Noon 20+

Although he’s busy, he tries his hardest to make that time for you. He adores you, he worships the ground you walk on, you are his everything and more (if that’s even possible). Even if they’re small things or just staying at home, he finds a way to spend alone time with you. He loves going on long walks with you, laying in bed together with some dumb flick on just so he can hold you in his arms, and he will always cook for you.

One of his favorite things recently has been finding new recipes and trying them out with you. He’s actually quite the chef and you absolutely adore this about him.

But, as of recently, you can tell he has been very stressed out. He is much busier these days with the upcoming Thailand trip and the constant prerecording for every single Sidemen channel as well as side plus. Hell, the charity match was just about the straw that broke the camel's back. Now you find him up most nights planning and even recording at least some kind of content.

At this point, he's barely living. The reality is, the only thing grounding him back to some sense of normalcy is you.

So when your friends invited you out for drinks, you begged him to go. Eventually he agreed but that wasn’t without putting up a fight and for you to agree to some other kind of alone time activities later (which you had no problem with at all).

The night had been going along well, you were having a great time- laughing with friends, drinking delicious, fruity drinks, dancing and singing your little heart out.

It was all great until you noticed just how much the stress had gotten to Harry. You noticed how much he had been drinking all night. Of course, he loves a good bev every now and then but he was throwing them back like nothing along with random shots all night.

His cheeks were red, his messy hair was even messier, his shirt was sopping wet somehow- he was absolutely battered. You were getting worried, you didn't want to boss him around and you know he deserves a night out but this was going to get out of hand really fast.

He just finished his eighth pint, his eyes were bloodshot red, his speech was slurred, he could barely stand upright.

“I think that's enough now bog.” Ethan began, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder which he shoved off aggressively.

“Nah mate, I've just started to relax. Get off my back.” He responded with a tone of annoyance and anger. Ethan exchanged a look with you, one filled with concern. You nodded knowing that you were going to have to do something.

“Honey, I think we should go back home now.” You said delicately snaking an arm around his neck.

“Darling, come here.” Harry slurred patting his lap. You hesitated for a moment but sat down anyways. He rested his head in the crook of your neck wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back into him.

“You're the most precious thing in the world to me, my sweet. I don't think I could do this without you.” He drunkenly whispered in your ear. “Please let me have just one more pint my love.” His tone was soft, delicate. The way he talks to only you as if you were a dandelion that would blow away with one swift gust of wind.

You dropped your shoulders in defeat as you nodded.

“Okay Harry, just one.”

The night dragged on, at some point you grew distracted by the enjoyment of being out with good company that you forgot to ‘watch’ Harry.

“Mate I'm not gonna lie, you need to act your age and settle down already.” You overheard Harry say. You looked over to see a not so happy Chris and a blabbering Harry.

“Bog.” You heard Ethan warn.

“What!? It's the truth. At least you've settled down, she's a bit-”

“Harry, don't.” Ethan warned again, trying to stop Harry from saying something he'd regret, this time with a more authoritative and threatening tone.

You knew he was about to say something negative about Ethan's relationship. You knew this was the time to end the night here.

Harry was wasted and when he gets like this, he gets mean, he will say things that cut deep. You've only seen him like this once before but you've been warned about a hundred times.

You walked up next to him lightly tugging at the side of his jumper. His cocky, determined expression dropped quickly at the sight of you. His eyes softened and you saw his body relax.

“You alright princess?” He asked quietly wrapping a protective arm around you. “Can we go home please, I'm tired.” You lied.

“Of course love, whatever you need.” He said placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. He smelled of beer and vodka and you could tell he was clammy under his hoodie.

“Right lads, we're heading out. Let's do this again soon!” He announced to your party. Everyone said bye to him enthusiastically but gave you a look of gratitude. You threw them a warm, apologetic smile as you walked out of the pub with Harry's arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

The ride home was quiet. He was falling asleep, his head dipping down then up when he would startle awake. Finally you reached around and placed his head on your shoulder, immediately making him comfortable.

He wasn't fully asleep but he was a few seconds from it.

“I love you darling. You're my everything.” He mumbled sleepily, your delightful scent making him snuggle deeper into your body.

“I love you too bog. I wouldn't trade you for anything.” You replied quietly, placing the palm of your hand on his cheek.

The flat was quiet, the soft sound of dragging footsteps and the light hum of the fridge were the only noises heard.

You pulled Harry into bed, pulling off his trousers and hoodie, getting him as comfortable as you can. You placed a fluffy pillow under his head and pulled the duvet partially over his body.

You did your own nighttime routine before joining him.

You looked over at him as you slipped under the covers. He looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast from an hour and a half ago.

His mouth was slightly open, his cheeks were still flushed red, his hair was matted down against his forehead.

He wasn't perfect but neither were you. You absolutely would never trade him for anything else in the world.

Your pet store was your pride and joy. It was small, but it was staying afloat, and that's what mattered.

