head to your chest, kissing across your breasts and lingering on your nipples. He snapped his hips into yours, driving his length into you so hard the headboard began to smack against the wall.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted, fighting the binds around your wrists.

Haechan bottomed out in your heat and stilled, gazing down at you and watching you shuddering on his cock. “You want me to stop because it hurts or you’re about to come again?”

“I can’t come anymore.”

“I think you can.”

You blew out a breath. He was like a brick wall. Felt like one too, much to your delight. You searched his eyes, knowing there had to be some way to get to him.

Your husband smiled down at you and taunted, “Go ahead and think about it, baby. I can do this all night.”

You slumped into the mattress in defeat, your arms going limp at your sides. You unclenched your fists in surrender, letting go of the sheets. “Untie me,” you finally said. By your tone, it wasn’t a demand, but a request you knew he wouldn’t deny.

One-by-one, Haechan unbuckled the clasps around your wrists and ankles. You lay there demurely, acting like he’d done what he set out to do, but you weren’t broken. Not by a longshot.

The moment you were free, you launched at him, swinging at your husband’s head to throw him off balance. He caught your hands with his own, like you knew he would, but you tackled him anyway, knocking him to his back and landing right on him. Haechan fought back enough to make it interesting, but he relented pretty quickly when you dropped down on his dick and started riding him.

“Shut the fuck up, Haechan,” you growled when he opened his mouth to speak, probably to irritate you and you were beyond irritation already. Your whole body was screaming, your sex was utterly spent and aching, but this was the only way you knew how to slap that obnoxious look off his face.

Haechan grunted every time you slammed down on him, letting you pin his hands on opposite sides of his head. Your pussy grabbed him hard and when you stopped bouncing on his dick to roll your hips back and forth at a relentless pace, his eyes fluttered back and he moaned loud enough to make you laugh at him.

“If you would have come after me, we could have been doing this,” you said, annoyed. “You’re so stupid, my love. You’d rather have your pride than my pussy.”

Haechan shook his head. “Not true.” He struggled to get the words out with how hard you rode him, but finally managed to say, “There’s nothing I want more than you.”

“Act like it.”

Your husband reached for your waist and started to sit up, but you braced your hands on his chest and shoved him to the bed again. He grumbled in frustration and grabbed your hips harshly, digging his fingers into your flesh.

You propped yourself over him and dragged your lips over his jaw, nibbling at his neck. Then, you wrapped your fingers around his throat and squeezed, and hissed, “Come inside.”

Haechan’s eyes widened at you and he rasped, “Now who’s not fighting fair?”

You tightened your grip on him and worked yourself on his cock, feeling his hips rising to meet you like he couldn’t control it. “All’s fair in love and war,” you whispered.

Haechan didn’t question which one the two of you were. It was always war with him. He knew nothing else, and here you were matching him just as hotly. He whispered your name like a prayer and gazed up at you in worship.

It was all too easy to surrender to you, so that’s what he did.

“Give it to me.” You coiled both hands around his neck and kept your hold tight. Given the fucked out bliss on his face and the black pool his eyes had become, it was exactly what he needed. His cock was so painfully stiff in your cunt, you wanted to give him release so badly it possessed you.

Haechan panted and grabbed hurriedly at your body, his voice pitching as he warned, “I’m coming. Fuck. Don’t stop.”

You ground yourself down on his length and lost yourself to the high, crying out in pleasure when you finished one last time. Haechan released into your pulsing sex with a moan that echoed through the room, both of you whimpering through your ends. You rutted against each other to get through the aftershocks, Haechan painting your walls with his seed.

Your vision went blurry and you fell forward onto his chest, your husband’s arms wrapping around your body to catch you. Haechan held onto you with a desperation he rarely showed and felt himself floating back down to reality. Everything was warm and fuzzy, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

You hid your face in his neck and closed your eyes. More than anything, you didn’t want to be parted; you wanted to stay locked against him forever.

“Are you okay?” Haechan asked after a moment.

“No,” you replied, making him shift under you with worry. “It hurts.”

Haechan started to gather you and lift. “Flip over so I can pull out.”

You clung to him harder and shook your head, and whispered sadly, “No. How I feel about you… it hurts.”

Haechan sighed heavily. “How do you feel about me?”

You let him sit up, keeping you in his lap, and even though he’d gone soft, you just didn’t want to be separated from him. You were fiending for any part of him you could get. You wanted the connection, you needed it. You were desperate to feel him. “That you’ll never love me as much as I love you,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hiding in the crook of his neck.

“It really pisses me off when you say shit like that,” Haechan snapped.

Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Haechan laid you down on the mattress beneath him and then pried himself out of your arms and off the bed. You grabbed the blanket and covered yourself, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, and watched him start to dress.

“You didn’t deny it,” you spoke up a moment later.

Haechan bristled with anger and rounded on you. “I have never done anything different. You changed, not me. I’ve never lied when I told you I love you, but you lied when you said you would never leave me.”

“So, I’m the problem?” you exclaimed.

Haechan made a face, like that was exactly the conclusion he wanted you to reach.

“Don’t you see that I always have to do something drastic to get your attention?”

Haechan mocked, “Don’t blame me for you being dramatic.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, holding the blanket close around your naked body, and peered up at him with tears in your eyes. “You shut me out, Haechan.”

He stopped and frowned at you. “I did not,” your husband snapped vehemently, like the thought repelled him.

“You did.” A soft sob escaped and you covered your face with your hands.

Haechan panicked, dropping between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Look at me,” he said, whispering your name gently.

You shook your head, still hiding your face.

“Look at me,” he said again slowly, reaching for your hands gingerly and pulling them away.

You were a mess, your eyes red, your cheeks glistening with tears, your lips still swollen from his kisses. “You never tell me how you feel,” you cried, sniffing back more tears. “I’ve told you everything, but you won’t let me see you. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sleeping with a stranger. It hurts.”

Haechan hung his head in shame, staring vacantly at your lap. He sucked in a breath to steady himself and clung to your hands.

You leaned your head against his and continued, “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you want to stay a mystery to me. You won’t let me in. I feel so disconnected from the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Haechan’s eyes were misty now and he said, “I don’t want you to know… the shit I went through, the things I had to do. I don’t need you to carry that. I want that person to be dead. If I tell you about him, it would be like bringing him back from the dead when I worked so goddamn hard to bury him.”

“I understand, but that’s the thing about us and our brothers. We are the worst of the worst. We’ve been through hell. That’s why we’re the only ones that could get through to each other.”

“I know, but you’re different,” Haechan said shakily, wiping at his cheeks. “You’re my girl. If you knew… I could never survive you looking at me differently.”

You shook your head and assured him, “Don’t tell me, baby. Don’t dig up that body for me. Leave it be. But you’re so concerned with making sure I only see you how you want me to see you, that I’m barely getting glimpses of the man I love.”

“So, me crying right now - is that doing it for you?” Haechan asked with a tiny smile.

You laughed. “Yeah, it is. I don’t want you to cry, but crying is normal. It’s human. You think I don’t know you hide in the bathroom when you cry, because you think it’s weak? Why do that when you could be crying into my boobs instead?”

Haechan nuzzled your neck. “This is kinda nice.”

You chortled again, hugging him to your chest. “I just wanna feel you,” you whispered tenderly. “All the good. All the bad. Everything. Tell me how you feel… right now, in this moment.”

Haechan breathed you in, letting himself be cocooned by the warmth of you. Honestly, being on his knees between your legs and in your arms, feeling how hard you were holding him like he was your entire universe was healing something inside him. He’d never let himself be so sensitive to you and your touch before; that type of intimacy was too terrifying. It could so easily be abused.

“I think I’ve mastered the art of appearing vulnerable, but never actually being it. I always treat every conversation like an interrogation. Every relationship is a chess match. I don’t know who I am without this mask. I don’t want anyone to know the real me. I have to be…” Haechan trailed, the realization finally hitting him.

You nodded your understanding and finished for him, “It’s how you took back control.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“I know about that all too well. I figured if I broke myself beyond repair, then no one else could do it.”

Haechan met your eyes and ran his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. He could see the joy pushing through your pain; connecting with him like this was all you’d ever wanted. “And now?”

“The good with you is replacing the bad from my life before. I don’t think you know just how much you saved me, Haechan.”

Haechan smiled at you, warmth blossoming in his chest when you leaned in and kissed him warmly on the lips.

“I love you, and I don’t need to know your past to keep loving you. I just don’t want you to hide from me anymore,” you said, brushing his hair back from his face. He would never know just how beautiful he looked to you, his cheeks pink and his eyes starry.

“I’ll do better.” Haechan blew out a breath. He felt… lighter. It was such a foreign feeling to him. This stalemate between the two of you had thrown him off kilter. He thought you wanted more than he was willing to give - to dig up the past. But he’d misunderstood. You just wanted him.

He could let you in. It wasn’t so scary anymore.

“Thank you, and…,” you bit your lip to fight the urge to cry. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

That was all he wanted. “I forgive you,” Haechan said, and he meant it. The battle was over and somehow, you both had won.

You turn your head, and suddenly, everything inside you stops. He’s standing in the yard next door. Anton Lee. At first, you don’t believe it. Your eyes try to make sense of him, this version of him, the one time has molded into something…different. He’s talking to a pair of old women in wide sun hats and floral dresses, probably fresh out of a church committee meeting. He’s got one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the other gesturing politely as he nods along to whatever they’re saying. You can’t hear the words. You’re not really trying to. You’re too busy staring. He looks…grown. Not in a “he got taller” kind of way—but in the way his shoulders fill out his faded t-shirt. In the sharp angle of his jawline, the curve of his neck, the slope of his nose, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends from the heat. Even from this far, you can tell—he’s beautiful. And he’s still Anton. Your neighbor. Your best friend. The boy who used to chase frogs with you until your mom called you in. Who used to pass you folded notes during service. Who once cried when your parents told you you were moving away.

You’d promised to stay in touch. You meant it. But you were fourteen, and life got loud, and somewhere along the way, the calls and texts stopped. Now here he is. Right there. You sit up straighter without meaning to. Your ice tea glass sweats in your hand. He hasn’t noticed you yet, still caught in conversation. You wonder if you look different—older, prettier, unfamiliar. Would he recognize you right away if he turned? You don’t wait to find out. Your nerves get the best of you. You stand, grabbing your empty glass, and head toward the door. You tell yourself you’re not avoiding him. You’re just hot. Tired. Not ready even. But just as your hand pushes the door open, something makes you glance back over your shoulder. And there he is—Staring right at you. The old women are gone now, vanished as quietly as they arrived. Anton’s standing alone in the yard, one hand shielding the sun from his eyes, the other still loosely in his pocket. His gaze is fixed on you. He looks confused. Not startled, but searching. Like he’s not sure what he’s looking at. Or like he is, and just can’t believe it. You don’t move. For a second, the world narrows down to that look, his eyes locked on yours, brows drawn just slightly, lips parted like he’s about to say your name. And then the door creaks open, and you step inside, heart pounding. You don’t look back again.

♱

The church hasn’t changed. Same tall stained-glass windows. Same dusty hymnals and creaky pews. The same low hum of whispers as the congregation filters in, dressed in their Sunday best. It smells like old wood and candle wax and someone’s too-strong perfume. You smooth down the dress your mom made you wear—soft blue, modest, snug around your waist—and slide into the pew beside her. She’s already smiling and waving at everyone like she never left. You, on the other hand, feel like an imposter. Like a ghost drifting back into a life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

And then you see him. Anton. Standing at the front of the sanctuary, just off to the side of the pulpit, next to his father—Pastor Lee. His posture is perfect. His hands folded in front of him. His white button-down shirt is tucked in tight, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms. The warm light from the stained glass glows faintly against his skin, catching the edges of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose. He looks calm. Holy, even. But when his eyes find yours from across the room, he grins. Just slightly. It’s subtle. Private. Like a secret being passed from the altar to the back pew. You feel your lips pull into a shy smile before you even realize it. Your fingers twitch in your lap, and then, almost without thinking, you lift your hand and give a small wave.

He returns it. Barely a flick of his fingers. Then he glances away, face schooled back into quiet reverence. Your mom leans over and whispers, “Is that Anton? My goodness, he grew up so well.” You try not to show how warm your face suddenly feels. The final “Amen” echoes through the chapel, and the congregation begins to stir—hymnals closing, shoes scuffing, greetings starting before people even leave the pews. You trail behind your mom as she makes her way through the crowd, stopping to hug familiar faces and catch up with people she hasn’t seen in years. Everyone’s talking at once. You spot Anton near the front doors, his father deep in conversation with one of the deacons. Anton’s standing just off to the side again, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking toward you every few seconds. This time, you go to him. “Hey,” you say, voice soft, nerves bubbling in your chest like soda.

He turns fully, and when he sees you up close, his whole expression shifts—like he wasn’t prepared for it. Like he’s still piecing together the girl he used to know with the version of you standing in front of him now. “Wow,” he breathes, and then, quieter, “You came back.” You nod, feeling suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. “We moved back. For good.” His eyes drag over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every difference, every change. “You look…” He doesn’t finish. Just offers a crooked smile. “It’s good to see you.” You smile, heart pounding. “You too. You—uh. You look good.”

That makes him laugh under his breath, low and warm. “Yeah? Thanks.” But before either of you can say anything else—“Oh, Anton!” Your mom’s voice slices through the air like a knife, and both of you turn to her. She slips beside you with a bright smile and gently pats Anton’s arm. “It’s been so long! Look at you—such a handsome young man now. You’re the spitting image of your father.” Anton chuckles politely, hands still tucked in his pockets. “It’s really good to see you, Mrs. ___.” Your mom beams. “You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime! You and your family. How about tonight?” Your breath catches. Tonight? Anton’s brows lift slightly. “Uh—I mean, I’d love to. If my parents are free.” “I’ll ask your mother myself,” your mom chirps. “I’m sure she’d love the chance to catch up. You’ll come too, won’t you?” she adds, turning back to you with a wink, as if the two of you didn’t just meet like strangers five minutes ago. Anton looks at you. His voice is calm, but his eyes burn just a little too long on yours. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

♱

The evening sunlight filtered warm through the windows as your mother moved around the kitchen, humming a song under her breath. The table was already set, too neatly and too nervously. Everything felt like a performance. You sat on the edge of the couch, smoothing your dress for the fifth time, your heart fluttering even though you told yourself to stop. They were just neighbors. Old friends. Familiar faces. So why were your hands shaking? You heard the knock on the door, and your mom rushed to answer it, voice lifting in a cheery greeting. You stood slowly, swallowing the tight feeling in your throat as you peeked around the corner. And there he was. He looked like a dream. Soft, navy pullover, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he hadn’t even tried, and still, somehow, he looked perfect. He smiled, all warmth and politeness, as your mother pulled him into a hug, then turned his eyes toward you. Something in his expression shifted for just a second when he saw you—something unreadable. His eyes dragged over you slow, then stopped at your face like he had to remind himself to keep it respectful. And then, that gentle smile again. “Hey,” he said softly, walking toward you. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” Your lips parted, the sound caught in your throat. “Hi. Yeah, me neither.” He looked taller up close. Broader. And his voice had dropped since you were kids—low, smooth, just a little husky when he said your name.

The rest of his family trailed in behind him, greetings flying around the room. But all you could hear was the way his fingers brushed yours when he handed over the pie he brought. All you could feel was his gaze, lingering just a second too long when you sat beside him at the table. Dinner passed with polite conversation, church talk, your mom laughing too loudly at Pastor Lee’s stories. But beneath the table, your knees brushed every now and then. Barely. But you felt them. You felt him. And every time you got a little flustered—fumbling your fork, fixing your skirt—he noticed. Of course he noticed. At one point, when your mother stepped away to grab more wine and the conversation quieted, Anton leaned a little closer to you. His voice was low, just for you. “You look good tonight,” he murmured, eyes still trained politely ahead. Your breath caught, cheeks flushed immediately. “Oh…thanks. So do you.” He tilted his head just slightly, that same soft smile still on his face. “Yeah?” You nodded, biting your lip. He blinked slowly, eyes flicking over your face. Then you felt it—his hand brushing yours again under the table, fingers grazing your palm like a secret. And when dessert was served and your mom asked Anton if he could help you bring the dishes to the table, he stood right away, still perfectly polite and perfect.

The house was full of soft voices and clinking glasses. From the living room came the low hum of conversation, your mom and the Lees laughing about something from years ago, the kind of stories adults always went back to after dinner. But you weren’t in there. You were in the kitchen. Feet swinging gently from where you sat on the counter, hands resting at your sides, cool glass of water in your lap. Anton stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in soapy water as he quietly washed the dishes. The warm overhead light hit his profile just right—sharp jaw, lashes lowered, mouth set in focus. His back was broad beneath his shirt, shoulders flexing slightly with every quiet movement. He looked unfair like that. Domestic. Godly. You didn’t know how long you’d been watching him. He hadn’t said anything since he started washing, just passed you a small smile when you hopped up on the counter, like it was normal for you to sit there, legs bare and tucked beneath you, eyes trained shamelessly on him.

He rinsed the last plate, turning off the faucet. Flicked water off his hands before reaching for a towel. “You always watch people do chores,” he asked, drying his fingers, “or just me?” You smiled, letting your head tilt just a little. “Just you.” That made him laugh softly. It rumbled low, barely audible. He turned slightly to face you, still rubbing his hands with the towel. “You’ve changed,” he said, voice calm. “You’re…different.” Your heart thudded. You looked down at your glass. “Is that…bad?” “No,” he said. Then, quieter, “Not at all.” Another pause stretched between you. You didn’t move. Neither did he. Then, without thinking, you asked, “Do you wanna go on a walk?” His brow lifted slightly. “A walk?” You nodded, eyes meeting his. “Yeah. Just…around the neighbourhood. It’s still warm out.” He hesitated for a second. Not because he didn’t want to—but because it was too easy to say yes. And then he did. “Sure,” he said, smile slow. “Let me grab my shoes.”

The streets were quiet when the two of you slipped out the front door, the summer air thick with warmth and crickets. Porch lights flickered behind doors, and far-off wind chimes swayed lazily in the breeze. The town was asleep. You walked side by side in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps, arms brushing occasionally. Anton’s hands were in his pockets, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, his eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead as if he didn’t want to look at you too much. But he did. Every now and then, you caught him. “It’s so weird being back,” you murmured after a stretch of silence. “Everything’s the same. But not really.” He nodded, glancing over. “I know what you mean. I still expect to see you riding your bike down the road with that ridiculous blue helmet.” You laughed. “Hey, I loved that helmet.” I know,” he grinned. You walked like that for a while, laughter trailing into comfortable quiet. Eventually, you reached the edge of a small park—the same one you used to play in together when you were kids. The swingset was still there, creaking gently in the breeze. The old sandbox. The crooked bench. You tugged his arm gently. “Let’s sit for a while.” He didn’t hesitate. You both dropped into the cool grass near the trees, far from the streetlight. The ground was still warm from the day, but the night air had cooled enough to make the moment feel peaceful. You leaned back on your hands, head tilted to the sky. “The stars here are brighter,” you said quietly. “They always were,” he replied, watching you instead.

You talked. About church. About how weird it was being adults now. About the people who’d stayed, and the ones who left. And somehow the conversation slowed—turned softer and deeper. The kind of conversation that only happens when it’s late and quiet and you feel like the rest of the world isn’t real anymore. Anton sat cross-legged now, one arm draped over his knee. He looked relaxed, content. And you…felt brave. Your heart pounded as you turned toward him. His profile looked so serene in the moonlight, his lashes casting shadows, lips parted slightly, breath calm. And before you could stop yourself—You leaned in. A soft kiss. Just a quick, warm press of your lips to his cheek. Barely a breath. When you pulled back, his head turned to you instantly. You looked down at the hem of your dress, fingers nervously twisting the fabric in your lap. “What was that for?” he asked, a quiet laugh under his breath. “I-I don’t know, sorry—,” you mumbled, shoulders curling in a little. He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, he reached out. One hand cupped your jaw, soft and slow, his thumb brushing the edge of your cheek. He leaned in, tilting your face toward his. “Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.” You did. Big, nervous eyes meeting his calm, unreadable ones. And then—He kissed you. Not rushed. Not messy. Just firm and real, lips warm and sure, like he’d wanted to do it for hours but waited until you asked first, without saying a word. When he pulled back, his voice was quieter than ever. “I missed you,” he murmured. Your heart felt like it could explode.

The kiss lingered on your lips long after it ended. You didn’t speak as he helped you up from the grass, his hand brushing yours gently—barely holding it, but not letting go either. The walk back was quiet, the kind of silence that says everything. The air between you was different now. Warmer. Buzzing. When you reached your front porch, the light was still on. The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the Lees’ house next door, your mom probably inside chatting with Anton’s parents. Anton stopped at the base of your steps. Hands in his pockets again. Looking up at you like he was still memorizing your face. “My parents went home already,” he said softly. “I should head back too.” You nodded, unsure what to say. Still dazed from the kiss. From him “Thanks for walking with me,” you said, trying not to sound too breathless. He stepped up onto the porch now, closer. Just enough to make your heart skip. “Thanks for the walk,” he said, voice even softer. “And the kiss.” Your cheeks burned. You looked down again, fidgeting with the hem of your dress like you had earlier. He didn’t tease you for it. Instead, he leaned in, one hand brushing lightly against your elbow as he tilted his head and kissed the top of yours. “Goodnight.” he murmured into your hair. Your chest ached. “Goodnight, Toni.” you whispered. He lingered for a beat, then gave you one last glance, turned, and stepped off the porch, disappearing into the quiet dark. And you just stood there, frozen in place, barely breathing, fingers clutching your dress. Still tasting the kiss from earlier and trying to make sense of the boy next door—the pastor’s golden son, all grown up and kissing you like that.

♱

Days passed, warm and slow. You kept seeing Anton. Not on purpose, but always like clockwork. He showed up one afternoon with a Tupperware of still-warm cookies, claiming his mom made too many again. The day after that, you bumped into him outside while taking out the trash, and he offered to help like it was nothing—shirt sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing, that same easy smile on his face. There were walks again, too. Small ones. Night air between you, your arms occasionally brushing. The conversation was light—never touching that night. The kiss. The way your heart pounded every time you looked at him too long. But Anton never pushed. Just walked beside you like he had all the time in the world. The church bells rang slow and sweet, echoing through the summer air.

You sat next to your mom like always, her hands clutching her small bag. The usual crowd filled the pews, faces you’d known since childhood, some changed by time, some exactly the same. The windows let in golden light, and the air smelled faintly of old wood and floral perfume. Anton sat beside his father at the front—eyes forward, posture perfect. Button-up crisp, sleeves rolled just once at the wrists. His hands were folded, resting neatly in his lap like some model of quiet discipline. But then he looked over. Just a flick of his eyes at first. But then he saw you, and the shift was subtle but real. The corner of his mouth lifted. You smiled too—small, hesitant. He raised two fingers in the tiniest of waves, the gesture hidden just beneath the edge of the pew. You returned it, heartbeat thrumming. When everyone bowed their heads to pray, you did too. Eyes closed. Hands together. But you could feel him watching you.

The usual bustle followed—hymns fading, churchgoers chatting, children running in the yard. Your mom was pulled into a conversation with some older women near the back, and you stepped out into the hallway for a breath of air. That’s when you heard footsteps behind you. “Hey.” You turned, and there he was, smiling softly. Holding a paper cup of lemonade. Hair slightly messier now that the formalities were over. “Hi,” you said, a little breathless. You hated that he could still do that to you.He looked at you quietly for a moment, then reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear—so gently it made your chest ache. “You look good today,” he said, voice low. “Really good.” Your breath caught. You tried to hide your smile by looking at the floor, mumbling, “You too.” He chuckled, head tilted. “You think?” “Mhm.”“Then maybe you should come over tonight.” Your eyes lifted slowly. “Tonight?”“Just for dinner. Hang out a bit. My parents will be out…for a while.” He gave you a look. One you felt deep in your stomach. You swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.” “Okay,” he echoed, and his smile softened. “I’ll text you.” Then he leaned a little closer—just enough to brush his fingers against your wrist as he passed.

You knocked once—lightly. The door opened almost immediately. Anton stood there in a soft gray t-shirt and jeans, white socks, hair a little messy like he’d been running his hand through it before you arrived. His eyes dropped to your dress, the short, soft one you hadn’t worn in forever. White with a little blue. You saw the flicker in his gaze before he blinked it away. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “Come in.” You stepped past him, blushing. His house smelled like warm food and clean linen. Familiar and still somehow brand new. You slipped off your shoes by the door, glancing around as he led you to the living room. “My parents are out. Church committee stuff.” He looked over his shoulder, voice easy. “You want to eat on the couch?” You nodded. “Sure.” The two of you sat with plates on your laps—chicken and mashed potatoes and something buttery his mom must’ve made. The TV was on low in the background, but neither of you were watching it. You talked about dumb things. Summer. Church gossip. What your moms were probably up to. “I still can’t believe you’re back,” he said suddenly, glancing at you as you licked a bit of sauce from your thumb. “It’s like…I blinked and you turned into a whole woman.” You almost choked on your drink, cheeks heating. “Anton—” “Sorry.” He smiled softly. “Just being honest.” You tucked your hair behind your ear, glancing down at your lap. The hem of your dress barely reached mid-thigh. His eyes kept flicking down, and then back up, every time. He cleared his throat, then stood. “Wanna see something?” “What?”“Old photos. Us.” You laughed, instantly standing. “You still have those?”

“Unfortunately.” He led you up the stairs, your heart thudding harder with every step. His room was at the end of the hall, same as you remembered, but different now. Cleaner. Calmer and more grown-up. He let you sit on his bed while he rummaged through a drawer. You crossed your legs and the dress shifted, rising slightly. Anton paused, back still toward you, but you saw the way his shoulders rose with a breath before he kept going. “Here,” he said, finally holding up a crinkled photo album. You leaned close as he sat beside you, the two of you shoulder to shoulder as you flipped through the pages. “Oh my god,” you whispered, pointing. “You look so cute!” “I was 10.” “And this one! The matching outfits?” “Our moms were insane,” he groaned, grinning. But every time you laughed, every time your thigh brushed his or your shoulder pressed into his arm, you could feel the shift in the air. It was slow, creeping in like heat. His smile softened. His gaze lingered longer. And when you turned your head toward him to say something, your breath caught. Because he was already looking at you. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just…looking. Eyes dark. Jaw tight. Like he was holding something back so tightly it hurt. “What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. He shook his head a little, but didn’t look away.“You’re just…” He exhaled slowly. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Your breath hitched. “Anton…” He reached up, so slowly, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. Your cheeks flushed instantly. You could feel the warmth spreading down your neck, across your chest, like your skin knew something was coming before your mind did. Anton’s thumb was still brushing your cheek, and your heart was hammering like it wanted to climb into his hand. “I—um…” Your voice came out breathless. Quiet. Embarrassed. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your dress, twisting the hem like you didn’t know what to do with your hands.cAnton didn’t say anything at first. He just let the silence stretch—thick, humming, full of everything you weren’t saying. Then, softly, almost amused, “You always this quiet when someone tells you you’re beautiful?” You froze. Your breath hitched, lashes fluttering as you finally looked up again. His smile had softened, but his eyes hadn’t—they were still dark, focused, soaking in every little flinch, every blush. “It’s cute,” he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. “Makes me wanna see what else gets you like this.”You blinked. “Anton—” He moved before you could stop yourself. One hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. Not rough, but not hesitant either. His thumb brushed along the side of your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly, just enough for your eyes to lock again. “Can I?” he asked. You swallowed, lips parted, the air between you tight as a thread. And then you nodded, looking up at him with big sparkly eyes. That’s all he needed.

His lips were on yours before you could blink, stealing the air right out of your lungs. His hand stayed firm behind your head, holding you in place like he was finally letting himself taste what he’d been craving since the second he saw you on that porch again. It wasn’t rushed. But it wasn’t soft either. It was deep, and hot, and meant. Like he’d already decided you were his, and this was the first time he let himself show it. You whimpered into his mouth, hands clinging to his shirt, and that was when he groaned—quiet, low, right against your lips. “I swear, you look at me like that and I can’t think straight.” Then he kissed you again, harder.

And for a second, just a second, you felt everything else—church, family, rules—slip away like it had never existed. Just you. Just him. His lips moved against yours with growing heat, still controlled, but barely. You could feel it in the way his fingers curled tighter at the back of your head, the way his breath hitched when your body pressed closer to his. Then you felt his hand slip down, slowly, gliding from your jaw to your waist, and lower. You gasped softly when his fingertips ghosted under the hem of your dress, meeting the bare skin of your thigh. He stilled for half a second, almost like he was asking permission without saying it out loud, but when you didn’t stop him, his touch grew firmer. His palm slid higher, his hand large and warm on the soft skin of your inner thigh.

The kiss deepened. His tongue slipped into your mouth, slow and steady, tasting you like he’d been imagining this forever. You melted into him completely, fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, thighs parting just a little more as he leaned into you. He groaned quietly when you did that. “Lie back,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, like he was trying not to break. “Please.” You let him guide you down gently, back hitting the mattress, your dress shifting with the movement. He came with you, hovering, his knee slotting between your legs, hand still gripping your thigh as he kissed you again. You sighed into his mouth when his hand traveled up farther, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear, but stopping just short. “Fuck,” he whispered, lips moving against your jaw now. “You don’t get it…” his voice cracked. “I’m trying so hard to be good.” His hand squeezed your thigh, possessive, like he was grounding himself. “But you’re making it so fucking hard.” His mouth found yours again, open and hot, and all you could do was whimper into it, body arching into his like your whole skin was burning for more.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, soft and slow, and he let out the faintest breath, like even your touch could undo him. He was still kissing you like he didn’t want to take too much. Like he was holding himself back even though you could feel the tension in every part of him. And then you looked up at him. Sweetly. Eyes wide, lips parted, your gaze soft and honest like you didn’t even know what that look was doing to him.“Anton…” He pulled back slightly, breath shaky, brows drawn tight like he was trying to read you, trying to figure out if he could survive any more of this. Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones. You leaned in, barely a whisper between your lips. “You don’t have to be good with me.” The second it left your mouth, you felt it happen. His breath stilled. His eyes darkened. “Don’t say that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, more like a warning to himself than to you. “You don’t know what you’re giving me.” But his hands were already moving, gripping your thighs, pushing your dress up slowly until it was bunched at your waist. You gasped as the night air met your bare skin, and he hovered there for a second, eyes dropping.The sight of you underneath him—flushed, breathing hard, in your pretty little panties and dress—did something to him.

His mouth found your neck first. But this time, he didn’t hold back. He sucked hard, right on the soft skin beneath your collarbone. Then again, higher this time, where he knew it would show tomorrow. A visible claim. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair. “Mine,” he whispered against your skin, almost too low to hear. “You’re mine.” His lips trailed down, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, lower, down your stomach. Slow. Worshipful. Possessive. Then he knelt between your legs, hands caressing your thighs like he needed to memorize every inch. And then he saw them. Your panties—soft, soaked through, clinging to your folds just enough for him to make out the outline. He groaned, dragged his palm up your thigh and pressed it right over your center, fingers cupping you through the wet fabric. “Fuck…” His voice was ruined. “You’re already dripping, baby?” You couldn’t answer. Your hips lifted into his touch instinctively, a soft whimper breaking in your throat. He looked up at you, eyes wild now, barely able to stay soft anymore. “Want me to keep being good now?” he asked, thumb dragging along the dampest part of your panties. You shook your head no, and he smiled softly. You could barely breathe.

His thumb pressed gently over your soaked panties, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch. His touch was slow, like he wasn’t in a hurry. Like he wanted to feel every little reaction you gave him. He kissed your inner thigh again, soft and wet, then moved his lips even closer, brushing just shy of where you needed him. “God, angel…” he murmured against your skin. “You’re soaked.” You whimpered, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. He kissed you again, higher this time, just at the edge of your underwear, and your hips lifted instinctively.He smiled softly. He liked that. You could tell. “You trust me?” You nodded, breathless. “Yes.” “Good.” His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, slowly, teasingly, and began to pull them down. You lifted your hips for him without thinking, cheeks burning as the cool air kissed your skin. He dragged the fabric down your thighs, your knees, your ankles, then tossed them aside like he’d been waiting years to see you like this. And then he just stared for a moment. Silent. “So fuckin’ pretty…” he said, almost to himself. His hands slid back up your thighs, warm, slow and possessive, and when he reached your hips, he pressed a kiss right above your mound. Then lower. And lower. Until his mouth was right where you needed him most.

You barely had time to gasp before his tongue was on you. Hot. Slow. Unbelievably soft. Your hips jerked. Your back arched. And he groaned like he loved the way you tasted. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging on instinct, and the sound it pulled from him, that low, needy groan, shot straight through your spine. He looked up at you, cheeks flushed, lips slick and red, hair a mess from your grip. And you almost came just from the sight. Golden boy Anton. Saintly, sweet, so polite Anton. On his knees, tongue deep between your thighs, looking up at you like you were heaven. “Anton—” you gasped, nearly overwhelmed. “You—fuck—” He didn’t stop. He didn’t even blink.

His tongue moved faster, more focused now, licking slow deliberate circles over your clit, and when you tugged his hair harder, his grip on your thighs tightened. His eyes never left yours. “You taste insane” he whispered, voice thick and ruined against you. He went right back in, and your thighs threatened to close around his head—your saint of a boy, face buried in your heat, moaning like he was being blessed by every sound you made. His tongue kept working you, steady and deep, your thighs trembling against his big hands. You were falling apart underneath him, whimpering, gasping, one hand clutching the sheets while the other tightened in his hair, holding on like you were about to float away. “Toni—nghh—please~” you cried out, voice broken, eyes fluttering. That name from your lips, so sweet, so needy, made him groan so deep it vibrated against your clit. Then, without warning, he slid two fingers into you. Slow. Deep. Filling. You gasped—head falling back, mouth parted in a breathless moan—as he began pumping them in and out, curling just right, dragging wet, lewd sounds from between your thighs. “That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough, breath warm. “You sound so pretty like this.”

You couldn’t even think, you could only feel.The stretch of his fingers. The way his palm pressed perfectly against your heat. How his mouth returned to your clit, licking and sucking hard while his fingers fucked into you. You were so close. So close. “Toni—Toni, please, I—” His mouth pulled back, breath warm on your soaked skin. But his fingers didn’t stop. They kept moving inside you, deep and curling upward with every pump, the slick sounds making your whole body burn. You reached for him, desperate, your hand grabbing the back of his head and pulling him up fast. And then you kissed him. Hard, messy and needy. Your lips crashed into his, tasting yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as his fingers kept moving inside you relentlessly. Anton hummed into the kiss, hips pressing forward into the mattress like he couldn’t help it, like he was falling apart just from the way you kissed him back. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling your body closer to his chest as the kiss deepened—his fingers still fucking you, perfectly in rhythm with the way your body rocked against his hand. Your whole body tensed—hips lifting, hands tangled tight in Anton’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. And when his fingers hit just right, deep and curling, his mouth finding your clit again, you shattered. “T-Toni—! F-fuck—” You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you through it, swallowing every gasp, every broken cry, as your orgasm ripped through you like a wave. Your thighs clenched around his waist. Your fingers gripped his hair in both hands. Your body shook beneath him. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

Even as your hips bucked and trembled, his fingers kept moving. Slowly drawing it out. Helping you ride it until your whole body gave out in his arms. And when you finally collapsed against the bed, gasping, boneless, lips parted, he pulled away slowly, breathless, mouth red and glistening, cheeks flushed like he’d just sinned and loved it. He looked at you like you were holy. He reached up and brushed his knuckles across your cheek, warm and gentle. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice rough around the edges. You nodded, barely. Still breathless. He leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your cheek, then one just below your jaw. Then lower to your neck, where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath your skin. His lips stayed there a moment, like he wanted to memorize the feeling of you. His hands moved down, big and warm on your bare thighs. He caressed the soft skin gently, thumbs stroking where he’d held you open, his touch full of something that felt like quiet praise. Then, without saying a word, he reached for your panties on the floor and helped you slip them back on, careful and slow. Once they were in place, he leaned forward again, resting his forehead against yours for just a second, both of you breathing the same quiet air. Then he murmured, “I think my parents’ll be back soon.” Your heart jumped, reality creeping back in, but Anton’s hand was already smoothing over your thigh again, grounding you. He looked at you like he didn’t want you to leave. But he would let you. For now.

♱

The night air was cooler now, soft against your skin as you stepped out into the quiet, still pulling your cardigan around you. Anton walked beside you in silence, his hands in his pockets, close enough for your fingers to brush every few steps. Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to. You could still feel him—on your skin, in your breath, between your legs. And he could still feel you too. You saw it in the way he glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking. That small curve of a smile he couldn’t quite hide. When you reached your front porch, you turned to face him, heart fluttering in your chest. He looked so soft in the dim porch light—hair a little messy, lips still a little pink, his eyes warm and unreadable. He stepped closer. “Thanks for coming over,” he murmured. “Thanks for…everything,” you whispered back, cheeks warming again, your hands behind your back. He chuckled quietly. Then he leaned in, hand gently cupping your waist, and kissed you. Soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way he’d touched you earlier…but just as overwhelming. When he pulled back, he stayed close. His forehead nearly touching yours, his voice low, “See you tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Yeah…tomorrow.” He smiled, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips again, and then turned to walk back toward his house, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders just a little looser than before. And you stood there a moment longer, fingers brushing your lips, your heart pounding so loud it felt like it echoed through the quiet street. You tried to blink it away, tried to smooth your face as you stepped inside your house, quietly closing the door behind you. The light from the kitchen was still on. “There you are,” your mom called from the table. “I was starting to think you fell asleep next door.” You let out a soft laugh, cheeks still warm as you stepped out of your shoes. “No… Just stayed a bit to talk.” “Mhm,” she hummed, sipping her tea. “Well, don’t forget—we’re helping set up for the charity event tomorrow after church. Anton will be there too.” Your heart skipped. “Right. I remember.” You turned toward the hallway, trying to keep your voice even. “G’night, Mom.” “Night, sweetheart.” You made it to your room, closed the door softly, and leaned back against it, chest rising and falling like you’d run a mile. Tomorrow. You’d see him again tomorrow. And the worst part? You were already aching for it.

♱

The church was warm with soft chatter and the scuff of shoes on tile. Long folding tables lined the walls, each draped with pale tablecloths and surrounded by open boxes of clothes and canned goods. It smelled like lemon cleaner and faint perfume and sunlight clinging to old wood. You stood at one end of a table, fingers smoothing out the cloth. Your eyes were focused, but your mind wasn’t. Not when he was this close. Anton stood just beside you, setting out trays and centerpieces like it was second nature. His sleeves were rolled up, veins in his forearms catching the light when he moved. He didn’t say much. Just worked quietly, side by side, like he was trying not to draw attention to the way his shoulder kept brushing yours. And then he leaned in. Not much. Just enough that his mouth was near your ear, his voice low, almost lazy. “You look beautiful.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like a confession. Your breath caught. You froze for half a second, hands paused on the table, before you slowly looked at him. But he was already turning, lifting another box, acting like nothing happened. Like your heart wasn’t now hammering inside your chest. You swallowed. Lips parted. Eyes burning into the back of his neck.

The church was mostly quiet except for the gentle shuffling of boxes and folding chairs. It was just the two of you now. The sun had dipped hours ago, casting golden light through the stained glass before fading completely into night. Only the warm glow of the overhead lights remained, soft and holy. Anton was stacking donation boxes near the front pew while you tried to make sense of the tangled folding chairs at the back. You were humming softly to yourself—half from nerves, half from the way his presence always made you feel too warm lately. You reached for one of the metal chairs, too quick, and your foot caught on another folded leg. Your balance slipped. “Oh—!”But before you could hit the ground, Anton was there. His hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you upright, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breath hitched. His eyes scanned your face quickly, his hands still steady on your body. “You okay?” You nodded, your hands splayed against his chest now. His pullover was soft. Warm. And under it, he was solid. “Sorry,” you whispered, the tiniest laugh in your throat. Your smile was shy, your cheeks flushed.He didn’t laugh. Didn’t let go. Just looked at you. Like he was thinking something he shouldn’t. And then, his arms tightened slightly around your waist.

His mouth parted just a bit, and his voice came low, “You’re really not making it easy for me.” You blinked up at him. “What?” But he didn’t explain. Instead, he kissed you. Right there, in the middle of the church, surrounded by donation stuff and folding chairs. It was sudden, and deep, and so full of everything he’d been holding back. His lips moved over yours with a kind of hunger that felt like it had been waiting for an excuse. And you—pressed to his chest, hands still curled in his sweater—kissed him back like you’d been waiting too. His lips moved over yours with more urgency now, rougher and deeper. Your fingers curled in his hair as his hand slid around to your lower back, pressing you closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the quiet growl in the back of his throat every time your breath caught.

You gasped into his mouth, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Anton… we’re at church—” His mouth chased yours, voice low and hard, “I don’t fucking care.” He kissed you again, hungrier, and in one swift, effortless motion, his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you up. Your breath hitched as he placed you on the edge of the long wooden table behind you, the one you’d just been sorting donation envelopes on. Now, forgotten. You looked at him, heart racing.“What if someone sees us?” you breathed. His hands slid up your thighs, firm and possessive, as he stepped between them.“Let them.” His voice was rough, wrecked. A low growl right against your skin. And then his lips dropped to your neck.

He kissed over the faint marks he’d left days ago, soft at first, then deeper. His teeth grazed the skin just below your jaw, and you whined, hands gripping his shoulders. He kissed lower, leaving new marks with every pass of his mouth, like he was reclaiming territory only he could touch. “Toni…” you whispered, breath trembling. He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips—like that. Soft, whiny, his. His fingers pressed into your thighs, thumbs brushing under the hem of your skirt as his mouth dragged down your throat, slow and hot. His hands were everywhere—firm on your thighs, sliding under your skirt, curling around your waist like he couldn’t get you close enough.

You gasped when his hands gripped lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you forward on the table until you could feel the pressure of his hard-on between your legs. “Toni,” you whimpered, dizzy, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his sweater. “We can’t—God’s watching—” He froze for half a second. Just long enough to lift his head, eyes burning into yours. Then he said it—quiet, calm, but full of something dark and unshakable, “I am God.” Your lips parted, breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know if you were shocked or turned on. Maybe both. He watched your face as the words settled in, his eyes hooded, the corner of his mouth twitching up when he saw the heat rising in your cheeks. His voice dropped lower, curling into your chest like smoke. “Right now…I’m the only one you pray to.” And then his mouth was back on you—kissing your collarbones, biting softly where your strap had slipped just low enough.

One hand slipped up your back while the other gripped the underside of your thigh, holding you wide open for him. You whimpered, arching into him without meaning to. “Anton—“ “Say it again.” His voice was ragged now, mouth warm on your skin, dragging against the edge of your bra strap. You barely managed a breath, “Toni…” He groaned, low and deep, fingers digging into your skin. “Mm. Keep saying my name like that.” His breath hitched as he pulled back just slightly, eyes locked on yours. His jaw was clenched, brows tight, voice lower than you’d ever heard it.“Get on your knees.” You blinked. “What?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, gentle but firm, as he leaned in close, lips brushing your cheek. “On your knees, baby.” Your heart practically jumped out of your chest. Heat flooded your face, your stomach, your thighs. You hesitated only for a second, just long enough for your breath to stutter. But then, you slid off the table slowly. Down to your knees. The cold floor pressed against your skin as you settled in front of him. You tilted your head up, shy, lips parted, eyes doe like and innocent, and his entire body visibly tensed. His gaze was fixed on you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he was trying not to fall apart. “Fuck…” He reached down, threading his fingers into your hair. Not pulling, just petting. Slow, reverent strokes, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you like this. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, soft and possessive all at once. “Look at you,” he whispered. “So sweet for me.” You sighed, eyes never leaving his. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “My pretty little angel…”

You stayed perfectly still on your knees, heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Anton’s thumb grazed your bottom lip slowly, and you parted your lips without even thinking. That’s when his smile shifted, something darker curling at the corners. He dragged his thumb down, then slid his index finger along your lip, tapping it once against your mouth. You let him push his finger past your lips—slow, deep—and your lashes fluttered as the pad of it pressed against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around it instinctively, and his breath stuttered. “Good girl…” His voice was a whisper, low and wrecked. Like just seeing you like this, on your knees, sucking his finger, eyes big and wet—was too much for him to handle. He watched you. Let you lick and suck gently, the corner of his lip twitching when you whimpered quietly around him. His other hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking along your skin like he was soothing you, even while you were on your knees, mouth full, obeying his every move. “So fucking perfect,” he murmured. And still, you held his gaze. Still, you sucked softly, cheeks warm and flushed, knees pressed to the cold church floor like you were praying to him. And maybe you were.

He pulled his finger slowly from your mouth, glistening and warm, a soft little pop echoing in the still air. Your lips were parted, your breath shaky, chest rising with every pulse of heat settling low in your core. And then, he took your hand. His fingers slid between yours, gentle but sure, and he guided it slowly downward. You followed instinctively until your palm landed against the front of his jeans—hot, hard, unmistakable beneath the fabric. Your eyes widened. “Toni—” He didn’t speak. He just pressed your hand more firmly to it, his breath hitching at the contact. And you could feel him. All of him. Thick. Heavy. Straining. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it. Your fingers twitched, and then you palmed him. Tentative at first. Just the softest pressure. He groaned. His head tipped forward, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.” Your cheeks burned, but you obeyed, letting your hand move slow and shy over the thick line of his cock through his jeans. You squeezed gently, experimentally. He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, baby…” One of his hands braced on the table behind you, the other still cradling your cheek, brushing over your temple like you were the softest thing he’d ever touched, even while you had your hand wrapped around the very thing he’d been trying to hide from you for days.

And then he looked down at you again. “Do you feel what you do to me?” he said softly. You swallowed, thighs clenching where you knelt, and nodded, dazed, completely lost in him. Your palm kept moving, slow, nervous strokes over the thick bulge, until his hips gave the tiniest roll into your hand. That low groan from his throat made your knees feel weak all over again. Then, still holding your gaze, he moved your hand to his waistband.“Go ahead,” he whispered. “Take it out, angel.” Your breath caught. You hesitated, cheeks already flushed deep pink. But your fingers moved anyway, slow and unsure, as they found the button of his jeans and undid it with a quiet pop. Then the zipper. Each slow tug of it felt impossibly loud in the silence of the church. Your hand shook just a little as you dragged the denim down his hips, revealing gray boxers. Tight, and so full. And then, finally, you let your fingers slide past the band. And when you lowered his boxers, his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, leaking already, and standing proud against his stomach. Your lips parted instantly. Your cheeks went bright red. You blinked like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was just…so big. So pretty. Long, veiny, flushed at the tip and glistening already with need. And it was all because of you. Anton chuckled softly above you, low and rough. “You gonna keep staring, pretty girl?” Your breath hitched. You looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted and completely overwhelmed. He smiled. One hand slid into your hair, petting softly again. Thumb brushing your cheek.

Your breath shook as you gently wrapped both hands around the base of his dick, like you were afraid to grip too tight. He was so warm in your palms, heavy and twitching. You looked up at him. He was already staring down at you, jaw tight, breathing uneven, one hand resting on the back of your head. You leaned in slowly, lips parting as you brought your mouth to him. Your tongue flicked out, just the softest lick over the flushed head. He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck…” You licked again. Slow and careful, like you were testing something sacred. His precum hit your tongue, and your lashes fluttered, still looking at him. Big, wide, innocent eyes. Your hands shifted, stroking softly as you leaned forward to kiss the tip, lips plush and pink, leaving a warm breath against his skin. Then your tongue circled it once, barely touching, and he groaned, deep and wrecked, head tipping back for a second before his eyes found yours again. “Jesus, baby…” He looked completely undone. Red-cheeked, hair messy, chest heaving. His fingers threaded deeper into your hair now. “So fucking pretty on your knees.” he muttered, voice hoarse. You whimpered softly and kissed him again, lower. Letting your tongue trail down the underside of his cock, slow and reverent. Worshipping him like he was your god. And he was.

Your lips parted further as you took him deeper, just a little. Just enough to feel the stretch, the pressure, the way he twitched against your tongue. Your hands gripped his base tighter, keeping steady, and your breath fanned hot against his skin as you hollowed your cheeks around him. His fingers threaded deep, gripping at the roots, but still gentle. Still shaking a little. Like he was trying so hard to keep it together. “F-fuck, baby…” His hips rolled the tiniest bit, pushing just a touch deeper, and you moaned around him. Then, a soft whimper escaped him. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. That sound? From him? It was everything. His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you, breathless, eyes dark. “You take me so well,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “So fucking good for me.” You sucked a little harder in response, tongue teasing the underside of him as you took him just a bit deeper, and that’s when the shift happened. His voice dropped. No more shaky breath. No more awe. Just that low, possessive rasp, “Yeah… that’s it, angel. Keep going.” He started to guide your head now—slow, steady movements. You blinked up at him, breathless, cheeks flushed, spit clinging to the corners of your mouth—and pulled back just enough to speak. Your voice came out soft and whiny. Worshipful.“I’ll take anything from you, Toni…” His entire body tensed. His hand gripped your hair so tight it hurt. Possessive. His jaw clenched, barely holding himself together. “Fuck…”

His voice cracked, like you saying that, looking like that, was too much. “You mean that?” You nodded, lips still brushing against the tip of him, warm breath spilling down his length. You weren’t teasing anymore. You were giving yourself to him. And he felt it. “Yeah?” he said again, voice lower. “You’d let me do anything to you?” Your hands tightened around him, and you nodded once more, eager and desperate. His thumb brushed across your wet cheek, eyes scanning every inch of your face like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus Christ…” he whispered. “Mine,” he muttered, half to himself. “Fucking mine. Made for me.” And then he pushed. Guiding your head lower, deeper. His hips rolled forward as his other hand braced the edge of the table behind you, his breath breaking in soft, strained groans. “Just like that, angel…fuck.”

You felt his control slipping. His soft-spoken calm replaced with something rougher, needier. He started moving his hips more deliberately, his cock slipping deeper into your mouth each time, and your hands gripped his thighs for balance. And through it all, he whimpered. Soft, broken sounds, raw from his throat. Frustrated moans. Curses. Praise. “Your mouth is perfect—mine—just for me—” He was unraveling. Desperate to cum. And when he did—his whole body shuddered. A high-pitched moan broke from his throat, his hand tightening just a second longer in your hair. When he finally stilled, breath ragged, he looked down. You blinked up at him, cheeks red, lips swollen, tongue out—clean. His eyes darkened. “Holy fuck.” Then, his hand slid from your hair to your throat. Firm. Possessive. He pulled you up in one swift movement, crashing his mouth against yours in a kiss that was nothing like before—messy, breathless, filthy.

His hand stayed on your throat, thumb under your jaw, holding you still as he kissed you like he didn’t care about anything else—not the church, not God, not anyone. Just you. You whimpered into his mouth, body flushed and weak, still kneeling slightly between his legs when—“Anton?” A voice echoed down the hallway. You both froze. It was his mom. Anton moved first—fast. He gently but quickly helped you to your feet, hands smoothing down your dress, brushing your hair from your face as your heart raced in your chest. He tugged up his jeans, zipped them shut in one motion, fingers trembling just slightly. You turned around, fixing your hair in the reflection of the dark window, smoothing the skirt of your dress down like it could erase the heat still buzzing across your thighs. “We’re here!” he called, voice clear, like he hadn’t just finished kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around your throat. His mom stepped in a second later, holding a tray of cookies. “Sorry for interrupting,” she smiled. “Sweetheart, you can head home now, it’s getting late. I’ll stay and help Anton finish up.” You nodded quickly, heart still pounding. “O-okay. Goodnight, Mrs. Lee.” You started walking toward the exit, but as you passed Anton, he stepped closer. His hand slipped gently to your waist, and he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was softer than ever. Barely a breath. Still warm with what just happened. But sweet. You nodded slowly, biting your lip to hide the smile. “Mhm.” And then you walked out, heart pounding, legs shaky, feeling like nothing in the world could compare to the way Anton Lee touched you like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.