You'd been passionate about reptiles and amphibians since you were a little kid. You learned everything you knew from your uncle, who also raised snakes and lizards. Anything you didn't know, you read books or watched videos about.

So after finishing university, with a zoology major (focused on herpetology) and a business minor, your goal had always been to own your own shop. You’d been working at a local pet store during school and for a few months after graduation, too. 

That was, until a perfect little part of a building came open for rent. 

It was small, cozy even, but it’s exactly what you had in mind when you thought about your future store.

Your uncle ended up giving you a late “graduation gift” to help you with the downpayment for the location and the stuff you’d need within it.

It had taken months to build it up to what you wanted it to be, and honestly it still didn’t feel fully finished, but you finally felt secure enough to open it.

You’d named it “Tales of Scales” and it was your pride and joy. 

Well, next to Croissant of course.

You blinked, pulling yourself out of your reminiscing. You couldn’t believe it’d been a full year since you’d fully opened and you were still here.

It had been a bit of a slow day so far, but it usually was in the middle of the week. Some part of you still debated if you should even be open as often as you were, but considering you only had one other employee and half the power had to stay on anyway when you weren’t here to keep all the tanks warm and running, it really didn’t make much of a difference.

Plus, you’d have to come in anyway to clean the tanks and feed the animals who needed it, so why not just be open while you were at it?

Croissant, your bearded dragon, was currently resting on your shoulder. He had a perch on the main check out counter with a pathway that led back to his main enclosure, located just behind the desk. He loved the attention he got when customers came in. If he could spend all day sun bathing or being petted, he would.

You hummed softly to yourself as you looked back at your computer screen, double checking your inventory for the upcoming month. There were some new snake treats you’d seen advertised on Instagram recently, and you were debating if you should add them to your shelves or not.

The soft sound of the door opening pulled you away from the computer screen. You glanced up and saw two men, about your age if you had to guess, enter.

You gave them a small smile and bow. “Hello, welcome in. Let me know if you need help with anything.”

They both gave you a quiet greeting in return before talking to each other as they browsed through the shelves near the entrance.

You glanced back at your computer, glancing up at them periodically to make sure they were still doing well. Croissant was still vibing on your shoulder, completely content snuggled into your body heat.

The two eventually made their way to some of the enclosures near you. You were very particular about the selection of live animals you had available at your store. You made sure they were always healthy and had plenty of room to be happy. Most of them you acquired from breeders who you had connections with, normally when they had excess that weren’t already claimed for. You also weren’t afraid to help connect customers to the right person if they were looking for a critter that you didn’t currently have in person.

“Oh!” You heard one of them exclaim softly. You glanced over and saw they were standing in front of one of the gecko’s cases. 

The one who’d spoken was the excited one who gave you the urge to pinch his cheeks. He was smiling at the other boy as he pointed at the enclosure. “This one is like the one I’m getting!”

“Is that how big they get?” The other asked, bending over just slightly so he could peer through the glass easier.

“That one’s full grown,” you piped up, causing both men to look at you. “She’s pretty average size, so that’s about what you can expect.”

The excited one nodded eagerly, glancing at the other man. “Perfect size, right?”

“So you’re getting a crested gecko?” You asked curiously.

He looked back at you and you swore you saw a slight blush dusting his cheeks. “Uh, yeah! I’ve always liked lizards and stuff and so I decided to finally get one.”

You nodded. “I get it, I also like lizards and stuff,” you teased lightly.

The other boy snorted and the excited one’s blush grew exponentially. You decided to take it easy on him, though. You didn’t want to scare off a potential long-term customer.

“What all have you bought for them so far?” You prompted gently.

He brightened up at that. “Oh! I have the tank at home and a heating lamp for it already. I wanted to buy some of the decor in person though, so I looked up stores near me and I found this one!” He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t even know this place existed or I would’ve come here sooner, I think.”

The other boy raised an eyebrow. “This is practically your cat cafe Sung-ah.”

The excited one (Sung?) looked like he was about to protest when he looked at you and his eyes widened.

Oh he finally spotted Croissant.

“Oh my gosh,” he breathed, eyes full of wonder. “On your shoulder- is that a bearded dragon?”

You gave a small shrug to gesture to him. “Yes it is. This is Croissant, the unofficial, official store mascot.” You glanced back at the boys. “You can come hold him if you want.”

You didn’t offer Croissant to everyone. There was a sign under his perch, actually, that gave strict instructions to not lift him up without an employee’s permission followed by an explanation of how to pet him safely (with one to two fingers, down his back, and to not poke his face).

“Seriously?” He asked near reverently. 

You nodded. “He’s a chill guy. He won’t mind.”

The guy scurried over and stopped in front of you. If he was a dog, though he gave off squirrel vibes honestly, he’d be vibrating with excitement.

“What’s his name?” He asked.

You slowly moved your hands up to scoop up Croissant and hold him out to the boy, who gently held his hands out. “This is Croissant. He’s 8 years old.”