The charity event had gone very well. Laughter floated through the air like music, kids running across the grass with lemonade cups in hand, neighbors huddled near folding tables stacked with donation boxes and home-baked cookies. The sun was high and golden, casting soft shadows through the trees that lined the old church yard. You stood near the donation tent, helping a few older ladies gather envelopes and sort through sign-up sheets. You were smiling, polite, answering questions when asked—but your eyes kept flicking toward the side lot where Anton was helping carry chairs, sleeves pushed to his elbows, arms flexing, the edge of his shirt sticking slightly to his back from the heat. He looked like he belonged here. Everyone loved him. You were surprised they didn’t hand him a halo.

It wasn’t long before he drifted your way again. You didn’t hear his footsteps, you just felt it when he was near. “Hey,” he said, gently. “Everything’s pretty much wrapped up. I think we’re just waiting on my dad to lock up.” You looked up from the papers in your hand and gave a soft smile. “You did good,” you murmured, “It all turned out really nice.” He smiled back, but he wasn’t looking at the tables or the decorations. He was looking at you. “Yeah,” he said. “It did.”His voice was a little quiet when he added, “My mom said your family’s coming to ours for dinner tonight.” You blinked. “Oh…really?” He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “She and your mom planned it earlier. You’ll come, right?” A hopeful tone in his voice. You nodded, a bit shy, heart fluttering in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll come.” You glanced around—most of the others were busy chatting or packing up, distracted. Without thinking too hard, you stepped a little closer, rose onto your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze. And then, just as his eyes found yours again, you smiled. “Only for you.” Anton’s gaze lingered on your face for a second too long, and you could see it—he was gone for you.

♱

You couldn’t stop checking the mirror. Your room was filled with golden evening light—curtains swaying gently in the summer breeze, the soft hum of cicadas outside blending with the faint creak of your floorboards as you moved back and forth, barefoot on the rug. Your heart hadn’t stopped fluttering. You curled your hair carefully, setting the pieces with care as the warm scent of your favorite lotion floated around you. You wanted to look nice. Not too much. But still nice. The dress you chose was soft violet—just barely off the shoulder, with a gentle sway to the hem that brushed mid-thigh. You smoothed the fabric down your hips and whispered to your reflection, “Just dinner.” But your heart didn’t believe that. Not really. Your mom called for you from downstairs, and soon enough, the three of you—your mom, dad, and you—were walking the short path next door to the Lee house. You felt like your whole body was humming, warm and restless, as the familiar porch came into view. Your mom knocked cheerfully on the door, calling out, “We brought dessert!” A moment passed before the door opened, and there he was. He looked up, lips parting slightly as he caught sight of you behind your parents. His eyes did a slow sweep—hair curled, cheeks flushed, the soft violet fabric of your dress catching the light. And for a second, he didn’t say anything at all. Then he smiled. “Hey. Come in.” You stepped inside behind your parents, heart hammering. His house smelled like warm food. You slipped out of your shoes and followed the others toward the dining room. Anton walked beside you, close enough that your fingers nearly brushed.

“You look…” he started, voice soft so only you could hear. Then he smiled like he didn’t trust himself to finish it. “Really good.” You looked down, smiling nervously. “You too.” And even as the voices of your parents floated down the hallway, and dishes clinked gently in the kitchen, you could feel it building The air changed when it was just the two of you. The night hadn’t even started yet. And you already knew it wouldn’t end the way it was supposed to. Dinner was loud in the way family dinners always were—dishes passed hand to hand, voices overlapping, stories being told and retold like it was tradition. The Lees had made roasted chicken, herbed potatoes, and something creamy with mushrooms that melted in your mouth. Warm bread sat in the middle of the table, along with a pitcher of juice that never seemed to stay full. You sat beside Anton, of course—because your mom had said, “Oh, let the kids sit together. They probably have so much to catch up on.” And now your knees kept brushing under the table, soft and warm every time, making your heartbeat flutter in your throat. You could barely focus on your plate. He looked good. Too good. His shirt sleeves were rolled again, clinging to his muscles, and the way he kept glancing at you made it almost impossible to eat. “It’s so sweet,” Mrs. Lee said suddenly, gesturing between you and Anton. “Seeing you two back together again.” Your fork paused mid-air. “I know,” your mom chimed in. “You used to be inseparable. I have pictures, remember? Anton, you were always following her around with your little toy guitar—” “Mom,” he groaned, laughing but clearly flustered.

You hid your smile behind your glass. “Well,” Mrs. Lee went on, cheerful and far too pleased with herself, “if this keeps up, maybe we’ll be planning a wedding soon.” Your heart stopped. Your cheeks flushed so fast it almost hurt, and beside you, Anton choked on his drink. “M-Mom—” “What?” she teased. “I’m just saying. You’d be a beautiful couple.” The table laughed. You looked down at your plate, smiling helplessly into your mashed potatoes. And then you felt it—his hand, sliding gently under the table, brushing against yours. You let your fingers shift, brushing back. He curled his around yours slowly, deliberately, lacing them together like it was the easiest thing in the world. When you looked up at him, he was already watching you, eyes soft, cheeks faintly pink, thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. You smiled. And he smiled back.

The night passed slowly. The dining table behind you was still full of empty glasses and half-finished desserts. Your mom and Mrs. Lee had moved to the couch near the window, feet curled up and voices louder than usual, giggling over stories you couldn’t quite make out. Mr. Lee was laughing too, and the scent of red wine lingered faintly in the air, swirling with candle wax and roasted herbs. You and Anton sat on the smaller couch in the living room, just the two of you. A little apart from the rest. Not hidden, but not seen either. The lights were dim, just the soft glow from the lamp in the corner and the flicker of something playing quietly on the TV, long forgotten. Anton’s arm rested behind you on the cushion, fingertips brushing your shoulder every now and then, and your bare knees were pulled up gently beside you. You were supposed to be listening to his dad’s story, something about his youth group days, but all you could focus on was him. The warmth of his body beside yours. The way his lashes curled when he blinked. The tiny scrape of his thumb brushing the side of your arm. He looked at you then, like he felt your gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched, soft and knowing. You leaned in slowly. Your lips pressed to his cheek, quiet and careful. He froze for half a second. You felt him exhale through his nose, like he wasn’t expecting it, but loved that it happened. And then you whispered, sweet and barely above the hush of the room, “Do you wanna go to my house?” “It’ll be more quiet.” He looked at you for a moment, eyes flicking from yours to your lips, then back again. Then he nodded once. Slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Let’s go.”

You both stood at almost the same time. Anton glanced at you like he was checking, making sure you hadn’t changed your mind, and you gave him the smallest nod. Your joined hands slipped apart gently, and he turned toward the adults still laughing behind you. “We’re gonna go for a walk,” he said casually, voice calm, steady. Your mom barely looked up, too caught in a story about a church retreat years ago. “Mhm—be back soon!” “Don’t stay out too late,” Mrs. Lee chimed in, waving a hand in your general direction, her words slightly slurred from too much wine. You and Anton both smiled politely before slipping toward the front door. His hand touched the small of your back as he opened it for you, barely there, but firm. Familiar. Protective. The summer night air wrapped around you the moment you stepped out, warm and soft, with the faint smell of pine and cut grass. The porch creaked beneath your feet as you walked down the steps together in silence, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your house was just steps away, glowing faintly under the porch light. You glanced at him once before opening the door, and he followed you inside.

The house was quiet. The TV hummed softly in the corner, volume low enough that it barely registered. Dim lamplight washed the living room in warm gold, flickering gently across the couch where the two of you lay, curled up like you’d been there forever. You were draped over him, head resting on his chest, the soft swell of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. His fingers traced lazy, featherlight lines up and down your spine beneath your dress. You could feel his breath rising and falling under your cheek, steady and warm. The laughter from next door didn’t fade. Your parents probably still telling stories they’d told a hundred times.

But in here, it was just him. Just you. Just this silence that held everything neither of you had said. Your fingers curled gently into his shirt, holding onto the slow rhythm of his breathing. And then, finally, you tilted your face up to look at him. He was already looking down at you. And that’s when you kissed him. Soft. Warm. Just your lips pressed gently to his—like you were testing the way it felt to be that close. Like you already knew it would change everything.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms tightened around your waist the second your mouth touched his, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single breath between your bodies. He kissed you back with heat and softness all at once, like it had been building in him for years. You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand pressing against the small of your back to keep you close. But then you pulled back slowly, cheeks burning, breath caught in your chest. Your lips brushed his jaw as you whispered, barely a sound, “Toni…I love you.” The words hung there. Heavy. Fragile. Sacred. You hadn’t meant to say them tonight. Not out loud. Not like that. But now that they were out, you felt the way your chest opened up with them, like it was relief to finally say what your body had already been telling him. His eyes locked onto yours. And something shifted in them. Not shock. Not hesitation. Just pure, undeniable devotion. He cupped your cheek, eyes warm and focused, and leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours. “Say it again,” he breathed. “Please.” You swallowed, voice trembling as you looked up at him. “I love you.” He kissed you again. Slow and deep. His hand curled at the nape of your neck, anchoring you there like he didn’t want to let you go—not now, not ever. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you too.”

His mouth moved over yours, deeper more sure. Like he wasn’t holding back anymore. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you tighter against him as the kiss grew hot, feverish. You moaned softly into his mouth, lips parting for his tongue, and the sound only seemed to make him hungrier. You shifted in his lap, straddling one of his thighs, and your hands gripped his shoulders, then slid up into his hair. “Let me…” you whispered between kisses, breathless. He leaned back just a little, eyes burning into yours, lips swollen. And you bent down, lips grazing along the line of his jaw, trailing lower. You kissed the soft skin just beneath his ear, your tongue flicking out gently, earning a low groan from his chest. You sucked a mark into the base of his neck. Visible. Yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter instantly. And then, his hand wrapped around your throat. His fingers splayed across your neck, tilting your face up toward him, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb brushed your jaw. “My sweet angel.” he whispered, before kissing you hard, tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming you all over again.

You gasped into him, fingers tugging at his shirt, your thighs clenching around his. In a swift, fluid motion, he shifted, flipping you beneath him on the couch, his body hovering over yours. His knee nudged between your legs, spreading them just enough. You let out a breathy whimper, arching into him, and he kissed down your jaw, down your throat, leaving hot, wet hickies in his path. Marking you his. “So pretty like this,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “So soft…all mine.” His hand slipped beneath your dress, slowly caressing your thighs—fingertips light and teasing, moving higher and higher, his mouth never leaving your skin.

You could barely breathe. And then, you felt his fingers slide under the waistband of your panties. His touch brushed your folds, gentle but sure. He exhaled slowly when he felt how wet you already were. His lips returned to your ear, voice rasped and low. “All this for me?” You nodded, biting your lip, eyes glazed. His fingers moved slowly between your folds, the heat of his hand making your back arch off the couch. His mouth stayed on yours, kissing you through every tiny gasp he pulled from your lips. You whimpered softly, hips shifting, and he groaned quietly against your mouth like he could feel everything you were feeling. Then, he pulled back slightly. He turned his head, eyes flicking toward the window behind the couch. The soft golden glow of the porch light still shone from next door, and through the sheer curtains, he could make out the faint shadows of your parents and his still hanging out. He looked back at you then, breath unsteady, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a thumb that trembled just slightly. “Can we…” he swallowed, voice quieter now, like the question was heavy. Sacred. “Can we go to your room?” Your heart thudded loud in your chest. You nodded. Softly. Shyly. Eyes wide and warm as they met his.

And that was all he needed. He kissed you again softly, like a promise. Then you took his hand in yours, fingers weaving together, and gently led him off the couch, past the soft glow of the TV and toward the stairs, his hand held yours tight the whole way up. The door clicked shut behind you, the soft sound swallowed by the quiet of the house. The hallway light spilled in for just a second before Anton reached back and flicked it off, leaving the room bathed in the dim, golden glow of your bedside lamp. Your fingers were still laced with his. You turned to him, heart racing in your chest, and rose onto your tiptoes, giggling softly as you pushed him back against the door. “What are you doing?” he murmured, laughing breathlessly as his back hit the wood.

Your hands slid up his chest, tugging gently at the hem of his shirt, and you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “Just wanted to kiss you first,” you smiled, lips brushing his. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, like he was overwhelmed that you were here, his, wanting this. “You’re dangerous when you smile like that,” he whispered, voice low. Then, suddenly, his hands gripped your waist tight, and he took over. He kissed you deeper now, stealing the breath right out of your lungs as he spun the two of you around and walked you back slowly, lips never leaving yours. Each step was careful. Controlled. Your knees bumped the edge of the bed, and his hands smoothed up your sides as he leaned down, guiding you onto the mattress. The soft fabric of your dress fluttered as you lay back against the pillows, looking up at him—eyes wide, chest rising and falling like you could barely contain the warmth inside you. Anton stood over you, breathing hard. His gaze roamed your body, drinking in the way your hair fanned across your pillow, the way your dress clung to you in the soft light. “You’re…breathtaking,” he murmured. Then he leaned down again, kissing you slow—taking his time now, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh beneath your dress. His fingers trembled slightly at first. But then you whispered his name, soft and trusting, and that’s when everything inside him shifted.

Your hands slid up beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, fingertips grazing the warm skin of his stomach. You felt the slight tremble in his muscles, the way he inhaled sharply as your palms flattened against his chest. Then you tugged. He pulled back just enough to let you lift his shirt, and without a word, he raised his arms and let you peel it off. The moment it hit the floor, you paused. Your breath caught. His body was lean, toned, broad shoulders and sculpted arms—but what held your gaze was the small gold cross resting against his chest, just above his heart. The chain glinted faintly in the dim light, almost glowing against his skin. You reached up with a shy hand, brushing your fingers gently over the planes of his abs, trailing up toward the delicate charm. Anton’s breath hitched. “You’re staring,angel” he said softly, eyes watching yours. “I can’t help it…” you murmured. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, soft, reverent. His hands came to the hem of your dress, fingers curling into the fabric, voice low against your skin. “Can I take this off?” The question settled between you like a vow. Your heart thudded as you looked up at him, cheeks burning, chest fluttering. And you nodded. “Please.”

Anton’s fingers slipped under the hem of your dress, eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pulled the fabric upward, inch by inch, until it lifted over your head and joined his shirt on the floor. His breath caught. You lay there beneath him, bare from the waist up, soft skin glowing in the golden light, your chest rising and falling with each nervous breath. The dainty lace of your panties and your frilly white socks were all you wore now, and his gaze swept down the length of you slowly, devouring. “Fuck…” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re fucking divine.” He leaned in without waiting, he couldn’t hold back another second. His mouth found your collarbone first, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat along your skin. Then he kissed lower, just beneath your throat, then lower, lips and tongue marking you up until you were covered in soft, red blooms. You whimpered, hands threading through his hair, stroking gently, helpless to the way his mouth worshipped your chest. Then his lips closed around one of your nipples, sucking slowly. You gasped. His other hand moved to your other breast, massaging gently, thumb brushing your sensitive skin in slow circles as his tongue laved your peak. Every motion was slow. Meant. He wanted to make you feel it, all of it. “T-Toni…” you whispered, hips shifting beneath him, thighs brushing together.

He groaned softly against your chest, the sound vibrating through you. He kissed your breast once more, then moved to the other, treating it with just as much attention, hand still caressing and holding like you were something he’d been waiting his whole life to touch. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, your soft breaths turning to quiet, broken whimpers. zhe kissed lower, lips trailing a hot, wet path down the center of your stomach. His hands smoothed over your sides as he went, fingers gentle but possessive, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him see you like this—bare, soft, trembling beneath him. When he reached your navel, he paused, pressing a soft kiss, then another, slower one just below. Your thighs shifted restlessly. He smiled against your skin. Then he leaned down and kissed over the delicate lace of your panties, a featherlight brush of his lips, more like worship than lust. “So fucking pretty…” he whispered. His hands hooked gently under the waistband, and he glanced up at you, eyes searching, voice tender. “Is this okay?”You nodded, lips parted, heart thudding so loud you swore he could hear it. “Yes…please.” He slowly tugged the fabric down your thighs, so slowly, like he was unwrapping a blessing, and dropped them to the floor, his hands smoothing along your skin as he did. And then he just looked. Like you were the most godly thing he’d ever seen. His hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling them apart just a little more. He bent down, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other.

You whimpered, body arching slightly. Then he started to mark you, again and again. Soft hickies bloomed across your inner thighs, his teeth grazing gently, tongue soothing after each one, until your skin was dotted with faint red love bites, claiming you. “Can’t help it,” he murmured against your thigh. “Want everyone to know who you belong to…” His breath was warm against your skin as he kissed even lower, lips brushing just beside where you needed him most. He groaned softly at the sight of you, already glistening, already so wet for him.“So perfect.” he whispered, voice almost reverent. Then he slid his fingers between your folds—gentle, exploring, just enough pressure to drag your slick along your seam. You gasped, hips twitching as he moved slowly, fingers gliding up and down, barely grazing your clit with every pass. “T-Toni…” you whimpered, voice trembling. He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lowered his head, mouth parting as he finally licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your heat. Your entire body arched. A cry slipped from your throat as your hands flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, overwhelmed. His tongue circled your clit, then closed around it with a soft suck, and you could feel him moan into you. One of his arms slipped up your body, reaching for your hand, and you instinctively laced your fingers with his, holding tight, grounding yourself.

The other hand curled firm around your thigh, gripping hard, holding you open. His fingers dug into your skin with quiet desperation, a bruise surely blooming beneath his touch. You looked down at him through heavy lashes—his face between your thighs, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and slick, hair messy from your hands. His eyes fluttered open just long enough to meet yours. And you swore—he looked at you like he just saw God. Anton’s mouth didn’t let up, slow licks, deeper pressure, his tongue working you with a rhythm that had your body trembling. You whimpered his name again, fingers buried in his hair, hips beginning to move without meaning to. Then he slid his hand from yours and brought it down between your thighs. You felt his fingers press to your entrance. And then he pushed them in—slow, steady, the stretch making your eyes flutter closed. You gasped as he began to pump them inside you, curling just right, dragging that tight, sweet spot with every thrust. All the while, his mouth never left your clit, sucking gently, tongue flicking and swirling, working in sync with his hand. Your legs trembled around him. “A-Anton—Toni—” you gasped, back arching. His fingers went deeper. His tongue moved faster. “Please—Toni, I’m—nghh—!”You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Your voice broke into high, breathy whimpers, thighs clenching tight around his head as your release hit you. Your whole body shook, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you cried out, hips jerking, his name slipping from your lips over and over like a prayer. And still, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, licking up every drop, soft and tender now, worshipful.

Anton kissed his way slowly back up your body—your inner thighs, the curve of your hip, the soft skin just under your ribs—until he reached your lips. His mouth met yours hungrily, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, still warm from where he ate you like he was starving. You cupped his jaw as he kissed you, soft whimpers still slipping from your throat, body trembling under his weight. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath shaky. Then, slowly, he sat back on his knees between your legs. You watched through heavy lashes, still dazed from your high, as he reached for the button on his jeans. His hands moved with quiet purpose, slow and deliberate. You could see the way his fingers trembled a little as he undid them, and then he slid the denim down his hips. His boxers strained with how hard he was—his arousal obvious, heavy, and thick beneath the fabric. You swallowed softly as he hooked his fingers under the waistband, his eyes on yours the whole time. When he pulled them down, you gasped. So beautiful, just like last time. Your cheeks went hot instantly, your thighs instinctively pressing together, but Anton just reached forward again, gently parting them with his hands as his eyes dragged down your body like he couldn’t believe you were real. His hand wrapped around himself, pumping slowly, a soft hiss of breath leaving his lips as he did. You could see the flush rising on his cheeks, the flex of his forearms, the tension in his body like he was holding himself back—barely. Then he leaned forward again, his forehead pressing to yours, voice low and almost shaking, “Are you sure? Tell me to stop, and I will. I swear.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and wet, lips parted, skin still tingling from the way he’d touched you and kissed you. One of your hands rose to brush along his jaw, fingertips gentle. And then, with a voice barely above a whisper, breathless, soft, completely surrendered, you whispered, “I’m at your mercy, Toni…” He froze. You saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the sharp inhale that hitched in his throat. Something in him cracked wide open. His lips parted, and for a moment he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Then, without warning, he exhaled a low, broken groan and kissed you—hard. Rougher now. Deeper. His hands gripped your waist tight, possessive, pulling you flush against him as his hips rolled forward, his hard length brushing against your core.“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice lower now—gravelly, filled with something dark and desperate. “You say things like that…I can’t stop myself.” He kissed down your throat again, sucking harshly at your skin, teeth grazing, leaving deeper marks. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs, sliding up and gripping firmly. One hand curled around your throat while the other moved between your legs again, fingers stroking along your slick seam. “Mine,” he muttered, like a prayer.

Anton’s body was tense above yours, muscles flexed as he hovered over you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His lips were soft on your skin—gentle kisses, a contrast to the grip of his hands on your thighs as he guided himself between them. He rocked his hips forward slowly, the weight of him settling against your heat. His length slid along your folds, hot, heavy, teasing, and your breath hitched as your hips twitched under his. “Shh, baby,” he murmured, kissing just below your ear. “Just breathe for me.” You whimpered, your fingers gripping his biceps, legs trembling around him. The warmth, the stretch, the pressure of him right there—it was too much and not enough all at once. Then, slowly, he pushed in, just the tip. You gasped, a soft cry slipping from your lips as your back arched and your nails dug into his skin. “Toni—” you whimpered. He stilled immediately, breathing ragged as he pressed kisses along your throat. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I promise. I’ve got you.” Slowly and carefully he began to move, easing in deeper, inch by inch. Your breath hitched, legs tightening around his hips as you clung to him, your heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. He kissed your cheek, then your temple, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other squeezing your waist gently. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his voice tight with restraint. “Just a little more, okay?” You whimpered, a soft tear slipping down your cheek as the fullness settled in. He wiped it away instantly, thumb brushing under your eye. And then—he was fully inside you. All of him. He stayed still. Both of you breathing hard, wrapped in silence and heat, your bodies pressed together so close it was like you were one.

Your arms came up to circle his shoulders, holding him close. He rested his forehead against yours. “Are you okay?” he murmured, lips brushing yours. You nodded weakly, your voice nothing but a breath. “I just…need a second…” “Take all the time you need,” he whispered, kissing your cheek again. “I’m not going anywhere.”After a moment, when your breathing slowed and your hips shifted ever so slightly against him, he began to move. Slowly. Deeply. Carefully. Each stroke was patient, deliberate, letting you feel everything without rushing anything. Your cries were soft, your fingers tangled in his hair, your thighs tightening around him as you adjusted to the stretch and pressure of him inside you. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, voice shaking as he moved. “You were made for me.” His movements started slow, every thrust deep and measured, his lips brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. But then, you shifted, hips tilting just slightly, and he slid in deeper. Your breath hitched. A soft, shaky moan left your lips. “T-Toni—”He froze. “Too much?” You shook your head, fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes fluttered open to meet his. “N-no… it feels—” your voice cracked, breathless and trembling, “feels so good, Toni…” That was all he needed.

His jaw tightened as he exhaled shakily, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, the other braced by your head. He began to move again, faster now, the rhythm gaining confidence, deep, rolling thrusts that made your body shake. The pain was fading—replaced by a spreading heat, a pressure that built with every movement, making your back arch and your legs wrap tighter around him. “You take me so well,” he breathed against your skin, his voice now lower, rougher. “So perfect for me.” Your moans grew louder, your breathing faster, every stroke pulling another soft cry from your lips. His hips snapped harder now, a possessive edge creeping in. His control was slipping, and you could feel it, in the way he kissed you, the way he moved, the grip of his hands on your thighs like he was claiming every inch of you. His thrusts grew deeper, rougher now, his hand hooking under one of your legs—lifting it up, draping it over his shoulder. The angle changed everything.

Your back arched with a gasp, nails scratching down his back as he filled you even deeper. The rhythm was relentless, his breath ragged, your moans uncontrolled, bodies crashing together like waves. “T-Toni—ahh—” He kissed your calf where it rested on his shoulder, eyes locked on you, wild and reverent all at once. His hand gripped your waist, holding you right where he wanted you. “So fucking perfect for me.” You were crying out, fingers clinging to the sheets, your body trembling from the overwhelming pleasure. And then, eyes wide, lips trembling, you looked up at him with all the love you had burning in your chest and whispered, I’m yours, Toni,” you moaned again, breathless but his rhythm faltered. “All yours…you’re all I believe in.” He groaned, a deep, broken sound, like he couldn’t take it anymore, and leaned down to kiss you hard, your leg still high on his shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it left marks.

His hips snapped forward, thrusts rougher and deeper, angled just right, and when he hit that spot again, your whole body jolted.“T-Toni—! There—right there—” He grunted, burying himself to the hilt over and over, sweat-slicked skin pressed to yours, his lips dragging along your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “So tight—so fucking good for me.” he groaned, almost in disbelief. Your hands trembled on his back, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Use me as you please, Toni,” you whimpered, voice broken and full of feeling. “I was made for you.” He stilled for half a second, breath catching in his throat. Then he completely lost it. “Fuck,” he moaned, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t say that—don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it—” “I do,” you whispered through your tears, stroking his hair, your voice barely a breath. “I do, I do—I’m yours.” His hips drove into you harder, deeper, his rhythm desperate, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together—claim you, fill you, mark you forever. “You are.” he growled against your skin. “My sweet angel. My religion.”

Anton’s hand slid between your bodies,, finding the swollen bud at your core. He circled it with pressure, never stopping his deep, perfect rhythm. Your legs trembled around him, nails digging into his back as your body began to unravel beneath him.“That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Cum for me, angel.” Your breath hitched, high-pitched and broken, and then it hit you. A rush of heat, your whole body tightening, then shaking around him as you cried out his name, your release crashing through you. Anton groaned deep in his chest, kissing your temple and rubbing your clit gently as you rode it out, tears falling from the corners of your eyes. But he didn’t stop. He was still hard, still deep, and when you finally caught your breath, he leaned back to look at you. His gaze dark, reverent, full of hunger. “You can take one more for me, yeah baby?” he whispered, brushing your damp hair from your face. “Hm, angel? Just one more?” You nodded—quick, eager, breathless. “Yes…yes, Toni.” You clung to him for a second, chest heaving—and then you pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Can I…try something?” His brows lifted slightly, lips parted. “Anything.” You bit your lip, then gently pushed him to lie back. He let you, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you swung a leg over his hips and straddled him, your body still trembling. You guided him to your entrance, your hand shaking slightly as you positioned him, and then, with a deep breath and a soft whimper, you sank down slowly. Anton’s head fell back with a groan, his hands gripping your thighs hard.

“Fuck—baby…” You whimpered, your hands braced on his chest, taking your time as you adjusted to him again, so deep, so full, until he was seated completely inside you. “You’re unreal” he murmured, hands caressing up your sides. “So perfect like this…” You began to move, slowly at first, lifting your hips just enough before easing back down onto him. The stretch still made your breath catch, but the pleasure had bloomed so deeply now that it only made you want more. Anton’s hands gripped your thighs, sliding up to your waist, then down again to squeeze the soft curves of your ass, guiding you without saying a word. You leaned forward as your rhythm quickened, forehead pressed to his, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest brushed his with every motion, soft moans leaving your lips as your body moved in sync with his. “That’s it, baby…” he whispered, voice strained. “You feel so good—so fucking good.” Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently, your other hand on his gold cross, and he groaned into your mouth when you kissed him again—hungry, deep, messy. You rocked against him harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting growing louder, more desperate. His hands slid up your back, holding you close like he couldn’t get enough. And then, your lips brushed his ear, voice barely above a breath, thick with emotion and need, “You’re my god, Toni…I worship you.”

The words barely left your lips before everything snapped. Anton let out a low, broken growl, his hands suddenly gripping your hips tight—so tight it might bruise, and before you could brace yourself, he started lifting you up and slamming you back down onto him, hard, over and over. Your gasp broke into a high, helpless whimper, the air knocked clean out of your lungs with each deep, punishing thrust.“Yes,” he rasped, voice low and desperate, lips right against your throat. “Yes, angel. I’m your god. Say it again—say it.” You could barely breathe, clinging to him, your body trembling in his hands as he used your body like you were made for him, because you were. “Y-you’re my god,” you sobbed, mouth against his ear, “I only pray to you.”His hips stuttered at that, a broken whimper leaving his lips as his hand snuck between your bodies again, rubbing fast, tight circles on your clit. “That’s right,” he whispered. “No one else. Just me.” Your body was shaking, your legs quivering as the tension built so fast it stole your voice. You clung to his back, burying your face in his neck, whimpering through your sobs of pleasure.“Toni—S-so close—!” “Me too, baby,” he groaned, holding you tighter, thrusts getting messier, rougher, deeper. “Give it to me…come on.” “In me, Toni—please—I want all of you…” You came with a cry, voice high and raw, as your body locked around him, pulsing so tightly he choked on his own moan. He only lasted a few more thrusts before he followed with a deep, guttural curse, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, warmth dripping from where your bodies met, streaking down your thighs, pooling on his lower belly as he pressed into you one last time.

You lay there together for a moment, bodies still tangled, skin warm and damp, his heartbeat echoing against your chest as he held you. The only sound in the room was the low hum of your breathing slowly syncing back into rhythm. His hand stroked gently along your thigh, then up your side, then back down again, reverent, calming. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “You okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. You nodded slowly, still dazed, a soft smile on your lips. “Mhm…never been better.” His eyes softened, his hand cupping your face fully now. “I love you,” he murmured, barely audible. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, I think.” Your eyes widened a little, heart skipping, but your answer was instant—quiet, but sure. “I love you too, Toni. So much…” The way he looked at you nearly made you cry again. He kissed your lips gently, slow and soft, then moved down your body, lifting your legs up to his lap. He reached for your panties from the floor, and you blushed, but let him guide them back up your legs, sliding them into place himself with a kiss on your inner thigh. Then he whispered, just for you, “Don’t let it spill, angel.” Your cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dazed, and he grinned softly at the look on your face—still his sweet girl, even after all that.

He helped you sit up slowly, then slipped your dress back over your head, straightening the straps for you and smoothing it down your thighs. He kissed your shoulder, then moved to dress himself, slipping his shirt back on, buttoning his jeans. When he turned back to you, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hands tucked shyly in your lap, watching him with glassy eyes. “I should let you shower and rest,” he said softly, coming to kneel in front of you. “I’ll go check on our parents. Make sure they’re still alive.” You let out a breathy laugh, and he kissed your cheek once more before pulling you into a tight, grounding hug. His arms around you made everything feel safe again. Like he’d hold you through anything. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured against your ear. “Okay.” One last kiss, and then he slipped out quietly, leaving your room.

♱

The sun was warm on your shoulders, the church bells quiet now after service had ended. The yard buzzed with familiar voices, congregants laughing, chatting, hugging goodbye. You stood off to the side, just near the corner of the building where the ivy grew thick along the old stone. Not hidden, but not exactly out in the open either. Anton was already waiting there, leaning casually against the wall, hands tucked into his slacks. His white button-down sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his black tie a little loosened from the heat. But when he saw you approaching, he stood straighter, the corners of his mouth lifting into that soft, private smile he only gave you. You looked around once, then slipped into the little pocket of space next to him.“Hi,” you said, quiet and breathless. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes on you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I missed you,” he murmured, voice low. You giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I missed you too.” And then his hands gently found your waist, pulling you closer until your front pressed to his. His touch was light, his eyes flicking between yours. You barely had a second to catch your breath before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, sweet, tender, warm with everything you’d become to each other. You kissed him back, hands resting on his chest, heart thudding softly. But then—

“OH MY GOD!” You jumped and instantly pulled back, cheeks flushing. “You guys are TOGETHER?!” Anton’s arm dropped from your waist just as two very familiar voices came racing toward you from across the church yard. “I knew it!” your mom practically squealed. “I told your dad last week, didn’t I?” “I can’t believe it,” his mom gasped, all smiles and excitement. “I’m so happy!” “M-Mom!” you squeaked, face burning. Anton’s hand flew to the back of his neck, visibly flustered as he cleared his throat and tried to keep a straight face. “It’s, uh…new.” he said. “Not that new,” your mom grinned knowingly. “The way you two have been sneaking glances all month? Please.”Anton glanced at you, eyes twinkling, and despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile back. Your pinkies brushed, and he hooked his gently around yours.“Well,” his mom beamed. “I guess it’s time we start planning the wedding.” “MOM!” The four of you burst into laughter, joy bubbling like sunlight. And in that moment, in that ridiculous, love-filled chaos, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

a/n: yall i had to do research for this story bcs i don’t know anything abt catholic church terms in english LOL and also i hoped you liked this, personally this is my fav thing ive ever written but i know that it can come across as controversial

my other works ➵ masterlist

© guliexe

It was a miracle that after nearly a month of being married, all these tiny domestic duties hadn’t been done together yet. You’d both moved into a new place together just a few weeks before your wedding. The pieces that you’d both chosen were delivered and found their rightful places, slowly making the empty space comfortable for the both of you. That had been fun, but it didn’t feel quite real. Those weeks leading up to the wedding had been busy and jam packed with last minute wedding details that had to be dealt with. After the wedding, you’d both gone on an absolutely extraordinary honeymoon for two weeks. Your shared home was being used as a hotel more than it was a home with all the tasks that had been keeping you both busy. 

Now that everything was over and done, it felt like your new, very real, married life could finally officially begin and it started with laundry. 

Chenle stared at the washing machine, now alone with the appliance as you’d just heaved a basket full of warm clothes onto your hip and left him to do his very first load of laundry by himself. You’d been more than patient all day, carefully explaining the very simple steps as many times as Chenle needed. He nodded to himself, he could do this, millions of people did this every single day. 

He exhaled slowly, loading all your mixed honeymoon laundry into the washer, and shut the glass door. “Now, soap. Not too much, just this much,” he muttered as he watched the detergent slowly fill what he hoped was the right compartment. He clicked all the buttons you’d shown him, made sure not to mess with any settings and stepped back slowly, almost cautiously as the washer came to life.

The sounds still scared him, the random spins that stopped suddenly made him wonder if he’d broken the machine on the first try, but then the water came pouring out and he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He scurried out of the laundry room, not wanting to be there when* if he really had messed everything up. 

Instead he found his way over to you. You were busy sorting and folding laundry like you were a pro at it. Socks were paired, hangers tucked into the collars of shirts, and shorts folded in half right along the seams. You looked over your shoulder at your husband, eyebrows raised, “are you going to stand and watch or are you going to help? We still have to go grocery shopping and I want to go before it’s too late.”

It was a wonder, to his mom especially, and himself even, when you came into the picture and stuck around despite his homely incompetence. Chenle used to very happily tag along with you on whatever outing you invited him to. He was, and still is, madly in love with you, can you really blame him for wanting to spend as much time with you as he can? He remembers quite clearly the first night you’d casually invited him to come grocery shopping with you. He remembers that the grocery store seemed so much calmer and palatable when it was you* by his side. When you were picking your produce, he doesn’t remember feeling impatient like he did when he came to the store with his mom or grandma. Why and how did you make onion picking look so endearing?

He blinked, fumbling with the cotton of your pajama shorts in his hands before you took the fabric from his hands and showed him how to do it properly. The patience you had for him would never fail to amaze him. How and why you’d still married him when he knew little to nothing about house chores would continue to be a mystery to him until you were both old and gray.

With your guidance, folding laundry didn’t seem like a chore. It even made him wonder why people always complained about it when it was so easy and so lovely. Though maybe the lovely part came because it was you* who was beside him the whole time. Even folding another two loads of laundry couldn’t kill the homey vibe you two had going on. 

Chenle even felt a tingle of… excitement as you both grabbed a grocery cart and began shopping. Not just for you this time, not joining his mom, no, for both of you. You were shopping for your home that you shared as husband and wife*. God, he loved the sound of that. He loved it so much that it was taking all his willpower not to smile like a maniac while grocery shopping… grocery shopping!

He’d had enough training now, joined you on enough of your solo grocery trips to know what it was like to grocery shop, but he had even more reason to be competent now. What kind of husband would he be if he couldn’t do the simplest task of grocery* shopping with his gorgeous wife? Looking at your list, he helped you gather everything, working your way through the store, section by section, aisle by aisle. 

It was a bigger haul than either of you were used to, but then again, you were filling your fridge, freezer, and cabinets up from nothing. You needed the basics like rice, eggs, and butter to keep on hand, all of which would last you a while. You needed some house go-to’s like tomatoes, fruits, other fresh vegetables, and favorite snacks. 

In fact, while you stood and contemplated different pasta shapes, Chenle was grabbing all your favorites. His arms were filled with some of his preferred snacks, but mostly yours. He was a good husband like that. Two bags each of your favorite chips, a box of your favorite cookies, a whole tray of your go to ramen, a few packets of your favorite candy, and that was just the snack aisle. He hadn’t even gotten to the frozen aisle yet.

The sound of crinkling plastic drew your attention away from the spaghetti and farfalle boxes in your hand. Chenle stood proudly, basically puffing his chest out as he gestured down to the cart now filled with your snacks, “I got these for you.”

“Wh- how did you even remember that all these are my favorites? Why are there so many?” You ask as you sift through everything.

“Simple, our home should be stocked with your favorites at all times, my love. I remember everything about you because I love you and I’m determined to be the best husband in the history of husbands,” Chenle states as if it’s the most obvious thing he’s ever said.

Concealing a teasing smile, you prop your hands on your hips, “well, why hasn’t my husband even gotten me flowers yet?”

Chenle opens his mouth to argue, but stops himself. You’re right. What kind of husband is he if you’ve been married for a month and he hasn’t even gotten you flowers yet?! 

“Chenle?” He hears you call out, but he doesn’t stop. He’s sprinting to the front of the store where the bouquets are waiting in buckets of water. He picks the prettiest arrangement and buys two of them, not even going back to you. It’s fine, whatever, it will all be two transactions, he doesn’t care. It’s for you!

Panting and out of breath, he pushes the flowers into your hands while you stare at him in a look of confusion mixed with adoration. You gently place the flowers in the cart, pushing it toward your next stop, “you didn’t have to do that. You looked crazy running across the store like that.”

“Yes, I did,” he counters with a look of offense.

He finds that with you, even things he used to hate can be things he learns to love. He likes walking with you hand in hand as he pushes the cart, he likes the mundane conversation you two have while discussing what ice cream flavor to get. He loves putting groceries away with you, finding out where every item will be officially housed. He doesn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed when you both spend five whole minutes determining what shelf the chips will go on. He wants them on the second to last shelf, you want them on the last shelf. They go on the last shelf.

A Ring, A Lie, A War Between Us

If silence could kill, the penthouse would be a graveyard.

Jeong Jaehyun sat across from you at the long marble table, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, eyes fixed on his phone. Not on you. Never on you.

Not unless he was annoyed.

You poked at your untouched dinner, the clink of silverware the only sound between you.

“I’ll be in Milan next week,” he said, still not looking up.

“And?”

“It’s in our schedule.”

You finally glanced at him. “That’s the first thing you’ve said to me all day.”

He shrugged. “We’re not friends. Just husband and wife, remember?”

Right. Husband and wife.

You were still getting used to that word.

Married. Arranged. Bound by contract and family reputation and the quiet understanding that love would never be part of it.

You both signed the prenup like soldiers signing a war treaty—neutral terms, clean exits, no questions. You even agreed to separate bedrooms. And for the last seven months, it worked.

If avoidance was an art, Jaehyun was a master.

So you retaliated the only way you knew how: coldness.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Especially when you caught glimpses of the man he used to be—the charming, careful boy you’d met once at a gala before this mess began. Before this version of him showed up with sharp words and colder silences.

You used to wonder what changed him.

Now you just tried not to care.

The turning point came on a Thursday.

You were out late—rarely, because Jaehyun hated “unplanned appearances,” as he called them. But this time, you needed space. Wine. Noise. Maybe even a little danger. Anything but the sterile, suffocating walls of your marriage.

He didn’t ask where you were going.

So you didn’t tell him.

You ended up at a rooftop lounge, laughing over a second drink with someone from a design firm. Not a date. Not really. Just a man who looked at you like you were interesting. Like he wanted to know what made you laugh, not what made you tolerable.

It felt good to be seen.

Until it didn’t.

Until you felt a shadow pass behind you, and then—

“Y/N,” came that low, unmistakable voice. Calm. Controlled.

You turned—and there he was.

Jaehyun. In black. No tie. Hands in his pockets. Rage barely disguised in his eyes.

Your companion stood to greet him, but Jaehyun didn’t even look at him.

“Outside. Now.”

You raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

His jaw clenched. “You heard me.”

“I’m not one of your interns, Jaehyun.”

“No,” he said coolly. “You’re my wife.”

You followed him out of sheer curiosity. And okay—maybe a little because something about that look in his eyes made your pulse stutter.

He stopped at the empty corridor beside the terrace, turning to face you.

“What the hell was that?”

You crossed your arms. “A conversation. With a man who doesn’t pretend I don’t exist.”

His nostrils flared. “You’re wearing our ring.”

“Barely,” you scoffed. “You treat this marriage like a business transaction. So why do you care who I talk to?”

He stepped forward, slow. Dangerous. “Because you’re mine.”

You froze.

The words hit hard. Deep. Like a live wire between your ribs.

He seemed startled too. But he didn’t back away.

“And I hate the way he was looking at you,” he added, voice rough. “Like he could touch what’s mine.”

You stared at him, breath caught.

"You don’t get to claim me now,” you said, breath trembling.

Jaehyun stared at you like he wasn’t hearing what he expected.

“Maybe I should’ve from the beginning.”

The silence stretched between you—sharp, breathless. Then he stepped closer, eyes unreadable.

“I’ve done everything to keep this clean,” he said, voice low. “Uncomplicated. Distant.”

“And it worked,” you snapped. “We’re perfect strangers. Congratulations.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want this!” you shouted. “I didn’t want to be invisible to my own husband!”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t reply.

You turned to leave—but his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

“Don’t walk away.”

You glared at him. “Why? So you can go back to ignoring me tomorrow?”

His hand loosened, but his voice dropped—rough, desperate.

“I saw him touching you,” he said. “Laughing with you. Like you were his.”

“And why does that bother you?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

So you pushed. “You hate me, remember?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “I hate that I want you and don’t know how to have you.”

The world fell silent.

You didn’t know who kissed who first. It didn’t matter. One second you were glaring, and the next—your mouths collided, all teeth and tongue and months of resentment crashing like waves.

His hands were in your hair. Yours clutched his coat like you’d fall without it. When his mouth dragged down your throat, biting, you gasped.

“We’re in public—”

“Car. Now.”

___________________________________________

You didn’t speak on the ride home. Not with words.

But his hand stayed on your thigh the entire time, fingertips grazing just enough to make your breath hitch. You reached down and dragged his hand higher—just to see him lose his composure.

The second the front door shut, he had you against it.

“You drive me insane,” he growled.

You laughed, breathless. “You deserve it.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time—possessive. The kind that made your knees buckle.

Clothes peeled away in pieces. You shoved his shirt over his head. He spun you toward the wall, grinding his hips against your bare backside, groaning into your neck.

“You’ve been mine this whole time,” he murmured, “and I’ve been so fucking stupid.”

“Then show me,” you whispered.

He did.

He carried you to the bedroom—his, not yours. Laid you out on the bed like a promise.

“I’ve wanted this since the day we signed that contract,” he admitted, hovering over you, eyes dark.

You blinked up at him. “Then why did you hate me?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I hated that I wanted you when I didn’t think you wanted me back.”

Your breath caught.

Then he kissed you like he meant it. This time, slower. A hand on your cheek. One sliding down to cup your thigh, lifting it over his hip as he pressed into you.

The stretch of him was perfect. Deep. You moaned into his mouth, clinging to him.

He moved slowly at first, eyes locked to yours.

“I want to hear you,” he said. “All of it. Every sound you make when it’s me.”

You gave him everything.

Every gasp, every cry, every broken syllable of his name as he thrust deeper, harder. You writhed beneath him, legs trembling, nails dragging down his back.

“I should’ve claimed you sooner,” he panted. “I should’ve never pretended not to want you.”

When you came, it was with his name in your mouth and his hands holding you like you’d fall apart.

He followed right after, collapsing onto you with a guttural moan and shuddering breath.

___________________________________________

You expected him to leave after.

You expected the silence again. The cold.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, Jaehyun stayed curled against you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder like he couldn’t get close enough.

“I never thought I deserved you,” he said quietly. “Not when I came into this with a closed heart.”

You turned to face him. “Why?”

“Because I was angry,” he confessed. “At the world. At my parents. At myself for letting them use us like pawns.”

“But I’m not them.”

“I know that now.”

You hesitated. Then pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

“I never hated you,” you said. “I just hated how lonely it felt to love you.”

His eyes widened.

“You… love me?”

“I didn’t want to,” you admitted. “But I couldn’t help it.”

He pulled you into his chest, arms tightening.

“I’ll make it right,” he promised. “Starting now.”

EPILOGUE:

Two months later, your shared bedroom was no longer just his.

There were flowers on the windowsill. Two toothbrushes. Your favorite tea in the kitchen cabinet—because he’d memorized the brand.

You woke up to him every morning, arms tangled, warmth shared. He no longer traveled without telling you. He sent photos, videos, little messages that made you laugh even on hard days.

And some nights, when the world went quiet, Jaehyun would pull you close and whisper:

“I still remember the first night I saw you smile for someone else. It wrecked me.”

You’d kiss him gently.

“And now?” you’d ask.

He’d smile, soft and rare. “Now I make sure you never have to smile for someone else again.”

___________________________________________

wc 1.7k

You knew your friends were your real friends because they never made you feel less than because you still had your virginity. But you couldn’t help but feel like a loser. Like you weren’t attractive to other people. You’ve never been a relationship either. You would literally date anyone and yet, you’ve been single your whole life.

It certainly didn’t help your inner turmoil when it was your turn to walk across the stage to accept your diploma holder and shake hands with the University President when the guy in front of you dropped on his knee to propose to the girl behind you. You awkwardly scooch behind them as you shake hands and pose with the distracted President and get the fuck off stage as the camera people capture the proposal.

You decide that tonight you’re going to get fucked.

You’re sitting at the bar at the nightclub your best friends brought you to to celebrate your bachelor's degree. Ningning and Natty are on the dance floor as you’re sipping on your second strawberry daiquiri, swirling the drink around with a straw as you watch them. Natty waves you over and you’re about to down the rest of the drink to join them when someone sits in the seat next to you.

Turning your attention to the person, you choke on a sip of your drink at the reincarnation of a Greek god next to you. Dimples on full display as he grins at you with perfect teeth.

“Are you alright?” He asks as hunch over to cough into your elbow, giving him a thumb’s up with your other hand. Once you’re okay, you sit up straight and flash him an embarrassed smile.

“I was going to offer to buy you a drink, but I don’t want you to choke again.”

“I could choke on something else.” You mumble.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” You hurriedly say and down the rest of your drink. “I usually don’t do this – who am I kidding, I’ve never done this – but do you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Wonderful! Let me just tell my friends quickly.”

You extend a hand toward to him, and thankfully, he accepts it. You drag him behind you as you both maneuver your way to your best friends in the middle of the crowded dance floor. Their eyes light up at the sight of you with someone else.

Using your free hand to cup around your mouth to shout over the music, “I’m going to head out with –”

“Jaehyun!” Your mystery Greek god introduces himself.

“Yeah, Jaehyun. I’ll text you guys and you have my location anyway!”

“Have fun with this hottie!” Ningning shouts back as Natty dances in front of her and they pretend to fuck in front of you. You jokingly push Natty, but kiss both their foreheads and turn back to Jaehyun, motioning to head out. He walks behind you with his hand on your mid back making sure to be respectful.

For now, at least.

After you’re dropped off by the taxi, Jaehyun brings you to his apartment.

“My roommates aren’t home tonight, they’re at a football game.”

“Oh fun. Why didn’t you go with them?” Asking as you take off your shoes at the door.

He shrugs, “Not really my thing. Plus, I wouldn’t have met you tonight.”

You smile at him, and he surprises you by kissing your hand. This gentleman-like manner sets you off as you grab his face and kiss him. Jaehyun immediately reciprocates kissing you back with the same amount of hunger – hands holding onto locks of hair, teeth clashing, and frantic panting.

Breaking the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, “Now is probably the best time to tell you that I’m a virgin.”

“You are?”

He leans back with a serious expression. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. We can not do anything. Watch a movie or have dinner?”

Shaking your head, “No, no. I want this. I’m positive.”

“You can, um, tap out at anytime. No judgement.”

“I’m glad I met you tonight too.”

He smiles at your response and awards you with a kiss. He continues kissing you as he leads you to his room, helping you lay down in his bed as he kisses across the expanse of your neck. You sigh at the sensation and try your best to slow down your heartbeat.

“Let me get a condom.”

You nod as he stands up but hesitating to kiss your lips again before heading to his bathroom.

Deciding that you don’t want to waste precious time before you get cold feet, you strip from your outfit and lay back down in your underwear and bra. When Jaehyun comes back with the foil packet in his hand his jaw drops at the sight of you.

Pouting, “Can’t believe I missed the show.”

“Sorry, got a little impatient.”

Jaehyun puts the condom on the bed next to you to remove his shirt. The well defined six pack with accompanying happy trail stares back at you in all its glory.

“Holy shit. How are you even real?”

“I could say the same thing about you, pretty girl.”

“Shut up,” Your face heats up at the pet name, “take your pants off.”

“Anything for the pretty girl.”

He teases you by taking his sweet time, slowly unzipping his jeans and pulling them down in slow motion. You whistle as he’s finally left in just his boxers.

“Like what you see?”

You hum as he crawls over to you and begins kissing you again. You move up his bed being aided by his pillows for comfort and the ability to let his hands wander your body. Jaehyun massages one of your tits as the other hand rests on your inner thigh, inching closer to the place you want him to touch you the most. You moan into his mouth as he slips his hand between your thighs, the fabric of your underwear being a thin barrier.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

You were turned on from kissing him that you had a wet patch on your underwear. He strokes a finger as you spread your legs wider, wordlessly begging him to finger you already.

“Can I?”

You smirk, “Can you what?”

“Can I please finger you? I need to feel your pussy and stretch you out. Don’t wanna hurt you too much.” He begs with a pout. His pretty lips jutting out. You lean forward and bite his bottom lip and turn it into a kiss, slipping your tongue in. As Jaehyun kisses you, he removes his hand from your pussy causing you to pull away.

“You beg to finger me and the second I kiss you; you stop?”

He brings his hand back down, but this time he slips his hand inside your underwear and finally slips two fingers inside you. You sigh in contentment and drag a hand down to grip his hard cock. You may not have that much experience around dicks, but even you could tell that his dick was big.

Jaehyun adds a third finger as he continues finger fucking you good, curving them to make you feel tingles. It won’t take you much longer before you cum. You take this as an incentive to spit in your free hand, shove it down his underwear too, and begin stroking his shaft.

He moans at this, tucking his head in your shoulder as you begin to speed up. His finger falter, so you stop stroking him. Jaehyun groans at the loss of the sensation and you raise your eyebrow.

“Is it selfish of me to want you to cum around my dick?”

“Then make it happen, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun pecks your cheek before removing his boxers showing you his rock-hard cock. He rolls the condom on and when he knows it’s on properly, he pulls you towards him at the edge of his bed, planting his feet on the floor.

“Sit on top, it’ll feel really good.”

You straddle his thighs with your hand on his shoulders, sliding your underwear to the side. He rubs your folds with his tip, gathering some of your arousal as lube. When you nod your head to show that you’re ready, he holds his dick in place as sink down on him slowly. Both moaning at the feeling. You can’t even begin to describe how good and weird the sensation is, like the intrusion isn’t as painful as you thought but there is still a slight pinch as you continue sinking down his length.

Once you reach the base, you sit still for a bit, getting used to his cock.

“So, how does it feel to not be a virgin anymore.”

“Weird, but in a good way.” You kiss him again, “How does it feel to take someone’s virginity.”

“Weird,” He smiles. “Think it won’t happen again though.”

“How come?”

“I think I’ve fallen for you.”

Your lips part in surprise, before you’re able to let the confession sink in, Jaehyun sneaks a hand around your back and another to your clit and starts circling as he begins moving his hips. A guttural moan escapes you at the incredible feeling.

The sound in Jaehyun’s bedroom is downright lewd with skin slapping, squelching, and loud moaning. Jaehyun’s fucking you at a consistent pace and not letting up from playing with your clit. You know with the feeling building up that you won’t be able to last long.

“God, I’m close to cumming.”

“Good. I want you to cum around me, pretty girl.”

You unconsciously clench at the pet name making Jaehyun whimper and speed up his thrusts chasing his orgasm.

A few thrusts later, your orgasm hits and you begin clenching around his dick and gasping. Your nails sink into his naked shoulders at the wave of immense pleasure. Jaehyun follows suit and cums into the condom, leaning forward to kiss you feverishly. His hand on your clit stops as he moves his hand to your chin. Your chests are heaving at the physical exertion.

“I hope to see you after this, pretty girl. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

masterlist | kinktober masterlist

He returns your smile, ruffling your hair before his hand moves down to your cheek, his thumb tapping your lips in silent command, meeting no resistance as it slips into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth and he's mesmerized, tilting his head a little as he wipes his hand on your cheek, tapping lightly as he takes another hit of the joint you had diligently rolled for him before he woke up.

He thinks you look prettiest like this. Your eyelids heavy as your mind goes blank, eagerly watching him in anticipation of any attention he would be so kind as to offer you. You were his favorite thing on earth.

"Hey!" He scolds you, watching as you nip at his thigh from where you kneel Infront of him, a brief flash of remorse skimming across your features before he feels your teeth scrape over the sensitive skin once again. The breathy moan you let out in response to his hand tugging at your hair, your head tilting back suddenly, is almost enough for him to instantly forget your wrong doing, but he knows what you want. He knows what you need.

"You know not to bite without asking."

He offers you an almost mocking pout before releasing your hair, the smoke of another hit filling the room.

"Can you go wait on the bed for me, puppy? Think you can behave for a few minutes?"

He can see you flipping through the options in your head, eventually choosing to hum your acceptance before you quietly stand, turning away from him and stretching before playfully wiggling your hips at him, your footsteps fading as you follow his requests.

"My little brat." He mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he finishes the joint and snuffs it in the ash tray on the table, taking his own time to stretch just to build the tension between you.

You're sitting patiently on the bed when he finally makes his way to you, eyes closed as your hips wiggle as if wagging a phantom tail. The anticipation of having him spoil you as he always did made you almost jittery with excitement, creating an internal battle as your body began to tingle, desperate to feel his hands all over your skin.

"You're being so good, baby. Come on, eyes open."

You pry them open, met with the heavenly sight of your boyfriends bare torso mere inches from your face, both of his hands coming up to cup your cheeks as a gentle kiss is pressed to your nose.

"What do you want, baby? Tell me what you want and i'll let you have it."

Verbalising your desires was a whole other challenge, but he knew exactly how to coax it out of you, his fingers slipping down to the sides of your neck, thumbs meeting in the middle of your throat as both hands wrapped around it. There was no pressure, however. Simply his own version of a makeshift collar to remind you exactly how much power he held over you.

"I just want you, Jae."

He shakes his head and you whine, earning a warning squeeze before one hand leaves your neck to grip your chin once again, forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

"Come on. I know you can do better. Don't you want me to take care of you?"

You can't say no, of course. You desperately want him to ease the ache that has settled between your thighs and spreads deep into your stomach. You breathe in deeply, humming as you think to yourself.

"I want your fingers, please."

He can't bear to push you to say more when your eyes are getting watery and there's a pout tugging at your lips. There's no need for him to respond really, not when he's shifting you back further into the bed, his body hovering over yours as he lays you down, his lips trailing sweet, wet kisses across your neck and shoulders where your shirt has slipped down.

"You want my fingers, pretty puppy?"

He can't help himself. He needs to see you squirm as his taunts settle into your otherwise empty mind.

"Bet you're so wet already huh? My bad puppy."

He sinks down between your thighs, pushing your shirt up as he pulls your shorts down, leaving soft kisses across your tummy that make you giggle thanks to the ticklish sensation.

A finger finds your clit, rubbing soft circles. Your already making a mess with the way you're dripping, your pussy begging for his attention.

"Oh, you're really something else aren't you? Look at this mess."

He slaps your thigh and you can hear the connection of his palm with your wet skin, a whine of embarrassment leaving lips despite the teeth digging into it.

He slides two fingers over your entrance, bringing them up to your lips and watching with admiration as you diligently suck at the digits, your eyes fluttering shut as you sink into the incredible feelings he provides you with.

"That's my baby." He whispers, his spit covered fingers wiping over your stomach as he kisses your lips gently at first, slowly intensifying it as his tongue teases into your mouth, two fingers of his other hand rubbing up and down between your slit, barely teasing your entrance even as your hips buck in an obvious attempt to gain more friction.

"Please, Jae." You whisper against his lips, your hands squeezing his toned arms.

"Shhhh. I know. It's okay."

He coos at you softly, pulling back just enough to see you gasp as he presses two fingers into your cunt, your walls gripping them, encouraging him to push further, your back arching up into him.

"That's it. That's my good puppy. Feels good, yeah? You like takin' my fingers, Angel?"

A breathless nod is the most you can manage, your body buzzing with pleasure that leaves you panting like an animal beneath him as he thrust his fingers slowly into you, perfectly finding your gspot. It was overwhelming to say the least, the weight of his body only amplifying every deliciously intense sensation.

"So fucking good for me. So good. You want more? Gonna let me get you ready for my cock?"

Your eyes are open in an instant, staring up into his own as if he'd just promised you something you'd never have again.

"Please! Please, I need it. I want it so fucking bad, Jae!"

He can't describe the specific kind of pride he's filled with when you beg for him, but it's something he cherishes and he's more than willing to give you as much as you can take.

A third finger prods at your entrance and he's careful as he stretches you out further, your pussy clenching in response as he massaged the spot inside you that had your stomach tightening, pushing you toward your first orgasm of the night.

"Want you to cum for me, okay? Cum on my fingers and I'll let you have my cock after."

The words barely even register to you, your thighs shaking as you squeeze harder at his arms, your nails biting into his skin causing him to hiss, though he never relents or falters in his efforts.

You're trembling beneath him, panting and gasping as your high hits, pussy pulsing around his fingers which tirelessly work you through your orgasm, not easing in the slightest even when you're pushing at his chest, the overstimulation setting in quickly.

"I'll stop if you want me to, baby. Just say the word."

His whispers in your ear cloud any train of thought you might have had and you don't want him to stop. You don't know what you want, but you trust him to figure it out for you.

Your arms have moved to wrap around his back, holding onto his shoulders for support as he continued toying with you for a few more minutes before his fingers left you, offering you a moment to catch your breath as he lapped your juices from them.

He's leaning a little higher now, more soft kisses covering your face as his thumb rubbed across your hip.

"You okay pup? You wanna stop?"

His voice is gentle, reassuring you that he would take care of you.

"I'm okay." Your smile is sleepy, but you still want more of him. "Please?"

He knows what you're asking for and is happy to deliver, kicking of his shorts before he settles back between your thighs, his palms flat on the underside of your thighs as he pushes them up toward your chest, not enough to sting but enough to offer him a clear view of his cock slowly sinking into you, the obscene sound of your wet cunt welcoming him causing his hips to stutter for just a moment before he's bottoming out, pausing for you to adjust as he always did.

He was always a little too thick for you at first and you were grateful for how considerate and gentle he was with you.

"Wish you could see how good you look baby." He sounds like he's in a trance, eyes flickering between your face and your pussy as he savored the sight of you. "Fuck, I can't even describe it."

His thrust are slow at first, one hand resting your thigh on his hip before he lets it go so that he can find your own hand and lock your fingers together, bringing it up to his mouth so that he can kiss each of your fingers. He waits for you to start fidgeting before he speeds up, helping you tilt your hips a little so that he can find the right angle to hit your spot.

"Jae! God, you feel so fucking good. Can't take it..."

Lips find yours briefly before he's nudging your nose with his in a tender display of affection, whispering as if someone might hear you.

"You can take it, baby. Doin' so good already. I know you can."

The overwhelm is building with every second, but it's everything you could want and more to feel his love and affection wrapping around you, overcoming every sense until the only thing you can feel, the only thing that matters, is him.

"I wanna cum, Jae. Please. Want you to cum with me!"

He's hushing you quietly, his hips picking up the pace as he chases his high, hands now gripping your waist as he desperately ruts into you.

He can't stop himself from letting go when he feels you tighten around him, your thighs squeezing his hips as you cum for him, your body melting into the mattress. It's the sight of you completely fucked out that has him cumming hard, burying himself deep into you. his hips continue grinding against you well after he's filled you completely.

He finally pulls out when you begin whining, your thighs aching from being held open for so long.

"You did so well baby. I'm so proud of you."

He keeps his voice to a whisper, shuffling off the bed to find baby wipes to clean you up with. Your shivers make his feel a tiny bit guilty and he finishes as quickly as he can, wrapping you in the covers and pressing his body close to you to keep you warm, chuckling when your hair tickles his neck where you nuzzle into him.

This is why Jaehyun despises leaving his apartment.

For the first time in weeks, Doyoung and Taeyong, in their combined nerdy best friends power, have managed to make him go outside again. Although it’s the middle of the winter, each day inching closer to Christmas day, the bustling city is filled with people enjoying themselves despite the sub-zero temperatures. It makes him sick, really. Not people in general, for sure, but the sight of couples swarming about, their happy faces making sure every single person’s envious gaze is following them until they disappear around the corner.

Winter is sickening. Winter makes people too cozy, too cuddly, too loving. When spring comes, that love melts away, fleeting as it was. It dims out like the warm fire you stoke in the evening as you gather with your loved ones, in the morning long gone and forgotten with the loss of the guests. Jaehyun hates it. His friends knows he hates it.

So did you.

As Doyoung and Taeyong keep him in their middle, holding on to his arm on each sides as if they were old aunts bickering away, he reminisces about your shared hatred of the cold. You had hated snow, most of all, he remembers as he watches the thick, cold flakes swirl around in the air. It leaves a mist on the people passing by him, painting them in the lovely shades of the cold. Rosy cheeks, white smiling teeth, blue fingertips. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it’s you clinging to him again, complaining loudly about the weather, scared of falling to the ground. You had always been incredibly clumsy, and unashamedly loud. Every passerby could not help but smile at your antics, but none smiled wider than the man you had wrapped around your littlest finger; Jaehyun, who had always stared at you instead of ahead. Jaehyun, who in the end always made you guys fall because he wasn’t concentrating on walking, he was concentrating on you.

You, the single star in his solar system he was orbitting around. He had felt himself collapsing, folding around you, as if he could ingrain himself in your existence in the very same manner you had immortalized yourself in his soul. How pathetic you had left him.

“Hey, earth to Jae! You’re not seriously upset we made you leave the house, right?” Taeyong’s hand forces itself into Jaehyun’s periphery as he waves it infront of Jaehyun’s face, trying to gain the man’s attention. Every finger was perfectly manicured, the tell-tale rings that signified Taeyong snapping Jaehyun out of his daydreams. Mentioned friend looks worried, but not regretful. “We were beginning to think you had fallen asleep in there, like some bear. You shouldn’t hibernate.”

“But bears got it so right. It’s so much better to sleep the winter away.” Jaehyun sounds exhausted, almost childish. He knew he was a grown man, not a teenager mooning over his first love. But it certainly felt like he had become the former. That was your effect.

“Dude.” Doyoung grasps his shoulder then, boring his gaze into Jaehyun’s face. He had been dreading that, actually; it’s hard to act like a complaining child when Doyoung makes you face yourself just like that. Almost unconsciously, Jaehyun straightens up. It’s almost like facing your mother, and he’s trying to avoid Doyoung’s fussing. “It’s been almost a year. I hate to be the one to be saying this, but you have to let it go at some point, man.”

You have to let it go at some point. Doyoung’s right, of course, but Jaehyun hasn’t yet reached that point of being reasonable. It’s not like the five stages of grief. Jaehyun is in the awkward process of trying to understand what has actually happened to him; why your relationship came to an end, why you were so kind to him despite it all, how you had finally cut him off. No one really knows why you did it, least of all Jaehyun. As you had broke it off with him after dropping him off at the airport before he flew to the first stop of his current world tour, there wasn’t exactly time to ask questions.

You had given him a letter and apologized (seriously, so not cool to explain in a letter just so you didn’t need to face him), and just as soon as the flight touched down at his destination and his phone had regained connection to his cellular data, you had changed your number, deleted your socials and disappeared from his life.

(Not like he immediately found you again when you re-debuted on social media. Johnny, as a true best friend, has forced him to limit looking at your instagram account to once a week, but how will Johnny know if he does it more? No one needs to know. Jaehyun would lose face if even anyone knew how much he misses you.)

Jaehyun lowers his eyes then, unable to keep looking at Doyoung. “Let go. Yeah.”

Doyoung and Taeyong exchange a worried gaze at that, before nudging him to a new direction. Their footsteps leave soft white traces, disappearing as quickly as they are made as fresh snow falls. “I got just the thing to cheer you up,” Taeyong quips then, and when he smiles at Jaehyun in an attempt to comfort him, Jaehyun finds the strength to smile back. Those are his friends, after all. If he weren’t so detached from his emotions, he’d find himself moved by their sincerity; his silly friends that loved and cared for him despite his habits and his weird coping methods. They didn’t judge when he sent them new song lyrics he had written in the middle of the night because the memory of you is still haunting him, scaring him off sleep because the comfort he gains from dreaming of you is as addicting as chasing liquor. They had let him ruminate in his apartment for as long as possible. It was time to face the world properly now. “Hot cocoa and waffles?”

Jaehyun snorted. “Like children?”

“Like children,” Taeyoung announces, his voice too earnest for the statement. Doyoung laughs, and then it’s difficult to not join in. Taeyong grins, happy to have drawn that reaction out of them. For the moment, Jaehyun feels normal again, and he offers to buy the waffles as Doyoung and Taeyong line up to buy the hot cocoa.

That’s the same moment where Jaehyun immediately regrets having left the house.

The sight of you physically knocks the breath of his lungs. For just a second, just seeing your face erases the feeling of all the pain that had been wrenching at his heartstrings, your beauty so all-encompassing it stuns him into silence. The cold season has kissed your face in the most pretty way - as you throw your head back in laughter, your (incredibly tempting) lips curve into his favorite smile of yours, the smile that has to be stolen out of you, so surprised by something that you laugh involuntarily. Honest. And earnest.

And beautiful.

It’s almost beautiful enough to make him not acknowledge the other man that you are gifting it to.

Jaehyun forces himself not to look, the effort incredible. He does not want to see who you have replaced him with, he really doesn’t, truly not, but then the dizzy envy makes him look so that he can bombard the man with death threats in his mind. Not that it matters. He could have been anyone, anyone at all. What did it matter if that was someone he knew or someone unknown, when the most damning thing about the situation was that it wasn’t him?

When he looks back at you to keep analyzing whether you like this man a lot, Jaehyun has come to the startled realization that you have noticed him, aswell. Your face has dropped, the shock painted over your face like an ill-fitting mask. “Jaehyun?” you say, the sweet voice carried over to him in the wind, and his knees almost buckle. (Jesus Christ, he’s a grown man.) Your partner notices, looking up to see whom you’re addressing, and Jaehyun’s nonchalant reaction to the irrelevance of the man’s identity disappears instantaneously.

Fuck you, he thinks hard at the dude, as if the sheer mental strength of his thoughts could reach him, for actually looking gorgeous. Fucking hell.

“Jeong Jaehyun?” You call again, robbing him off the opportunity to maybe pretend he hadn’t heard you. He forces himself to move forward.

“You know each other?” the guy asks then, and Jaehyun thinks to himself, No, idiot, I am the stalker that’s been breaking into her apartment and leaving her letters. But then he remembers how Johnny has admonished him for doing the social media equivalent and how often he visits your socials just for a glance at you, and the thought almost immediately sobers him up. “Jeong Jaehyun,” he introduces himself then, reaching out his hand to shake the other man’s, even though he’d rather bite it off. “We were…”

“Acquaintances,” you interrupt him almost immediately. The smile you sport now is nervous, to the untrained eye flawless. But Jaehyun knows every inch of your soul, and the look in your eyes pleads him not to acknowledge it. “Jaehyun used to be really close to my brother. You’ve met my brother, right?”

“Oh, Seokmin, right?” The stranger’s eye glint in recognition. “That means you must be cool, man. Anyone who’s in Seokmin’s good cards is good in mine. My name’s Junseo.”

“Nice to meet you, Junseo,” he makes himself speak, although the words taste like coal in his mouth, turning ashy as he pronounces them. He’s never been a good liar, always careful about choosing his words, but then, he’s never been in the situation where had to meet the lover that was going to replace him in your heart. He turns to you, your lovely face ripping into him. You stare back as if you are aware of the effort it takes him to remain friendly. You don’t look like you enjoy inflicting this havoc upon him, but ever since that day, he doesn’t truly know what you are capable of. “It was nice to see you,” he tells you, turning away as soon as the words leave his lips.

He never hears your “Jae”, the sound ripped out of you like an old instinct.

jaehyun

could you maybe at least warn me that your sister is back in town

dk 😁

yo

i didnt even know she was

can you let her know to bring milk to mom’s house we ran out this morning

jaehyun

. . .

no dk i cannot i almost collapsed when i saw her

can you say hello to your mom tho

Jaehyun drops the phone on the couch, the interaction having soured his mood just as much as the meeting with you. Seokmin was cool, and a really good friend, although a bit clueless. He had been firm in his support for Jaehyun, not picking sides, but not abandoning their friendship either, and had been one of the friends who had dragged him out for dinner once a week ever since the break-up to make sure Jaehyun was actually eating. Jaehyun doesn’t even think this happened to your dismay. You were way too nice, and even your fucking break-up letter had been kind, even though it hadn’t been enough to wipe the blank look in his eyes as he had read it.

“Okay, so that may have went worse than we thought,” Taeyong proclaims, the hot cocoa still steaming in his hand. Even though they had technically paid for the cup as a loan, taking it back home felt like stealing. Jaehyun couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was staring at the ceiling, looking at no one. “But hey, at least we found out who the mystery guy on her instagram was!”

Johnny, who had let himself into the apartment while they were gone, perked up at that. Very aware of your instagram due to Jaehyun’s influence, he knew that there had been an odd silhouette in your instagram story the past few weeks, almost a soft-launch and almost not. There had been theories whether the mystery guy had been a new lover. Jaehyun had almost thrown up when Mark had suggested the idea. “You did? She was with a man?”

“Yeah, Junseo what’s-his-name. Didn’t give a last name, though.” Doyoung sounds concentrated, probably too focussed on not breaking Jaehyun’s new coffee machine. “Jaehyun, coffee?”

“No,” Jaehyun deadpans. “I want death.”

The entire room groans at that. “Fresh out of death, dude,” Johnny tells him, bowing over the couch to throw a blanket over where Jaehyun was laying and Mark had fallen asleep. Johnny was his best friend in the entire world, and very used to Jaehyun’s antics. Throughout it all(the acclimatization to the celebrity life, the growing into a fully formed and actualized person in the public eye, the stabbing ache of heartbreak), Johnny had become a brother to him. It was Johnny’s hand pulling him along through life, his ears that were entrusted with every joy and worry in Jaehyun’s mind, his kindness that kept Jaehyun standing sometimes. “It’s coffee or nothing,” he continues after ensuring both men on the couch were covered with the blanket. And then, as he turns back to Doyoung: “Make him some coffee. He hasn’t touched his cocoa.”

The quiet bickering of his friends fade away then, forcing him to come to terms with what has happened. Seeing your face again felt like being struck down by God, to put it in blasphemous terms. You had always been the most beautiful person to him, including both his preference that came from loving you and his attraction to people in general. Jaehyun hadn’t been the kind of man to have an exact type before meeting you, but now he looks for you in every smile, every fluttering lash, in every face he meets. Looking for the traces of where your ancestors had painted their magic, the overarching connection between several generations, the hand reaching across time. Whoever crafted you had taken his time to ensure every single detail, and the love that had flowed into the shaping of you glinted across every feature. Having been starved of seeing you, this interaction had thrown him into cold water face first. Even the memory stung.

You hadn’t looked bothered to see him. If anything, you had been as sweet as always, even though you hadn’t expected to see him. He had thought being gone from your side had hurt, but seeing that Junseo was making him sick to the stomach. It was his job to make you laugh like that. It was his duty to ensure your happiness. To think of that fool doing it in his stead made him spark up with a fury that he had long forgotten, the feeling so unfamiliar it made him reach inside those spaces inside himself that he had abandoned for so long. During the separation every emotion had come to him so dull and muted - happiness, sadness, surprise, anger. But as if they had never left him, Jaehyun recognized that he was jealous.

Awfully jealous.

So that was the next step of Jaehyun’s alternative five stages of grief process. Instead of coming to terms with the ephemeral nature of his relationship with you, he’s pining over the one woman he cannot have. He raises his hands to cover his face, his fingers shaking - it’s crazy, how you unravel him. It’s been eight months and Jaehyun is still willing to go on his knees to beg just to make sure you stop seeing anyone else.

(At that point, he was very unaware of how near in the future that was going to happen.)

“Hey, dude.” Jaehyun is snapped out of his thoughts by the raspy voice of one Mark Lee. He lowers his hands to see Mark peaking his head out of the blanket, hair completely ruined from tossing and turning in his sleep, looking just like the lion that his friends affectionately nickname him as. Their friends are still bickering in the kitchen, arguing about how to handle the coffee machine properly, with Doyoung’s voice cutting through the others. “You alright over there?”

Jaehyun clears his voice. He suddenly feels glad that Mark doesn’t know yet that he’s seen you, as he doesn’t want to burden Mark with his worries. He’s only a little younger, but he’s the closest thing to a younger sibling Jaehyun has, and he treasures him to the point where he often wants to shield him from the shit that Jaehyun has going on. “Yeah, all good. Why did you wake up? Not sleepy anymore?”

“Your phone has been going off like crazy.” Mark points at the aforementioned phone before yawning. As Jaehyun reaches for the device, he sits up and looks into the kitchen from the vantage point he has of the kitchen. The screen lights up after a few quick taps, and Mark asks: “Something important? Sounds like someone’s spamming you.”

dk 😁

not to be the bearer of bad news but mom wants to have you over for dinner on saturday

😭 maybe i shouldnt have delivered your greetings bro

i think my sister has a date on that evening tho so maybe nothing will happen?????

i mean you can say no but you know damn well my mom loves you (because you kiss up to her) so

yeah

i get if you dont want to

Jaehyun blinks. Several times. Then, he drops his face into his hands again, sighing so loudly that even Mark seems astonished.

It seems like you’re not gonna leave his mind anytime soon.

The first time Jaehyun had met you, you had still been a junior in college.

He’s always known you existed, of course - the pretty-faced little sister that was off-limits to anyone, who had the most embarrassing haircut when she was still in middle school, who liked to receive flowers for her birthday instead of gifts. Seokmin doesn’t talk about you often, but when he does, there’s a gentle smile etched on his face that seems like the most jarring contrast to the way he bickers and fights with you in person. Jaehyun couldn’t conjure an image of you, but when he thought of your name, it filled Jaehyun’s mind with a sweet dream. He had been missing you in his heart before he had even met you, the soft tug of a red string around his littlest finger.

The request had been hastily asked and innocent in nature. Pick up my sister, please? An unusual request, as Seokmin never introduced his sister to anyone for your own privacy, but it didn’t bother Jaehyun to do it, especially since DK was a very good friend. You had been incredibly drunk, and uncomfortable at a party, and called for the person you trust most in the world. DK on the other hand, drunk out of his own mind at an entirely different party in his own dorm shared with his bandmates, had called a friend he knew he could entrust with the safety of his littlest sister.

Completely hammered and wobbling on your entirely too high heels, you had gladly clung to Jaehyun’s arm after realizing he had been the savior your brother had sent you. Your introduction came out loud and clear, and you had enunciated every syllable to make sure he heard it. When he correctly repeated the name back to you to ensure he remembered it, a dazzling smile had split across your lips in the cutest way possible. It had made his heart jump in a deliciously agonizing way.

“Can you walk?” he had asked you then, pointing down at your monstrous heels. He had truth be told been incredibly impressed with the way you had managed to leave the front porch of the party house, even though every step enunciated that you were incredibly intoxicated. You had waved off his worry and beamed at him with the innocent happiness only a drunk person could exude, completely free from all wordly burdens. “Don’t worry!” you told him, your voice as melodious as it was pleasing. “I’ve walked in worse heels! And I’m not even that drunk!”

Jaehyun had no intention of questioning you, but the exclamation did make him laugh. He had been awkward about the interaction the entire time he had driven here. Would you be able to even feel comfortable with him? What if you guys didn’t speak about anything? But your behavior had loosened up the tension inside his chest, and he found himself relaxing under your hold, gently guiding you back to his car. Your grip was tight, but not painful, and you had hooked your arm around his to keep close to him in a way that wasn’t entirely unwelcome to him. He had not expected to warm up to you so quickly. “So you’re able to hold your liquor? You must not actually be related to DK then. The guy can’t hold his liquor for shit.”

The joke tugged a surprised laugh out of you. It was a nice sound, the genuineness of it making a smile form around Jaehyun’s lips. So open, so friendly, so extroverted - so incredibly different from him, and yet a simple laugh from you made Jaehyun entranced with the existence of you. He wanted to relish the sound, making him wrap his fingers around the keys in his pockets to ensure they wouldn’t rattle when he pulled them out. “I’m sure he’s got that from mom,” you had explained to him while snickering, momentarily letting go from him as he opened the door for you. After clambering in and pulling the door shut, he had walked around the car to climb in himself. The door clicked shut. “I’m my father’s daughter through and through. We used to place bets at New Year’s parties with the family how much time it would take for mom to crash out after a single bottle of champagne.”

“And?” he asks. The engine of the car sprung to life with a simple press of a button, idling quietly while Jaehyun had put on his seatbelt. “Did you win the bet?”

Your expression in the rearview mirror was smug when Jaehyun checked his surroundings in it, pulling out of the parking space he had found near the house the party was in. “I was fifty bucks richer about half an hour later.”

Jaehyun couldn’t help but laugh - at your behavior, your teasing little remarks, the way you hiccuped before laughing because you were a little liar that couldn’t hold their liquor. By the time he had reached DK’s apartment building, where you had requested to be dropped off because you wanted to sleep over at your brother’s, your drunkenness had made you drowsy. Without even thinking about it, you had climbed over the console to envelop Jaehyun in a hug, shocking him to the core. Your floral perfume had been dizzying, but the near proximity of you had almost made him drunk himself. Jaehyun was an idol under the strict gaze of both his employer and his supporters. His resulting touch-starvation had made him grasp your soft waist with both hands, and he closed his eyes to soak in the warmth of your touch. It was startingly intimate. “Thank you for bringing me home,” you had murmured against his shoulder, momentarily resting your head on it, as if it belonged there - as if you had been made to be held by him. You lined up perfectly, like puzzle pieces, and for a moment, Jaehyun had felt complete in a way that made him question himself was my heart always hollow of you?

When you pulled back with your bright smile and your hazy eyes, a pink blush had dusted across Jaehyun’s cheeks that he prayed you hadn’t noticed. “You’re super duper nice,” you proclaimed then, not fully retracting from where you were leaning on his body. Not pushing his hands away, either. “And it’s way more fun to ride in your car than in Jeonghan’s. You drive like a responsible adult.”

“Are you saying Jeonghan doesn’t drive like a responsible adult?”

“I’m not sure he knows what that is.” Giggling, you untangled yourself from him, startling Jaehyun with the immediate ache for you. Get a grip, he thought to himself. Acting like a teenage virgin. “And I should know!” you enunciated. “The idiot tried teaching me how to drive. If DK hadn’t put an end to that, I would have never gotten my driver’s license.”

Jaehyun, still reeling from the affection you had graced him with, smiled shyly at that. “Well, I’m glad to have brought you home safe, like the responsible adult I am. Can you make it up on your own?”

You “mhm”ed loudly, noisily maneuvring yourself out of the car. Jaehyun winced quietly when the heels of your shoes clacked against the pavement harshly, almost sure one had broken. But you had straightened up with a grin, waving stupidly, shouting loud “thank-you”s and “get home safe!”s as he watched you walk into the apartment complex, running into your drunk brother and almost-brothers (as his bandmates liked to title themselves as, loving you like you were one of their own).

He had sat and waited for a long time for his erratic heart to slow down again. You were a miracle he hadn’t been waiting for, like a sudden blessing after a fervent prayer. He went to sleep thinking of your name, finally being able to connect it with a face, the yearning following him into his dreams.

It was that same yearning that woke him up in the middle of the night now, reaching for the empty bedside, remembering where you were.

Remembering that you weren’t reaching for him anymore, no matter how much you had loved him.

Jaehyun cleans up nicely, when he wants to. When he checks his reflection in the camera app one last time before ringing the door, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. Johnny’s girlfriend had helped him put on a little bit of make-up to cover the black shadows under his eyes and wished him luck, although he wasn’t sure what he needed the luck for. To see you? Not to see you? The question had been eating away at him on the way here, making his hands sweat to the point that the driver’s wheel had looked kind of disgusting afterwards. He can’t shake the cold fear that accompanies the thought of you these days. The desire to be in your presence was a knife turning in his guts, so sharp that even the pain seemed more welcome than another day without you. As he closes his eyes, he imagines you opening the door, welcoming him home, kissing all the exhaustion away. But when the door opens up after knocking at it, the sweet face of your mother receives him.

Not that the sight isn’t welcome. Jaehyun sees his mother often enough to not have to miss her, but the need for a motherly presence never truly leaves you, no matter how old you are. There is a part of him that will always be a child, reaching for his parents’ hands, knowing he will be safe there. Your mother fills that space often when his own cannot. “Jaehyunnie! I’m glad you made it, sweetling,” your mother gushes, hurrying to clasp his hands. The sight of her red, marred hands makes his heart hurt - has she been overworking herself? - but the pain is soon replaced with a gentle warmth spreading inside his chest at her motherly clucking. “Hurry inside, we made your favorite! You still like spicy pork, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He removes his shoes before stepping inside, feeling nostalgic. The first time he had met your parents, the house had been newly bought and hardly acquired, with your parents having haggled for an appropriate price for months. Over the years, the building had been renovated, filled with furniture, and changed as more and more memories had been made in this place. To see it now standing proudly and lived in made him happy, but also sad, as he wasn’t fully part of that experience anymore.

“Don’t be silly, boy! You know you call me mom here!”

“Yes, mom.”

“Mom,” rings out the complaining voice of Seokmin then. He’s standing at the foot of the stairs. His voice had been petulant, but there’s a very big grin on his face as Jaehyun approaches him in greeting, and they hug each other without hesitation. DK had seen him go through enough shit to not have to shy back from physical affection. “Don’t nag with Jaehyun before he’s properly inside. How’s it going, J? I heard your new album, it was awesome!”

Your mother nods enthusiastically. “You are hard-working as always, Jaehyunnie! The songs sound beautiful!”

Jaehyun laughs, bashful. He feels awkward and happy at once, to be complimented upon for his talents while simultaneously knowing that most of those songs had been written with you in mind. “Thank you for saying that,” he answers.

“It’s only right,” your mother tuts then. As she turns to walk back in the kitchen, she opens her mouth to say something again, but there’s another knock at the door, startling them all. The three exchange glances, both Seokmin and your mother seeming surprised by the noise. “Are you expecting someone, Seokminnie?” When DK shakes his head no in answer, she walks back to the door, humming to herself in confusion. “Maybe your father? But he’s not supposed to get off work until 8.”

Before your mother even opens the door, the dread of who could possibly be standing in front of that door tells Jaehyun what to expect. And as he turns over that assumption in that mind, the door opens to reveal you, clad in a red dress that hugs your curves and exposes your mid-thigh. “Oh, sweetie!” your mother exclaims. “But what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to dinner with that Junseo-ssi?”

You don’t answer, your eyes locked onto him. He recognizes the sight of slight panic and confusion in your eyes - apparently, DK hadn’t told you that you were visiting in the hopes that you wouldn’t see each other anyways. Although barely a second passes, it feels like eternity as you take each other in.

Fuck, you’re as beautiful as the day he lost you. He doesn’t even register that your mother is still chattering away as he drinks in the sight of you, the sinful silhouette and the angel eyes that have been accentuated by a skilled hand and your favorite eyeliner pen. The blood rushes in his veins, filling his ears with the sound of waves crashing, his desire lapping higher and higher until it makes his chest hurt. “Mom,” you manage to say. “He was called into work at the last minute. It’s pretty awkward to be the only one all dolled up here, so may I go up and change please? And not have to make awkward small talk in the salon?”

“Of course, sweetling, just go up! Seokmin will help me with the last preparations for dinner.” Your mother leaves at that, and the three adults remaining are crushed by the awkward tension in the room. Even more awkward for the third wheel in the room is that neither of both you and Jaehyun have looked away from each other ever since you walked in, and DK takes the chance to quietly slip out of the room to join his mother in the kitchen, leaving Jaehyun to his doom.

(Traitor.)

Jaehyun breathes out, struggling to fill his lungs with the air he needs. “You look stunning,” he says, his voice straining to pronounce the words. It’s pathetic how much he wants to press you against that wall and devour you. Even though his inner adult yells at him that he isn’t yours anymore, the thoughts do not stop coming. Truthfully, there can’t be any scientific explanation for how fast his heart races because of you, but it keeps on beating, jumping out of his chest. Falling to your feet.

You finally step out of the doorframe, into the house itself. The door quietly falls into the lock. You reach down to unclasp your high heels, the movement mechanic. You seem as dazed as he is. He entertains the possibility whether he has the same effect on you as you do on him, but he casts the thought aside immediately. You had left him, after all. “Thank you,” you answer, your voice meek. As if you were to strangers. “Are you … doing well?”

I hope that despite the way I’m ending things, you will be well. I pray that you are healthy, that you are eating enough, that you flourish in your career as you deserve to be. You are outstanding, Jeong Jaehyun, a flaming star lighting up the sky. I pray that you find it in yourself to forgive me.

“Well?” he echoes, as if that word was a joke. And then, almost in disbelief, he asks back, “Are you?”

You lower your gaze then. “I finish my master’s degree this year, so I’m a little stressed. But aside from that, I am fine, thank you for asking.” You straighten up, intending to walk past him. But Jaehyun, as if possessed, grabs your wrist; the touch makes both of you shudder, and you look up to see the absolute yearning in his eyes staring back at you. He doesn’t really know what made him do it, and he seems as shocked as you are; he had been thinking more quickly than he had been moving, and his muscles spasmed from the lack of communication between his nerves and his brain.

It’s written across his face, it must be. The intense wish to bow his head and lean against you, cage you against the railing of the stairs. To make you reach inside his soul and connect the broken pieces there that were the remaining shards of his heart. Jaehyun doesn’t want anyone else in the world to see inside him like that. He wants you, he wants to be your boyfriend. Despite it all. The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. Are you well? Jaehyun’s hand slips lower, interlocking your fingers, the physical connection there setting fire to the skin. I pray that you are. “Take care of yourself,” he tells you instead of all the words that have been left unsaid ever since you abandoned him, all the tears that he has shed. He wants to tell you how his pride for your success makes him fly higher than any of his own achievements ever would, how soft his heart feels at the fact that you are so close to reaching your goals. How much he wishes to be a part of supporting you towards that. But he doesn’t.

You don’t break free of his hold, but it seems clear that you do not reciprocate the hurricane of emotions he is feeling right now. “You shouldn’t say that,” you tell him, tone polite, but your voice sounds hesitant. He wants to kiss the hesitation out of you, eat your laughter as he tugs at your lower lip. The proximity is driving him crazy. “I mean, I don’t wanna be rude. But I am seeing Junseo. You don’t have to worry about me, Jae. Jaehyun.” You cough awkwardly, as if that can erase the affectionate nickname, as if there isn’t something inside you still calling for him. You step backwards. If hitting the railing is embarrassing to you, you don’t let it show.

He lets go of you and steps back, then silently watches you go up the stairs. Your soft shuffling as you walk back to your room. The decisive shutting of a door.

Silently dreaming of what would happen if you graced him with your attention again.

The dinner itself is uneventful. You make polite conversation, thankfully sitting diagonally away from him, wedged in between your mother and your brother, whom Jaehyun sits across. But he sees the blush never truly leaving your face, and the way you throw glances at him when you think he isn’t paying attention. It makes him delusional enough to imagine that maybe, he wasn’t the only one still thinking about their ex.

Jaehyun glances down at his cleared plate, a half smile curling at his lips. Not truly a real smile. But not truly a lie, either.

@leey/n has started following you on Instagram!

@leey/n has liked a post!

The third time your paths cross, you truly think you are about to go crazy.

This is an art gallery, for crying out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jaehyun in a museum. Not that he’s uneducated or disinterested, mind you, but Jaehyun was the kind of guy to take you to places where you could etch your own memories across the place. The arcade in Busan where you won your first ever plushie and promptly gifted it to him, for one; the trip to Jeju where you had almost fainted and scared the shit out of Jaehyun; the high-end restaurant in Gangnam where you both can never let your face be seen again after having been thrown out for laughing too loud. You had spoken about the particular art gallery here once, debating about attending an event that was held in that month, but ultimately had the decision taken out of your hands after you unexpectedly had to go the hospital due to your appendix bursting. But here he was, looking like the most ravishing man alive in that stupid suit.

It should be forbidden to look that good. Genuinely. You think your heart stops momentarily when you see him, and then again when your gaze involuntarily drops to the exposed skin of his chest, displaying the vulnerable area due to the v-cut of his suit jacket. Hell. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was doing this on purpose.

You gather up the train of your dress and hurry over before anyone can recognize either him or you. He looks startled, and then that weird flash of desperation flits across his eyes before he hastily makes himself appear composed. You don’t for the life of you know why exactly his reaction to you is like that, but you suppose the time for complaining was over, since, you know, you broke up with him. You knew it had been a bitch move to write a letter, but you couldn’t exactly tell him the true reason to his face. Hey, I know this sounds stupid, but I’m afraid of ruining your career because netizens keep shit talking our relationship and tainting your reputation, have a nice day though!

No, he’d never understand. This was for the best. He’d been so close to completing his album, so proud of what he had achieved, and the grief of almost taking that away from him made you want to throw up. So you had decided to sacrifice yourself, in an as cowardly manner as possible.

No one would ever know that Jeong Jaehyun made your soul sing in the most exquisite way possible, and that your heart had been filled with so much joy that it almost burst. No one needed to know.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss at him. You turn your head to ensure that no one is actually looking, before tugging him to the side. Almost unconsciously, you take his hand and guide him to a different spot, a quiet corner where only strangers were staring at the art being displayed. Even the music was muted.

“Is this not a public event?” he hisses back, confused by your behavior. But he lets you do as you please, even lowering his head to yours to make sure no one hears. His fingers gently tangle with yours, swiping across your knuckles as he always does - did. It’s like your love runs deeper than human behavior, deeply embedded in your body’s instincts. You see it in the way the caution you display reflects back in his eyes, as if your secrets are still holier to him than his own. Even though he has no idea why you’re being so ominous. It’s one of the qualities you love most about Jaehyun; he never once tries to tell you what to do, always acquiescing your needs, letting you take the lead when necessary. It makes a traitorous happiness bloom inside your chest that he is still the kind of person who would always have your back. “Why exactly wouldn’t I be here? If it’s because you didn’t want to see my face, don’t tell me that. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Jeong Jaehyun,” you groan, exasperated as you are. You hastily scan the area, always dreading that Junseo is about to turn the corner to catch you both. It had already been a surprise that evening had been made possible, since Junseo was a workaholic. Your friends joked around that he loves his residency at Seoul General Hospital first, and you second. You did not want to squander this opportunity of growing closer to him, a whim based on the fact that he was a pretty face and you desperately needed to move on. You weren’t serious, and you could count the amount of dates you had been on on one hand, but it worked its magic enough. Jaehyun only needed to believe that you were moving on. And Junseo only needed to believe Jaehyun was unimportant. Not like it’s forbidden to speak with an “acquaintance”, even if he did see you both here - but Jeong Jaehyun wasn’t an acquaintance, he was your ex-boyfriend for crying out loud, and if it weren’t for the necessary masquerade to appear as if you were moving on, you wouldn’t even be entertaining Junseo’s presence, no matter how charming he was. It was a stupid plan, concocted by an even more stupid Jeonghan. “Who would’t want to see your face? That’s not what I mean.”

The compliment slips out before you can hold it back. It’s so easy, so habitual to make it, to admire Jeong Jaehyun’s existence. You had never even met a man like him. He was sin made flesh, with his well-formed, strong body, the gorgeous face, the sun-kissed hair that switched colors from comeback to comeback. Jaehyun looks surprised to hear it. The dimples in his cheeks signal the smile that stretches across his lips, sweet and genuine and startled. It makes you sad, that he doesn’t expect those compliments; he is the kindest, sincerest, most attentive man you know.

(And if you were still in a relationship, you would have torn the clothes off of him and jumped him for looking that good in a suit. Not want to see his face my ass - you could stare at Jeong Jaehyun all day.)

“I thought we weren’t supposed to say stuff like that,” he says back, his voice low. It sounds deliciously rough, the way it sometimes sounded when you woke him from his sleep to kiss him, the sleepy yawns turning into soft moans when you rode him, his hands mapping out the space of your skin. You shake your head, as if you can shake off the memory. Your adoration for him went bone-deep. “Whatever,” you say hastily, as if that can erase the obvious pining you are displaying. “I mean, I don’t want Junseo to see us. I know you don’t like to lie, and I’m sorry for introducing you as an acquaintance, but I’d like it to remain that way. For him to believe there was nothing between us, I mean.”

“And is there?” Jaehyun’s voice sounds steady. It kills you to see the hope in his eyes, even now, even after you’ve hurt him after flaunting a new relationship. You remember his beautiful face on that day at the Christmas market, where the agony in his eyes had almost made you weep. You never ever wanted to be responsible for Jaehyun’s grief, not even now. “Nothing between us?”

You falter then, forgetting what you want to say. You can’t tell him the truth, you cannot - the truth being that when you look into Jaehyun’s eyes, your knees go weak and your hands yearn to claw at him and your kisses want to devour him whole, bones and all. You want to crawl inside him and live there forever, like the insane lover you are. You want to kiss him until you forget your own name, until the mornings become routine where you wake up next to him, where the sight of his beautiful face becomes the first thing you see after waking up for the rest of your life. The wish is so fervent it catches you off-guard, and it weakens your resolve. “There’s nothing, Jaehyun,” you say. Even you can hear the uncertainty. The atmosphere is so tense that you didn’t even notice the room has cleared out; the area is curtained off, a special exhibition inside the actual exhibition, for a yet-to-be-discovered artist who gained the space to present their art through chance. The few people who had mingled here had quietly left, identifying the situation as a lover’s spat. Anyone could walk in. Anyone. The realization makes your heart skip a beat. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Your words make sense, yet your actions don’t. You unconsciously inch closer to him. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t. “You’re confusing me,” Jaehyun responds, sounding frustrated, but when his hands find your waist, his touch is careful. Gentle. Like a collector in awe of the precious rare item he has found. “I thought you hated my guts. You know, that’s the kind of interpretation a break-up letter entails.”

“Jaehyun,” you whisper. You want to rip his hands off, leave him here to come to terms with the realization that this relationship is over. It had been such a difficult situation, and so painful; to rip the band-aid off in the manner that you did. You hadn’t even told Jeonghan about the reason you broke it off, so afraid of the consequences, yet more afraid of the repercussions of your relationship to Jaehyun’s career. You needed to tell him off now, before you do something you would regret. You do none of these things, however. You let Jeong Jaehyun cradle your face in the middle of the gallery as if nothing has changed and the two of you are eternal and you have never been apart. Something inside of you reaches for his soul, across the gaping abyss that forced mythological Orpheus and Eurydice apart. You let him bring your face close enough that he can press his cheek against yours, mimicking Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss hanging in the hall outside. A sweet irony. It had always been your favorite painting, and you know there was a copy of it hanging in Jaehyun’s living room, bought by you for an anniversary long past. His lips trace the lines of your cheekbones, feeding the selfish ache inside you that is always desperate for Jaehyun. “It doesn’t matter. I’m with a different man.”

The answer makes Jaehyun draw in a sharp breath, but his ministrations continue on; as if his love for you was an instinct he was chasing after unconsciously. His lips trail a burning path across your face, his fingers curling at your nape. Lulling you in. Entrancing you. “At the risk of sounding like an asshole - I don’t care,” he murmurs against your skin, the words reverberating in your blood. “I would give anything for being able to touch you like this. Even if this is the last time.”

You screw your eyes shut. Even if this is the last time. Almost mechanically, you raise your arms to draw him against you, your bodies lining up perfectly; you had always secretly enjoyed how well you guys fit together. A perfect match. When you had dropped him off at that airport, you had been robbed of truly saying goodbye to him. Coming home late, almost oversleeping and missing his flight, riding in separate cars because the staff had piled into the seats of which at least one should have been reserved for you. You couldn’t even kiss him goodbye - you had let go of Jaehyun with a heavy heart, a mind full of anxieties turning over all the threats you had received not only digitally, but now even physically, and with a mouth full of lies. This is the last time. You look up at the same time as Jaehyun decides to throw all caution against the wind, bowing his head to inch closer. “Let me kiss you, please,” he whispers, the desperation in his voice so heady it makes you feel drunk. “May I kiss you?”

You draw in a sharp, shuddering breath, and murmur your assent. As if this had been a decision and not a stabbing, sharp need below your chest. “Yes. Yes, Jaehyun.”

Your lips meet his halfway, although meet is the wrong words. It’s a crash and burn, two stars folding around one another and exploding in a supernova; there is nothing human about the way Jaehyun hungrily devours the surprised gasp you let out. His kiss is all fire and blood and teeth, the messy clacking of two people who had been made to love each other once and then cut apart by fate. Your hastily sucked in breaths keep getting interrupted every time Jaehyun kisses you again, and again, and again. It’s a sweet torture, and a productive one. By the time he has dragged you against a wall you are lightheaded and out of it, your skin prickling with the feeling of Jaehyun mapping out his way. “Oh sweetheart,” he sighs out against your collarbone, his teeth painting markings across your chest. You barely even register him falling to his knees. “I could die tomorrow and be a happy man.”

“What are you doing?” You ask him, dazed. Your hands find his shoulders (has he become even broader? You seriously need to have a talk with Johnny and the gym routine he forces Jaehyun through). Despite your confusion, your body remembers Jaehyun. You barely even think about following his guidance, complying almost immediately when he taps against your waist so that you raise your leg and angle it over his shoulder. The belated realization makes you blush heavily; your addled mind cannot keep up with your body’s compliance. “Jeong Jaehyun! Are you insane?”

You intended to sound fierce and reprimanding, but when you finally look down to meet his gaze, your knees almost buckle. Jaehyun looks like a man starved, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire, the irises blown wide to ensure every detail of you is burned into his recollection. He looks like a worshipper, and his hands move across the supple flesh of your thighs as if in prayer. Blasphemous and heavenly. And incredibly dangerous. You can still hear the loud chatter of the other guests behind the curtain, just across the room. The nervousness makes your veins thrum. “Baby,” he says, sounding genuinely disbelieving. “Do you honestly think I won’t use this chance to taste you one last time? I don’t know what made you tolerate me suddenly, but I am not going to be the idiot that ruins the opportunity. You’ll let me go down on you, won’t you, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment makes you all fuzzy-minded and giddy. “I … yes … But anyone could walk in…” you nervously start, and yet you angle your hips forward so that Jaehyun can tug down your black lace panties, barely noticing that he tucks them inside his suit pockets. “And we’re not supposed to … I mean, I shouldn’t …. Jesus, Jae!”

In the middle of your feeble attempt of climbing back to the moral highground, Jaehyun had positioned himself right at your core; your hands fumble to hold on to his shoulders before he kisses your vulva way too innocently for a man who’s currently going down on you in the middle of a public art gallery. You barely remember to lean back against the wall for support before Jaehyun dives in like you are the last meal he is ever permitted to have on this earth, and he is determined to make it last.

You bite back a cry when Jaehyun finally laps at you, the torturous kitten lick lighting your entire body aflame with want. Although Jaehyun immediately follows it up by generously sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, you cast aside all pretense of decorum due to your greed and dig your fingers in his hair to direct him closer, much closer, and Jaehyun moans. The sound is so delicious it makes your veins burn with desire, the physical pain of craving him running almost hotter than your need to be pleasured. Keyword almost. You wanted to come all over his mouth just for that delicious fucking noise, but your stomach was tensing up, the quick arousal accomplished by the serious lack of sex and masturbation that the past few months had been for you. Jaehyun’s hands claw at your knees, climbing to your thighs, forcing your legs wide open to welcome his fingers where he drags them across your all-too-welcoming entrance. “So wet,” he groans against your core, and you whimper at the vibration, bucking against his lips. Even though he loves to run his mouth during sex, he gets it to work anyways. Jaehyun laps up your sweetness as it drips down, his thumb flicking at your sensitive spots until he has you keening and tearing at his hair. “God, sweetheart, look at what a mess you’re making. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Jaehyun,” you gasp when he finally dives his tongue into you, the muscle pumping in mock-fashion of what he would love to do to you. The compliments are doing insane things to you and your heart, your poor heart that is going to cling to this moment forever. While Jaehyun’s fingers work their magic, your own begin to spasm, pulling and tearing at him. Submitting to you and your feral hunger he finally adds a finger, his right hand busy with fingering you while his left hands continues to trace circles over your clitoris. The sudden penetration has you remembering that his own digits are way longer than yours, the memory accompanying the sensation of him reaching further and further until he finds the right spot that has you bowing over him with a loud moan. This is what you missed, what you were imagining when you were daydreaming about sex, daydreaming about the godly way Jaehyun pounded you into the mattress. He knows he’s got you now, speeding up his ministrations at every noise you make. You screw your eyes shut with a bone-deep shudder, the sweet tension inside your abdomen pulling tighter and tighter in a familiar tell-tale sign. “Jaehyun, slow down, fuck!”

He’s curling his fingers, eager for your approval, hungry for more noises - through your blurry eyes, you realize he’s watching you through it all, the gaze of a predator. Not once does he look away, continuing his sweet song of praise. “So beautiful,” he coos against your pussy, pressing close so he can speak the words into your skin, your soul. In your state, it almost sounds like Jaehyun is the only thing in your world, and hasn’t it always been? The miracle in your life that you surrendered all your worship to? You lurch forward when he sucks your clit into his mouth, seeing white for a second, the stimulation becoming too much. “Keep looking at me, please. Wanna watch you when you come.”

“I…. can’t!” you manage to babble, realizing you are edging closer to your climax. You’ve never once been this quick, not with anyone but with Jaehyun; the only man in your life that knew every inch of you, the very shape of your soul. Your body is as familiar to him as the back of your hand; more familiar to him than his own self. Jaehyun is too impatient to deal with your arguments, though. “You can,” he hisses against you, dragging his fingers more fervently. Your warm walls tighten around them, hungrily trying to keep them in, to keep going. The sudden clenching around his fingers makes it difficult. “Look at me and cum or you won’t get to cum at all, I swear it.”

That’s all it takes for you to finally let go, almost weeping with the overwhelming pleasure. Your orgasm washes over you almost too violently, forced on by Jaehyun’s overstimulation as he keeps going and going and going, and by the time you push him off your sensitive pussy there are tears falling from your eyes. But you drag him close and kiss him, kiss him so hard you think he’s going to bruise, and Jaehyun lets you; it is much sweeter and patient than the beginning of the altercation, so sweet on your tongue it has you melting against Jaehyun. This is it, that adrenaline you kept chasing; true, painful, but worth it love. You feel too sensitive and too aware and too alight, but you wrap your arms around him all the same, as if you can keep him forever. Your kisses reach inside of him, desperate for connection, heavy with the longing that had accompanied you everywhere ever since you left him. You think you were born to love Jeong Jaehyun, and you kiss him as if you are Eve reaching for the forbidden apple - knowing it’s wrong, wanting it anyway. You want and you want and you want. Your hands are on his soft cheeks, dragging against his shoulders, careless, loving. You love Jeong Jaehyun, love him so much that your very existence is exploding from the inherent triumph that accompanied witnessing him.

You think you would gladly go to hell for tasting divinity on Jaehyun’s lips. You’d rather be a sinner than apart from him for being a saint.

When you finally tear away from him, Jaehyun’s lips are swollen(your heart almost fails at the sheer pleasure that sight gives you). He lets you drag your thumb across the kiss-stained lip, wiping away the lipstick, tracing his jawline. “Such a beautiful face,” you tell him, watching as he preens from the affection. Your heart to yearns to give him more, but you finally force yourself to step away before you die from the overdosis that is Jaehyun. He watches you, completely out of it. “This is the last time,” you remind him. The lie comes so easily now, even though you are trying to memorize his gorgeous face, tattooing it across your mind palace. You will never forget this, no matter what illness or loss comes for you. Not Jeong Jaehyun. “The last time, okay, Jae?”

You place your hand over his heart, and he places his own above it. For a moment, the situation feels eternal. You were in love and you were both idiots, but it was okay because you were handling it together. Because you would face all the challenges together. Because you would work towards a future together. But the spell is broken soon, and you make the first step back, biting your lip at the sadness resurfacing in his eyes. Jaehyun, you think. The only man you’ve ever entrusted your heart with like this.

“Okay,” he finally answers, helpless. He holds on to your hand, though, making the last few steps to follow you before he is forced to let you go. You turn back at the last second before you enter the main hall, just to see if he is looking away, but there he stands, watching you.

His face is forlorn, softened by his quiet sadness, and your heart breaks again. You leave him there before you can do something else you regret.

When Jaehyun had fallen in love you, he knew he was in for some deep shit.

Picking you up had become a natural habit now. You had long since stopped calling your brother and instead resorted to texting Jaehyun first. It felt like an honor, to be entrusted with your care. That you’ve started to know him in a way that makes you rely on him. Picking you up had led to late-night-drives to sober you up, late-night-drives had turned into a shared breakfast the next morning when Jaehyun was worried about you having hangovers, and fussing over you had turn into regular meet-ups because Jaehyun could no longer deny that what he craved was not reassurance of your well-being, but you in person.

He remembered one morning where he had slept over after a particularly nasty crash-out. You had been laughing and weeping incoherently, your friend Karina aiding him with the information that you had failed your exam and drowned yourself in booze. He had texted DK a “FYI, your sister’s puking her guts out in my apartment” after deciding his home was closer than yours and you wouldn’t last long enough to throw up in your own toilet, before he had sat there with you and braided your hair back while you emptied out your entire stomach. The next morning, when he had woken up to you cuddled up to him still on the bathroom floor, he had carried you to his bed, tucked you in and walked into the kitchen to cook hangover soup, something he had mastered by this point due to the amount of times Mark had familiarized himself with that toilet just like you did last night. Having checked his phone, he read your brother’s only response: “LOL. didn’t even realize she left party”

You had wandered in shortly after, sleepy and pale like a ghost. The sound of your footsteps had startled Jaehyun, but his surprise had turned into a sudden happiness at the sight of your eyes lighting up when you saw him. The realization that his presence made you as happy as yours made him was invaluable. He loved the kind of person he was when you guys were together; existing felt like floating, a light cloud of pure contentment.

Even though there hadn’t been a lot of talking, you had both been deeply comfortable. That was the very first time he had kissed you; when you couldn’t stop singing his praises after claiming his soup was too tasty, he had simply leant over and shut you up himself. It was almost funny at how quickly you had dropped that spoon, tugging at his pyjama shirt to pull him closer, damn right pulling him over the counter. Not that he was complaining. He loved the way you made him feel, the way your touch made it feel like there were stars blooming below his skin. It made him feel like the brightest sun in the sky. “Why did you do that?” you had immediately asked when he finally pulled back. Jaehyun had cradled your face, realizing he was holding his entire world in the palm of his hand. “I just suddenly understood that I want to hold your hair back for you for the rest of my life,” he had admitted then, earning himself a slap to the shoulder. But you had laughed, that pure boisterous laugh that sparked with joy, and his heart had pounded in his chest: unable to handle the luck he was experiencing.

The mornings had blurred into days, the days into weeks, finally bleeding into the most happiest months of Jaehyun’s life. He’d never been cautious, but you had certainly made him braver. Sudden shenanigans in public, joking around entirely too loud during important events, having fun everywhere you guys were together. You had made him believe there were no honeymoon phases. Jaehyun woke and rose in the morning, and went to sleep in the dawn obsessed with you. There were rough patches, stressful and grieving periods when your private lives had been rocked particularly hard with a certain event, but he never once stopped adoring you. You were in every waking breath, every racing heartbeat.

Even now, as he wakes the day after your goodbye in the art gallery, he wakes up with the taste of hope in his mouth, of the shape of your heart on the tip of his tongue. He wakes still dreaming, always dreaming of you.

“So what you’re saying,” states Johnny, twirling a biscuit around in his coffee, “is that you had sex with your ex-girlfriend in a public museum, fully knowing she’s dating someone else.”

“Johnny,” comes the muffled response from where Jaehyun hides his face in his hands. It’s too beautiful of a day. It should be raining, to reflect Jaehyun’s mood, to encompass this entirely too awkward feeling of knowing Jaehyun was still in love with his ex. He had spent the entire morning racking his brain for ideas to get rid of the other man, feeling like Lana del Rey in her worst situationships. Jaehyun has reached a very new low, the kind of pathetic that makes him not care that he’s embarrassing himself by still being at your beck-and-call. “It wasn’t sex.”

Johnny waves the retort away. “Oral sex, then. Still sex.” The comment is too loud and earns Johnny some weirded-out looks, but the man looks completely unbothered. He had once watched Johnny talk about different sex positions completely seriously while standing in line for gelato in Little Italy, back when they had visited New York together. Johnny Suh did not know what shame was. “I never even knew you were freaky like that. Little exhibitionist freak. Maybe I underestimated you.”

“Johnny,” Jaehyun deadpanned. “Is this the time to be making jokes? Can we get to the point?”

“What point, dude? You basically went on your knees and asked her to take you back, and she didn’t. I didn’t realize you wanted me to throw salt into the wound.”

Jaehyun lowers his head to the tabletop, resting his too warm face against the metal surface. He doesn’t dare close his eyes, because the image of you is burned into his eyelids. He feels like an addict itching for a quick fix. It had been like this the entire week now. It was one thing to be ghosted by you and forced to move on by the lack of interaction, and another to be making out with you and getting his hopes up despite the fact you told him this was the last time. All it did was make him delusional enough to think he could convince you for it not to be. “She didn’t say no,” he tells Johnny, sounding pitiable even to him. “She just told me this had to be the last time.”

A few seconds pass before Jaehyun finally raises his head due to the lack of answer from his best friend. The look Johnny gives him tells him is answer enough, and Jaehyun pulls a grimace. He hadn’t expected of Johnny to be feeding into his delusions, but there had been some hope. Hope for you to call. Hope for you to come back. Hope for you to still want him.

You hadn’t unfollowed him yet; you hadn’t posted in days; and your brother has kindly snitched to him that you’ve even been blowing off Junseo. He knows you have finals coming up soon, but thinking rationally was something Jaehyun severely lacked at the moment. He had been entertaining the idea that the … meeting, for a lack of better words, in the museum had shaken you up as much as it did him. He kept replaying the memory in his head, the way your plush thighs had trapped him there on his knees, your pretty lips jutted in a pout, the tears falling from your eyes from the way he was making you feel so good … he almost felt himself get hard again, but quickly killed the boner by thinking of something else. “I just wish she’d be more clear,” he sighs out. At the sight of Johnny raising his eyebrows, he clarifies: “I mean that she’s playing hot and cold with me. I’m not stupid enough to not realize she does want to put an end to this. And yet she’s the one that followed me on Instagram, and kissed me, and made me fall all over again for her. I wasn’t doing well before I saw her again, but I was going somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” Johnny repeats, his tone mocking, but then he sets down the biscuit that had come with his coffee. This is what Jaehyun liked about him the most. He considered everything and thought about everything carefully before giving his honest opinion, and even though he sure as hell wasn’t unbiased, he still tried his best to be. “I guess,” Johnny concurs then. “I guess that’s true. I just think there must be a reason to this. I haven’t known her half as long as you do, but we were friends once, and she never once acted as irrationally as she did this past year.”

Jaehyun perked up at that. It was true, at least. In the weeks leading up to your break-up, as well as the months afterwards, you had been acting incredibly off, to the point that even your close ones had been questioning your case. He hadn’t realized how keen Johnny’s observations could be. “So you think she’s going through something that she couldn’t tell me?” he asks, his voice tentative.

Johnny shrugs. “That sounds like the most logical explanation to me. So you either hook up with her again and question her while you’re at it, or you start looking up ways to get rid of Junseo, I guess.” The suggestion makes Johnny’s face light up with excitement. “Dude, I actually always wanted to hire an assassin on the dark web. Do you think we can do that?”

“No, you idiot,” Jaehyun hisses back. But the gears in his head are already turning, chipping away at the past year, at your secret glances and your guilty letter and the sadness in your eyes when you had let him go. He had always thought that even though you had been decisive, you had at least been sad for not being able to love him in the way he deserved to be loved anymore. now he wonders how selfish he has been, and whether he should have been texting his ex all along instead of grieving what was.

Well. Jaehyun thought it couldn’t hurt to try.

Jeonghan sees him before you do.

It’s the way your best friend immediately starts cackling and turns back around to walk back into the library. You halt in your movements, looking at him imploringly. “Your ex, dude,” he tells you, visibly enjoying the way you immediately enter full-panic-mode. “You’re on your own.”

Your panicked “Hannie!” is drowned out by his snickers, and Jeonghan leaves you to your distress to pretend going to the bathroom. You met Jeonghan years ago, and even though he was older than you, you had become such fast friends that DK threatened to beat you guys up for laughing too loud whenever you were over at their dorms. He was your stupid older unnecessary brother that loved you more than anything, but he is also the most brutally honest one out of all of your friends. You do not go to Jeonghan for advice if you aren’t able to handle the truth. He cuts to the chase real quick and will call you out on your bullshit.

It’s also why he immediately told you that your plan wasn’t going to work out. “Let’s not pretend this is the most lovey-dovey you’ve ever been in your life,” Jeonghan had told you with a straight face. You wince at the memory; Jeonghan’s words are able to tear down buildings. “You love-love that man. You’re in deep, deep shit. Whatever it is you don’t want to tell me about, the thing that made you think up this idiotic plan in the first place, it won’t be able to amount to the feelings you have for him.”

Yes, you love-love him; you know just as much, and your heart sings with that knowledge. It pinches and tingles beneath your ribs, calling out a certain name. It rejoices at the sight of Jaehyun out there, in the rain, wearing not even a jacket but instead jeans and a hoodie that looks large even on him, and a bouquet in his hands. But you love him enough not to want to be selfish enough to endanger him.

The messages had blown up your instant message box for weeks then, each threat becoming more explicit. At first, you had resorted to deleting them. They were all the same at their core, anyways, the same hatred being spewed with different names. But then one persistent account had started attaching pictures to their messages, waking you up from the rose-tinted dream that was being in love with Jaehyun. Pictures of him at private events, including the other band members as well, even the youngest ones who were innocent. You hadn’t responded, but the fear had you making hasty plans; setting up everything carefully, writing the letter, while you prepared to leave Jaehyun in the most respectful way you could imagine because that is what you owed him. But then pictures of his own rented studio inside SM building had started popping up, a room you knew no one but Jaehyun and his aides should have access to, one single message with one ominous threat: Leave him or I’ll ruin the both of you. His life’s work being killed will be your fault.

Your lack of answer surely had made them furious.

You didn’t know whether to approach the managers, or even the police. Stalkers weren’t unheard of in the industry, one being caught and sued almost weekly by now, and Jaehyun had cycled through his fair share of them. No one had ever went for you in that way, though. You were certain that this wasn’t a singular threat, certain that this was someone who would pull out all stops to get rid of you. SM Entertainment was more tightly under lock and key than a literal jail. This person knew what they were doing. And so you did what you thought was right, at the cost of your own wellbeing. How much you had sacrificed and cried after distancing yourself from the man you considered your heart.

And yet here he was.

You shake the umbrella open before stepping out of the library, into the rain. In three quick strides, you’ve reached him. You try to convince yourself you’re just eager to be rid of him, but the corners of your lips quirk up way too happily for your brain to believe that. “Is this your equivalent of a boombox outside my window?” you question.

Jaehyun smiles, and it untangles the heavy knot of dread inside of you. The weather is awful, but you feel warm, spreading inside your chest like the soothing effects of medicine. “It kind of is,” he answers. He sounds like he is carefully weighing his words, but his voice is gentle. “I didn’t know which one your window was. And entering the building to go visit you in your apartment seemed creepy to even me.”

You tentatively reach out, brushing your fingers over the roses. They’re a deep red, plush and freshly bloomed. Expensive. Junseo has never even got you a three-dollar-bundle of flowers from the grocery store. “You know, I already have someone who’s giving me flowers,” you tell him, but the threat is empty. Every inch of you is bursting with happiness. Jaehyun is here, even though it’s the middle of the night and the weather is completely awful, just to give you roses.

(You never even make the connection someone must have told him you’re here. (DK was shitting himself for days in fear of you finding out he was the tattletale.)

Jaehyun hands you the bouquet, his hands covering your own as you grasp it. You watch him as he takes the opportunity to step closer to you, never once reprimanding him. His face is open and trusting, and the force of his loving gaze hits you right in the chest. “I know,” he retorts. “And the thought is killing me. It should be me. And so I will. I will keep buying you roses until you ask me to stop, sweetheart, because I don’t mind if you forget about me, but I was made to adore you. I can’t ignore my instincts.”

The confession does funny things to your heart, in a way that makes you beam at him for the first time in months. You haven’t smiled like this in so long, and your cheeks hurt from the lack of practise. Jaehyun, the damn fool; Jaehyun, the hopeless romantic; Jaehyun, the love of your life. “Killing you,” you muse, entertaining him. You are playing with fire, you realize, but you are coming to the understanding that even though you had made a decision for him in a completely unfair manner, because you felt threatened to do so, Jaehyun still chooses you. And he continues to choose you. He has respected your wishes, has kept his distance despite the grief you have caused him, and has only re-entered your life because you allowed him to do so. It was your own self-doubt about being the one for him that had forced your hand and made you not ask him for help about the threats; and despite the fact Jaehyun never understood why, he had still reassured you.

“Do you honestly mean that?” you ask him, even though you know what his answer will be. Even though your heart has always chosen him, this sweet boy who knew just what to say to cheer you up. Who listened when you talked. Who bought you gifts just because you mentioned liking some trinket in passing. Who remembers to kiss you every morning before you leave the house, even if it means dragging himself out of bed at 5am in the morning just to see you off because he knows he won’t see you the entire day. Who leaves little notes around the house for you to find when he is too busy to be with you. Jaehyun, your Jaehyun.

“I will always, always mean it,” he answers in the most earnest way possible. “I’ve been thinking about you all this time. I know how pathetic this sounds, but all this time, I kept envisioning you, and the thought of you kept me going even though I knew you weren’t a part of my life anymore. I like the person you made me become, sweetheart, and the way you have helped me shape my life into something I can be proud of. I just wish I had realized sooner that there was something bothering you - because there is, right?” His fingers gently squeeze yours in encouragement, and your little nod makes him press on. “I’m sorry,” he says, and surprises you. “I’m sorry for being so in love with your good and pure heart and failing to realize that it burdened you, despite how good and pure it was. You were going through something that you couldn’t handle, and I couldn’t see it, and I’m sorry.”

You tug at Jaehyun’s hands. His instantaneous, responding smile makes your heart skip a beat, and he lets you pull him down until you can press your lips to his soft, dimpled cheek. “You’re such a sore loser, Jeong Jaehyun,” you whisper then, but you loosen a hand from the bouquet and place it against his cheek to keep him there. To treasure him. “And such a sweet little idiot. You don’t have to apologize about a single thing to me.” He smells like home, like the only home you’ve ever known. Jaehyun hums, and nods in assent to the insults, and the agreement makes you laugh. You kiss his cheek again, and again, and again, until Jaehyun’s impatience makes him turn his head and kiss you so urgently that your head feels like it’s spinning. “Jaehyun,” you sigh into the kiss, feeling his teeth nip at your lower lip, feeling his hands close around your heart.

You have never felt so safe.

Jaehyun rests his forehead against yours, the pouring rain cascading around you both. “Does that mean I can kill your little boy toy now?” he asks, but you only smack him and smile shyly, your face radiant with adoration for him. “I am going to resolve some things first,” you tell him. “Until then, no murder.”

“And after that?”

“After that,” you say, “I am going to prove that my heart has always belonged to you, Jeong Jaehyun. Even when I made you doubt that.”

(For your information, Jeonghan has recorded that entire interaction and forwarded it to Johnny without context. Johnny had texted him back almost seconds later, asking, Who’s this and how’d you get my number? Hannie’s response, as you discover after he had confessed his betrayal, was I have my ways.)

Jaehyun,

I realize me writing another letter is cruel and ironic, but hear me out, please.

When I wrote my first letter, it was with the selfish intention of at least something of mine remaining with you. By the time you read this, I’ll hopefully have gathered enough evidence to explain my case to you and maybe have the guts to ask you to accompany me to the police, but what I first want to reiterate is: I love you. I love you the point of self-sacrifice. I love you enough that I turned my back on being selfless anyways and selfishly chose you, because you are the most important person in my heart. You will always come first.

When I wrote that letter to break up with you, I imagined a piece of myself embedding itself in the ink so that at least something could remain forever. In my mind, you were never ephemeral: no matter how many times I changed my paths and adjusted my future, it has always included you. I never once imagined building a life for myself that didn’t have you as its brilliant, shining center piece, the light of my life, my Jaehyun. I’ve always been afraid of falling in love head-first, always afraid of loving more than the other, but you have proven me wrong. And I love being proven wrong by you. I love the fact that you fiercely, sincerely, and lovingly pull me back to reality every time. Reality with you is more perfect than anything I could have ever dreamed of.

Since my first letter was supposed to be a goodbye, I want this letter to be proof that I choose to greet the future with you. I want this letter to be proof that I will never need a letter again. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and telling you about it, and I will reassure you of that always, in the same manner as you have always me reassured me. You told me that my heart was good and pure, but I genuinely believe that I am constantly reflecting back what you give me: your kindness, Jae, your sincerity, your unbelievable humanity.

You are the only man I ever want roses in my life from, and that will never change. :) So if you finish reading this, stop creeping on my Instagram waiting for me to drop the other man and come bring me another bouquet so I can prove to you there has never been another. You are the only one in my heart.

With love,

Chapter 1: Late Nights and Dinosaur Pajamas

It’s 11:46 PM when your phone buzzes.

You nearly ignore it, curled up on your futon surrounded by open sketchbooks and a half-eaten grilled cheese. You’d been trying to finish a commission for a tiny café in Itaewon, your fingers still smudged in dry blue acrylic when the screen lights up again.

Jaehyun.

Your heart does the stupid little flip it always does.

You swipe without thinking.

“Hey, everything okay?”

He sounds tired. Not just tired—worn.

“Can you come over?”

Your brows knit. “Is Hana—?”

“She’s got a fever. I’ve tried everything. Cold compress, warm bath. She won’t stop crying. I think she just wants you.”

That last part stabs straight through your ribs.

You’re already throwing on your hoodie and stuffing your sketchbook under the couch. “I’m on my way.”

By the time you get to his apartment—spacious, minimalist, all soft neutrals and clean lines—he’s standing at the door in sweatpants and a black tee, barefoot, his eyes shadowed and hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night.

“Hi,” you breathe, stepping in.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low. You catch a flicker of something in his gaze—relief. Or guilt. Or both.

“She wouldn’t go to sleep?”

He shakes his head, shutting the door behind you. “Kept asking for you.”

The hallway is quiet except for soft whimpers from the bedroom. Your steps are familiar here now—four years of being the emergency contact, the midnight call, the best friend who never left.

You enter Hana’s room and your heart tugs. She’s curled up in her bed, cheeks flushed, wearing her favorite green dinosaur pajamas.

You kneel beside her, brushing the damp hair from her forehead.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

Her eyes flutter open at your voice, tired and glassy. “You came…”

You kiss her temple. “Always, little bean.”

She falls asleep within twenty minutes. Her tiny hand clutches your sleeve like a lifeline.

When you finally slip out of her room, you find Jaehyun in the kitchen, pouring two mugs of tea. The clock reads 12:38 AM.

“You’re magic,” he says simply, sliding a mug toward you.

You smile faintly. “No. Just good with feverish dinosaurs.”

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “I should’ve called you earlier. She asked for you at like eight.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He hesitates, his jaw tensing.

“Didn’t want to… depend on you. Again.”

You go quiet. He’s always done this—shouldered everything, like grief and fatherhood were punishments he deserved to carry alone.

“I’m not a burden, Jae,” you say gently. “I’m her godmother. Your best friend. You’re allowed to lean.”

He meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. I just… forget how to do that.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You sip the tea. “This is horrible, by the way.”

He actually laughs—a quiet, low one that makes your chest warm. “Didn’t have honey.”

You end up staying the night. Of course.

You sleep on the couch, half-covered in a blanket you keep here anyway. He checks on you once around 2 AM—doesn’t say anything, just looks down at you with that unreadable expression, like you’re something fragile he never expected to need.

You pretend to be asleep.

The next morning, you’re brushing your teeth with Hana’s spare pink toothbrush when someone knocks.

You open the door mid-brush, expecting a courier.

Instead, it’s Mark Lee holding two coffees, Haechan beside him with a grocery bag and an obnoxiously loud, “UNCLE HYUCK IS HERE!”

“Whoa,” Mark says, blinking at you in your hoodie. “You live here now?”

You glare, foam still in your mouth. “I—nuh.”

“You do look suspiciously comfortable,” Haechan says with a grin, leaning around to peer into the apartment. “Wait. Did you two finally—”

“NO.” you and Jaehyun yell in unison from different rooms.

Later, when Hana is curled up on your lap eating rice porridge, you catch Jaehyun watching you from the kitchen.

Not just watching. Staring.

Like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t want.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

But that night, when you go home, there’s a wildflower in your hoodie pocket. One Hana picked. Or maybe not. You don’t ask.

Chapter 2: Paint-Stained Promises

The wind howled down the narrow streets of Seongsu, and your studio windows rattled in their frames like old bones. Rain was coming—you could feel it in the pressure building behind your eyes, in the stubborn creak of the cracked glass you still hadn’t fixed.

You cursed softly under your breath, tossing another useless strip of masking tape onto the floor. The old window had been threatening to cave for weeks. But now, with the sky brooding and wind leaking through the crack, you knew it wouldn’t survive another night.

And of course, your toolbox was missing half its contents.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering.

He’d offer. You knew he would. That was the problem.

Still, you typed:

You: Window’s cracking worse. Rain’s about to hit. You busy?

Three dots appeared. Then:

Jaehyun: Be there in 15.

You sighed, heart tugging in a way that felt both inconvenient and inevitable.

By the time Jaehyun arrived, the first sprinkles had already started pattering against the studio roof. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, a low rumble of thunder rolling behind him.

“Should’ve known you’d wait until the storm to deal with it,” he said, stepping in and surveying the disaster zone. His voice was calm, warm. Familiar in a way that made your stomach ache.

“I was waiting for inspiration,” you shrugged, half-kidding.

His blazer was dark and dry, but his hair had started to curl faintly at the edges. He looked crisp as ever in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled neatly, top button undone from the day’s work. There was a calm purpose in his presence—the kind that made the chaos of your studio feel a little less sharp.

“You brought your real tools,” you noted as he set a black case down beside the window.

“You mean the ones that actually work,” he said, glancing at your sad excuse for a toolkit. “Seriously… are you using a butter knife as a screwdriver?”

“It’s called innovation, Mr. Architect.”

He shook his head, crouching beside the window. “God help you.”

For the next fifteen minutes, the room was filled with the sound of clinking metal, the occasional curse under his breath, and rain starting to hit harder. You moved around quietly, cleaning up the scattered brushes and shifting your canvas-in-progress to avoid stray droplets.

“You know,” you said, trying not to watch the way his sleeves hugged his forearms, “most people don’t come running to fix broken things for someone else this late at night.”

Jaehyun paused briefly, tightening the screw on the new hinge. His voice was low when he replied.

“I’m not most people.”

You swallowed, fingers curling around a rag instinctively.

“You don’t have to keep showing up like this, Jae.”

His eyes met yours then—briefly, but enough to make the breath catch in your throat.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I want to.”

Thunder cracked outside like the sky had something to say about that.

The last screw clicked into place, and Jaehyun stood, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. You didn’t realize how close you’d moved to him until he turned.

Too fast.

His elbow knocked your paint bucket clean off the table.

You both watched in horror as it wobbled, danced on the edge—then tipped over with a dramatic splatter.

Right onto his shirt.

You gasped, eyes going wide.

Hot pink. Everywhere. A full, unapologetic explosion across his chest, dripping down in streaks like chaotic abstract art.

“Oh my god—Jaehyun!”

He stood perfectly still, staring down at himself.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then—

“Is this acrylic?” he asked flatly.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing. “I—yes. But we can—oh my god, your shirt!”

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Of course it’s pink.”

“I swear it was balanced before you barged in all… heroic.”

He looked up at you, finally—really looked—and the two of you burst out laughing at the same time.

“Stay still,” you said between giggles, grabbing a nearby cloth.

He watched as you reached forward, gently blotting at the mess on his chest. You tried not to notice the heat radiating off him, or how the thin cotton of his shirt had started to cling faintly to his skin from the paint and humidity.

But then—your fingers brushed lower, trying to catch a drip before it hit his belt, and your hand landed right over his sternum.

Flat palm. Over his chest.

He stilled.

You froze too.

The laughter died instantly.

His heart was pounding. Hard. You felt it before you could stop yourself.

Your eyes met his. Something shifted.

You dropped the cloth. “Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back, wiping your hands on your jeans like they were burning.

“It’s fine,” he said, but his voice was lower now. Less composed.

The storm outside cracked again.

You were still facing each other, still too close.

But neither of you moved.

Later, alone in your studio, after he left wearing his ruined shirt and half a smile, you found the cloth you’d used still on the table.

Bright pink. Warm.

And somehow, your fingers still felt the thrum of his heartbeat against your palm.

Chapter 3: Did the Make-Up Go Outta Hand?

By the time Jaehyun unlocked the apartment door, the rain had slowed to a whisper against the windows. The elevator ride up had been silent except for the soft plap of still-damp paint clinging to his shirt and the pounding in his chest he couldn’t quite explain.

He exhaled through his nose and stepped inside.

Warmth greeted him. Hana’s tiny, sweet voice filtered from the living room—something about a stegosaurus and sparkly stickers. And then—

“Hyung?” Jungwoo’s head popped up from the couch, followed by an unmistakable double-take.

Jaehyun froze mid-step.

Jungwoo squinted.

“…Is that…” he stood, walking over with narrowed eyes like a fashion detective. “Is that pink paint on your shirt?”

Jaehyun glanced down like it was the first time he was seeing it. The big splotches across the chest had dried into bright abstract chaos, stretching down his stomach in perfect, embarrassing streams. His once-white collar had a smear of magenta near the top button.

Jungwoo gaped.

“Hyung.” A grin started creeping across his face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I fixed a window,” Jaehyun said plainly, stepping out of his shoes.

“With your chest?”

He ignored that.

“I was at her studio.”

Jungwoo’s brows shot up even higher. “Ohhhh. Her studio. Right. And what exactly were you two fixing?” he asked, voice laced with fake innocence as he followed Jaehyun into the kitchen.

Jaehyun rolled his eyes, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “The window frame. It was cracked.”

“Must’ve gotten really emotional,” Jungwoo teased, flopping onto a stool. “You sure it wasn’t make-up sex?”

Jaehyun choked on the water. “What?!”

“I’m just saying!” Jungwoo held up his hands in mock defense, barely containing his laughter. “You show up at midnight, looking like a Jackson Pollock painting, saying you were fixing things—and you expect me not to connect the dots?”

“There are no dots to connect.”

“Right. So your shirt just accidentally got seduced by a paint bucket.”

Jaehyun set the bottle down a little too hard. “I knocked it over. She tried to help clean it. That’s it.”

But Jungwoo didn’t back down. He leaned in slightly, more serious now—but still soft.

“You’re flustered.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His voice gentled. “Jaehyun… is something happening with her?”

Jaehyun paused at that.

The image came back uninvited: your hand pressed to his chest, warm, paint-streaked, still.

He didn’t answer.

Jungwoo tilted his head, eyes curious but not pushy.

“You know we wouldn’t be surprised, right? I mean, everyone sees how she is with you. With Hana. She’s already part of this family.”

Jaehyun glanced toward the hallway. Hana’s giggle echoed faintly, followed by her calling out: “Dino Daddy!”

A smile tugged at his lips. Small. Quiet.

But then his gaze dropped back to his stained shirt—and the smile faded just as quickly.

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

Jungwoo blinked. “Can’t… what?”

“I can’t cross that line. Not with her.”

“Why not?”

“She was there when everything fell apart. She saw me at my worst. She held Hana when I couldn’t even look at my own kid without seeing her mother.” He rubbed his temple. “She’s seen too much of me. I can’t drag her through more.”

Jungwoo went quiet, letting the weight of it settle.

And then, gently:

“Maybe she doesn’t feel dragged. Maybe she feels home.”

Jaehyun didn’t reply.

But he didn’t change shirts either.

Later that night, as he tucked Hana into bed, she mumbled drowsily, “You smell like paint… like her…”

Jaehyun smoothed her hair back, heart aching and full at once.

“Do you like when she’s around?” he asked softly.

Hana nodded, eyes already fluttering shut. “She makes everything soft.”

Jaehyun stared at his daughter.

And wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was the only one still fighting something that didn’t need to be fought.

Chapter 4: Gluesticks, Dinosaurs, and Something Like Home

You weren’t supposed to take over Hana’s dinosaur painting project.

But somewhere between cutting out tiny green scales and sketching a volcano in the background, your hand just… kept going.

“I’m just helping, I swear,” you said, glancing guiltily at Jaehyun as you added orange-red glitter to what was supposed to be Hana’s lava. “She said she wanted sparkles.”

He looked up from the kitchen counter, lips twitching. “You mean you wanted sparkles.”

You gasped, faux-offended. “Excuse you—this is a collaborative piece.”

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. “It has shadowing.”

“Hana likes realism.”

“It has brush technique.”

“She’s very advanced.”

“Right. My daughter, the four-year-old prodigy.”

Hana, oblivious to the accusations, sat between you both on the carpet, proudly holding her gluestick upside down and humming the Jurassic Park theme. Her shirt had streaks of yellow paint, and a googly eye was stuck to her cheek.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

By 9:42 PM, the living room floor was a warzone of stickers, cut-outs, crayon wrappers, and half-eaten gummy bears. But the masterpiece—“Hana’s Dinosaur Island”—was done.

Or, as Hana dramatically declared before flopping onto the carpet: “It’s finished, my work is done, I’m sleepy now…”

She crawled into the space between you and Jaehyun, curling up with her cheek against your arm and letting out a deep sigh, already halfway to dreamland.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, lying down beside her. “She runs on chaos and collapses.”

You grinned, adjusting the blanket over her back. “I feel that.”

Eventually, your own body gave in, sinking into the soft rug. The storm outside had passed, and now the apartment was filled with the quiet hum of the heater and the soft sound of Hana’s sleepy breaths.

You didn’t realize your eyes had slipped shut until everything fell quiet.

When Jaehyun turned his head, it was instinct—just to check if you were still awake. To see if you were going to get up and head home soon.

But you weren’t.

You were lying on your stomach, one hand still near a crayon, your cheek resting on your arm. Your hair was messy, your face peaceful.

Hana was curled between the two of you, mouth slightly open, one socked foot touching your side like she didn’t want to let you drift too far even in sleep.

And Jaehyun just… stared.

He hadn’t noticed before—not fully—not like this.

How quiet the apartment felt when you were here. Not empty. Not echoing. Not heavy with loss.

But safe.

Warm.

Like something had finally started healing without him realizing.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, murmuring something incoherent as your fingers curled into the fabric of the carpet. Jaehyun swallowed hard.

He leaned forward before he could stop himself.

Pressed a soft, almost weightless kiss to your temple.

You didn’t stir.

But his heart did.

He stood slowly, carefully, then leaned down and scooped you into his arms—gently, like he was afraid you might shatter.

You didn’t wake, but your head tucked instinctively against his chest like it belonged there.

He stared at you a second longer.

Then carried you down the hallway and into the guest room.

He laid you on the bed and paused.

Everything about you was still—your hands, your lashes, your breathing. But there was something threaded in that stillness that made his chest ache.

Something terrifying and beautiful.

He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, too quietly for even the walls to hear.

And then he turned off the light.

Chapter 5: “Don’t Forget to Return His Shirt”

The house was unusually quiet that morning — warm, almost golden in the soft sunlight pouring through the living room windows. Hana had been up early, full of energy from her painting project the night before, but now she was napping again on the couch, exhausted after the burst of creativity.

Jaehyun was sitting at the kitchen island, black loose shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves pushed up, cradling a mug of coffee.

Johnny leaned back against the counter across from him, sipping from his own.

“She made that whole castle scene herself?” Johnny asked, glancing toward the colorful mess of crayons, glitter glue, and paper scraps.

Jaehyun chuckled. “She had help. Mostly smudged clouds and hearts. But she was happy.”

“You look—” Johnny tilted his head, eyeing him. “Peaceful. You slept well?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer right away, but his lips curled faintly, unknowingly. “I carried her to the guest room.”

“Hana?”

“No.” Jaehyun looked down at his coffee. “Her.”

Johnny blinked. “Oh.”

That was when you walked in.

Barefoot. Hair messily tucked behind one ear. Wearing Jaehyun’s oversized white shirt buttoned over your small tee from last night — sleeves swallowing your hands, hem brushing mid-thigh. Your eyes were still a little sleepy, your voice barely above a murmur.

“Is Hana awake?”

Both men turned. Jaehyun’s eyes lifted to you immediately, lingering just a moment too long.

But Johnny? Johnny’s jaw dropped a little in comedic shock.

“Well damn,” he said, lips curving slow. “You’re becoming a usual sight in this house.”

You blinked, still too sleepy to process until you realized what shirt you were wearing. Your cheeks flared instantly as you looked down.

“Oh my god—this isn’t—He just—” You started rambling, hands waving, trying to tug the collar up.

Jaehyun just sipped his coffee again like nothing was wrong, while Johnny leaned against the doorway dramatically.

“Relax,” Johnny said, amused. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You sent him a playful glare and crossed your arms over the shirt. “Don’t you have a schedule?”

“I do,” Johnny said, smirking as he grabbed the small bag of snacks from the counter and headed toward the front door. “Just came to drop off these for the princess. That convenience store near my place still had her bear jellies.”

He opened the door — then turned back one last time, a little smirk tugging on his lips as his eyes flicked to the shirt again.

“Oh, and…” he added casually, “don’t forget to return his shirt.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

You stood frozen, face burning.

Jaehyun finally looked up at you fully. His eyes scanned you softly. Quiet. Thoughtful.

You swallowed and mumbled, “Sorry, I can change—”

He shook his head slowly. “You’re fine.”

A pause.

Then a tiny smile.

“You look comfortable.”

Chapter 6: “Brushstrokes of Quiet Devotion”

She hadn’t slept in almost two days. Paint streaked her forearms, her fingers stained with hues of burnt sienna and cerulean blue as she stood in the center of the gallery, eyeing the crooked alignment of one canvas.

"Too low," she muttered, climbing the step stool again for the third time.

The art gallery was modest, tucked between a flower shop and an indie bookstore downtown, but to her, it felt like the Louvre. Her first solo exhibition. Her work. Her name on the flyers. And yet—doubt clawed at her chest.

What if no one showed up? What if no one bought anything? What if—

“Are you eating at all?” Johnny’s voice cut through the quiet like a sigh of relief. He appeared at the gallery’s entrance, holding a cup of iced coffee and a sandwich. “You’re going to collapse before anyone even sees your genius.”

She smiled tiredly, taking the cup with a grateful nod. “Thanks. I just... I want it to be good.”

“It is good,” he said, nodding toward the abstract oil painting behind her. “You’re incredible. Don’t make me frame you on the wall too.”

—

The evening of the exhibit bloomed like a dream. The lights dimmed perfectly, a soft melody drifted through the air, and guests trickled in — more than she expected. Gallery owners, critics, even well-known collectors she'd only ever seen quoted in articles.

And somehow — somehow — every painting had a red dot sticker beside it before the night was over.

“All of them?” she whispered in disbelief, blinking rapidly.

The gallery assistant nodded. “Yes. Your collection was bought out entirely by a private firm. In full.”

She nearly staggered. Her knees felt weak. She blinked again.

She had made it.

But what she didn’t see, as she greeted guests with misty eyes and a trembling smile, was the quiet man in a black suit standing near the far corner of the gallery — unnoticed, arms crossed, his gaze fixed solely on her.

Jaehyun.

He hadn’t approached her yet. Not while she was surrounded. Not while her eyes gleamed like that — filled with joy, pride, accomplishment.

He didn't need the credit. He never did.

It had taken one phone call to his friend’s acquisition firm. One private meeting. One silent request: Make sure her work doesn’t go unseen.

When Johnny came up beside him, wine glass in hand, he said nothing for a moment before murmuring, “She doesn’t know, does she?”

Jaehyun shook his head.

“She thinks it’s her talent.”

“It is her talent,” Jaehyun said firmly. “I just made sure people saw it.”

And when she looked up — scanning the crowd instinctively, eyes searching for someone she hadn’t realized she missed until now — her gaze caught his across the room.

His expression didn’t change. Just a small smile. A nod.

And her heart clenched, the way it always did when he looked at her like that.

Chapter 7: “Quiet Declarations”

She twirled her fork in the creamy pasta, still trying to process the day. The soft clink of cutlery, the mellow jazz humming in the background, and Jaehyun seated across from her — this wasn’t just dinner. It felt like something else. Something they hadn’t dared name.

“You really made this?” she asked, stabbing a mushroom and smiling. “It’s actually... amazing.”

He smirked, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Don’t sound so shocked. I can cook.”

“Since when?”

“Since Mark bullied me on FaceTime for over an hour.”

She giggled, eyes sparkling, then sighed and leaned back.

“I can’t believe all 17 paintings sold... opening night.”

Jaehyun simply nodded. “They were beautiful.”

“Still,” she murmured. “All gone so fast? Even the one I thought no one would touch.”

He hesitated. “I mean... I might’ve said something. To Minhyuk’s firm.”

She blinked. “Minhyuk?”

He cleared his throat. “I just told them to check it out. That’s it.”

She stared at him. “You told your partner’s investment firm to check out my show?”

“They support a lot of local artists—”

“Jaehyun.”

“I didn’t make them do anything,” he said. “I just made sure they saw you. That’s all I wanted.”

Her lips parted, heart thudding a little faster. “You went behind my back.”

He met her eyes, unwavering. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it because I couldn’t sit still and watch you be overlooked again.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, she stood and crossed the room, coming to kneel beside him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You shouldn’t care this much,” she whispered.

“I tried not to,” he said just as quietly. “But I do.”

Her breath caught.

She leaned in and kissed him — slow, cautious at first, but that changed quickly. He responded instantly, rising from his chair as he kissed her back, deepening it as his hand slid along her jaw, guiding her closer, his other arm winding firmly around her waist.

She broke the kiss to gasp softly as he lifted her slightly, sitting her on the edge of the dining table, plates clinking gently aside. Their bodies aligned with a kind of instinctual gravity they’d tried to ignore for years.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, arms over his shoulders as his lips trailed down her jaw, along her neck — slow, warm, breathless.

“Still think I shouldn’t care?” he murmured against her skin.

She shivered. “No. I think you care exactly the right amount.”

They kissed again, mouths opening now, deeper, hands roaming with a familiar reverence. His palms slid beneath the hem of her top, fingertips grazing her waist like he was memorizing every inch.

And she let him.

He carried her to the couch, careful not to disturb Hana’s room across the hall. The way he laid her down was tender — her back hitting the cushions, his lips never leaving hers.

They undressed each other slowly, like this moment wasn’t new, just long overdue.

Her soft moan escaped as he kissed his way down her chest, pausing to breathe her in, to watch her.

“You’re sure?” he whispered.

She nodded, pulling him down by the nape of his neck.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

Their bodies fit together like they always had — with familiarity, heat, and reverence. He moved inside her slowly, gently, every thrust a quiet confession of everything he hadn’t said. Their hands stayed locked. Their foreheads pressed close. Kisses between each movement.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, voice barely a rasp.

She arched beneath him, legs tight around his waist, gasping his name into his ear.

The room was dim. Their breaths the only sound. And when she came — soft, trembling, clinging to him — he followed seconds after, burying his face in her neck.

They didn’t move for a long time.

He stayed inside her, arms wrapped around her body as she traced soft shapes along his spine.

“I would’ve been happy with just dinner,” she whispered.

He kissed her shoulder. “I would’ve been happy with just you.”

Epilogue: The Morning of Us

The morning sun filtered gently through the white curtains, casting warm golds over the peaceful chaos of their home. The clatter of cereal bowls, soft music playing from the kitchen speaker, and Hana’s little giggles formed the soundtrack to another beautiful morning.

She stood in front of Jaehyun, hands carefully adjusting the navy tie around his crisp white shirt collar. He was unusually fidgety.

“Stop moving,” she whispered, eyes narrowing as she focused on tying the knot just right. “You’ll mess it up again.”

“I’m nervous,” he mumbled under his breath. “It’s a big interview. First time they’ll be broadcasting it live.”

She glanced up, expression softening as she took in the slight furrow in his brows.

“You’re going to do amazing,” she said, voice low and certain. “You always do. Just talk like you always talk—with that low ‘I’m definitely the smartest person in this room’ tone.”

He huffed a small laugh, hands finding her waist and resting there.

“I like when you hype me up like this.”

“I’m your wife. It’s in the job description.” She winked.

From the kitchen, a small thump followed by an “Oops!” made them both turn.

“Mom! I dropped the milk!” Hana’s little voice rang out.

“I’ll get it,” Jaehyun said quickly, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “You go. I’ll finish this.”

He turned back and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before stepping into the kitchen.

Moments later, she joined him and Hana at the table. Jaehyun was on his knees with paper towels, Hana helping with exaggerated care, both of them laughing.

Later, as he grabbed his coat and briefcase by the door, he looked back—at the kitchen still warm with breakfast smells, at Hana now coloring at the table, and at her, barefoot and smiling in his white tee from last night.

“Wish me luck?” he said, holding the doorknob.

She stepped up to him, fixed the collar of his coat, and whispered, “You don’t need it. But for formality’s sake—good luck, CEO Jung.”

He kissed her once, deeply and slowly, and Hana’s voice broke them apart.

“Ewww, not in the morning!”

He laughed as he walked out, heart impossibly full.

And just inside their hallway, above the shoe cabinet, was a new photo frame—the three of them at the beach from last weekend. Hana laughing between them as she hugged both their heads. A picture-perfect moment.

A picture-perfect family.

___________________________________________

The End :)

You didn’t even have to ask him; no, from the start Jaehyun just knew. Took on that role right away, without thought or discussion, like he’d been waiting for it. For the right person to come along and unlock that side of him.

You certainly had been.

His hands are gentle on your waist; fingers stroking small, soothing patterns without pressure. He’s not saying anything; hasn’t in a few minutes. Sometimes, you’ve found, he prefers to simply admire. Observe.

“Beautiful,” he says, finally. “My perfect little baby, aren’t you?”

The look in his eyes is so soft and tender that you almost forget that he’s still balls deep inside your pussy. Until he moves, just a little, and the rush of need flickers again; lights up and takes off with nowhere to go.

You’re so full, so desperate, that it physically hurts.

Dick pressing against your cervix; hips connected; skin on skin. And he’s not fucking moving. It’s agony. It’s torture. It’s exactly how he likes you.

“Daddy,” you whimper. “Please.”

“Hmm?” There’s a lilt to his voice, hands moving up and down your sides, that you’re more than familiar with by now. Teasing. Toying.

Jaehyun, you’ve discovered, likes to see you squirm.

“What is it, honey?” He coos. “You’ve already got my dick nice and deep in that little pussy. What more could you need?”

“More,” you mumble. “Daddy. Need more.”

He makes a noise of understanding, as if he hadn’t known all this time; as if he wasn’t asking simply for his own amusement. “Need me to fuck you?” He grins. “Not enough to be stuffed full? You need to be fucked dumb too?”

“Please.”

“Oh honey,” he says. “You know I can’t say no to you. Daddy’s best girl.”

Relief floods and you let yourself reach for him; grabbing at him with tiny shaking hands, pulling him closer, deeper inside you. He allows you a few small seconds of believing you’re going to get what you want before he pulls back, sliding out of you at an agonisingly slow pace. The emptiness hits you like freezing water; sudden, painful, visceral. There’s something in the air now, as you wait for his next move, that feels…

“Daddy,” you whisper. “I—”

He doesn’t let you finish, just shushes you quietly, gently until your protests die down. His hand moves downwards, rubbing soft, teasing circles around your holes, thumbing at the sensitive skin between them with an intention you can’t quite place. It’s wet now, you notice; sticky and cold with a substance you recognise from the early days of your relationship before your pussy had adjusted to him. The strawberry scent that fills the air makes your stomach twist with excitement. “Daddy knows sweetheart, don’t worry,” he says. “Greedy baby needs both holes filled to keep her calm. Daddy understands.”

You pause, uncertain, realisation creeping. “Both?”

He doesn’t answer—just watches silently as it finally hits; as your brows crease, lips parted, eyes wide and innocent until that pretty little blush creeps up your neck and you’re squirming and writhing beneath him again. “Daddy, are you…you wanna…”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

It’s such an obvious question that it takes you a moment to even think of how to answer. “Of course.”

“Good girl,” he says. “You know daddy always takes care of you. Will you let me teach you something new, baby?”

“Something new?”

His finger moves down, softly, and brushes over your asshole. The sensation makes you jump, squealing in surprise and a sensation you’ve never really explored. You always had something of an interest in anal—or rather, in knowing that every inch and crevice of your body had been taken and claimed and touched by Jaehyun—but it was scary too, the idea of putting something inside, so neither of you pushed it any further.

Until now, apparently.

His finger presses in just a little, enough to breach the ring of muscle but not quite enough to feel…intruding. Still the sensation, new and foreign and thrilling, makes you gasp, tensing around his finger. He smiles. “Tiny girl,” he mumbles. “Daddy’s gonna break you, honey. Show you how good girls take dick. You want that?”

Yes, yes, you want that; want to be good, to please him, to feel him in the deepest, most forbidden parts of you. You wonder if it will feel like losing your virginity to him all over again—if he’ll have to hold you down, coaxing and encouraging you through it like the very first time. You’re dizzy with desire to find out. “I want it,” you whisper. “Please.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles. “My little princess, letting me use all her little holes like a perfect whore. Open up for me.”

He pushes in a little deeper and you hiss at the stretch; the intrusion that even one, smaller finger causes. Your hands reach for him instinctively, curling around his forearm, nails pressing against his skin. He doesn’t mind, though, never has; from the very first time he unraveled you like this he’s worn the marks you leave behind with a bursting pride.

“How does that feel, baby?” He asks. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” you whimper. “It’s—ngh, daddy’s hands are big. Hard to- to take.”

“Oh, I know,” he coos. “My brave girl, taking it for me. Tiny little hole sucking me in like this. You can take more, can’t you?”

You nod plainly; dumbly, really, when it’s so obviously not a question. Daddy doesn’t ask you questions like that; doesn’t ask if you like or want or need something. Daddy tells you what you like. What you want. What you need. Because daddy knows not just the world but you better than you ever could.

The next finger pushes in with a little effort, then the third; the feeling of being stuffed with his fingers, especially in there, is thrilling and overwhelming and nowhere near enough. “Daddy,” you whine. “More, please.”

“Greedy girl,” he says, but when his dick is hard and leaking against his stomach again it’s hard to really feel chided. “Only just opened you up and you already need my dick, you’re insatiable.”

You just whine again, staring up at him with desperate eyes. He looks like his arousal is bordering on painful. “God you’re gone,” he mutters. “Nothing in there, is there? Nothing going on in that little head except getting fucked. Dirty baby.”

“Daddy,” you moan again.

“I know.” He pulls his fingers out, quickly like he’s ripping a bandaid; he doesn’t give you much time to whine or protest the emptiness before his dick is pressed against your rim, rock hard and leaking precum and lathered in lube. “Easy now,” he says. “Hold onto me, I’ve got you.”

By the time he’s halfway in you feel like you’re going to black out; never in your life have you felt so impossible stretched, so split open or so desperate to be broken further. In your tight asshole, still virginal and uncorrupted even where every other part of you had been defiled, you feel the extent of exactly how big Jaehyun is for the first time in a while. He’s massive; thick and long and pulsing with a need to fuck you open. You feel the restraint in his posture, see it on his face; forcing himself to go slowly, to take it easy on you like he knows he needs to. He can’t afford to damage a sweet, rare little gem like you.

“Oh my God,” he hisses. “Baby. You’re fucking clenching. What a good girl. Daddy’s almost there, baby, almost inside. Keep being good for me.”

He groans, loud and strangled as he pushes in the rest of the way; you feel when he bottoms out, when the tension in his body finally breaks and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for his entire life. “How does that feel?”

“So good, daddy,” you moan. “Please, I—”

“I know,” he soothes, gentle. “I feel it too. Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, baby. Gonna break this little asshole in so it’s nice and ready whenever I want it. Hold onto me, honey.”

He starts slowly, of course; light, gentle thrusts that barely register above the stretch that already overwhelms you. His brows are furrowed, face contorted in focus, in restraint as he slowly picks up the pace.

It’s dizzying; unbearable in the best way; you can’t help but, tears flowing freely at the stretch and the pleasure and the feeling of Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun. Everywhere. Possessing you completely, from the outside in. You know he feels it too; the feeling of impossible closeness that you’ve never felt before. Of your body surrendering to him, sucking him in like it’s been begging for it. He looks crazed. Awe-struck. In love.

“Look at you,” he coos. His breaths are short and shallow now but the authority and care in his voice never wavers. “Taking daddy’s dick in your ass like you were made for it. Feels good?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Daddy—fuck, it feels so good.”

“I know,” he says. “I know it does, baby. Made for this, weren’t you?”

You nod, crying out again with an especially hard thrust and he chuckles. “I know you were,” he hums. “I don’t think you were ever meant to have your pussy fucked, baby. Daddy should’ve been in here all along, don’t you think?”

You definitely think that; but then again, when you’re fucked out and desperate like this Jaehyun could say pretty much anything and you’d be sobbing your agreement like you do now. He knows that full well; you both do. And you love it—love the power he has over you in this moment; the way he has you clinging to every nasty filthy word that comes from his mouth like it’s your saviour.

“I know,” he grunts. “Not enough to get your pussy stuffed, is it? That’s for sweet, innocent little girls. But you’re a pervert, aren’t you, honey? A nasty, dick-crazed little pervert. Baby sluts like you need their little assholes filled to keep them calm and pliant.”

You’re sobbing his name, over and over, like you’re begging for an absolution that you pray never comes. Every time you say it he goes harder, deeper; tightens his grip on your hips just a little more. You’ve never seen him like this, to this extreme. You’re not sure you could ever live without it now.

He pulls your legs up and wraps them around his waist, licking you both in place. He slows down for a second, trying to catch his breath and leans down to press a kiss against your flushed, sweat-covered forehead.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your ass from now on,” he says. He moves slowly, leisurely, like he’s savouring the feeling of you, the sight of you so spent and submissive beneath him. “Split it open on my cock before I even think about fucking your pussy. My little anal princess, sounds nice?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. He smiles, speeding up a little, chasing sensation. “Wanna—daddy, ah. Wanna.”

“Good,” he says. “Little set of holes doesn’t have a choice anyway. Clench around me, baby. Daddy’s gonna come right here and you’re not gonna let a drop of it go to waste, you hear me?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Yeah, I won’t.”

You don’t. You never do. Even when he fucks you over the table the next day, one hand in your hair and the other stuffed in your pussy as he stretches your asshole out on his cock, you don’t miss a single drop.