Croissant huffed as he was moved off of his warm perch. He looked up at the man holding him and blinked before shifting to start crawling up his arm, deciding he wanted to be on someone’s shoulder, even if it wasn’t yours.

The guy yelped, but thankfully didn’t flail. You laughed. “Sorry about him. He’s very stubborn. He just wants to sit on your shoulder like he was on mine.”

The guy watched him with wide eye wonder, not even looking at you as he replied breathlessly. “Yeah, no, that’s fine. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Are all… lizards this friendly?” The other guy asked, clearly trying to remember what you’d called Croissant but giving up.

You shrugged. “Yes and no, depends on their parents’ personalities a little bit, and species does matter some, too. Bearded dragons are generally a very friendly option for people. I recommend them for those who have kids because they’re also a bit bigger, too, which makes them a little sturdier.

“Just like other pets, though, socialization is important if you’re getting a young reptile. The more often they have positive interactions with people, the less stressed they’ll be and many will even enjoy being around people,” you explained.

“I’m gonna have everyone come and hold her when I get her,” the excited one said, looking at the other guy.

The other guy laughed. “Maybe she could come to the studio with you.”

The excited one gasped. “Oh my god, do you think she could? I bet she could fit in my pocket!”

“You could maybe harness train her,” you suggested.

The excited, future-reptile owner looked at you. “What’s that?”

You leaned down behind the counter to grab Croissant’s harness. You placed it on the counter to show him. “We don’t carry a ton of these in stock, because not a lot of average reptile owners want them, but I do have a source if you’re interested.” You gestured toward the door where a sign was hanging by the entrance. “All friendly reptiles are welcome in our store as long as they’re safely contained in some way, and that includes being attached to a harness. This one is Croissant’s.”

“And he wears it?” The other boy asked.

You nodded. “I mean, he was unsure at first, but what pet isn't?” You shrugged. “Now he puts it on no fuss. He likes going on walks.”

“Should I get one now then?” The excited one asked. His eyes reminded you of boba with how wide and innocent they looked. “Or should I wait until she's full grown? Is it ever too late to train them for it?”

“When are you getting her?” You asked, tilting your head.

“In a little over a week,” he replied.

“Just bring her in then and I can help you out if you want,” you suggested. “Not right away, if you want to give her time to settle in first. I promise she doesn't need to be in a harness day one, or even month one, in order to eventually get used to one.”

He nodded along, still looking at you with his wide, excited eyes.

“So,” you said, stepping out from behind the counter, “want to get some stuff for her enclosure?”

“Yeah!” He replied eagerly. 

“Great, how big is the tank?” You asked as you started walking towards one of the shelves.

“Oh- um, will Croissant be okay like this?” He asked, still rooted in place.

You nodded. “Yeah I walk around with him on my shoulder all the time,” you turned to keep walking, “but if at any point he makes you uncomfortable, or you just want to be relieved of your perch duties, let me know.”

“I don't mind,” he replied softly before scurrying to catch up with you.

So as it turned out, the future gecko owner's name was Jisung and the friend he had with him was Minho. He ended up purchasing two nice branches for her to climb on, a dome shelter, a water dish, and a starter plant for his tank. You walked him through basic setup and even gave him one of the pamphlets you had printed out for all new reptile owners.

“I'm sure you know some of this already, but I always find having a reference to double check myself makes me feel better when I'm doing something new,” you explained as you slipped it into his bag.

“No, yeah, I appreciate it,” Jisung said, his adorable blush coming back.

“I want to see her once you get her,” you told him as you put his receipt into the bag. “Even if it's just you coming in and showing me a picture.”

“I'll be back, I promise,” he said as he scooped up the bag. “Thanks for all your help today.”

You smiled. “It's my pleasure. I'm always happy to help a new reptile owner. Sounds like you're gonna give her a good home.”

God his cheeks looked so cute when he blushed. “That's the goal. She deserves to be spoiled like any other pet would be.”

You grinned, glancing down at where Croissant was now happily laying on his perch. “I agree.”

When the two of them said their goodbyes, with Jisung thanking you once again for all your help, you were pretty sure he'd be back.

There was a chance he wouldn’t. He could just order his food online or go to a big name store, but the fact that he came in in the first place gave you some hope. 

You expected it wouldn't be immediately, though, and while you weren't in the habit of memorizing the faces of first time customers, something about him was sticking in your mind.

So you were a little surprised when, exactly a week later, he came back through the door.

You'd been stocking one of the shelves when you heard the familiar sound. “Welcome in,” you called out, finishing what you were doing before turning around. “If you need any help just let me know- oh, Jisung! Hi!”

Jisung blinked. “You remember my name?”

You shrugged. “Of course, why wouldn't I? Did you get your gecko early?”

He blinked, a blush immediately rising to his cheeks. “I didn't think you'd remember that either- um, I mean, I'm picking her up today and I realized I wasn't sure if she'd have a good carrying container? Then I wasn't sure what even was a safe way to transport a gecko, so I figured I'd stop by here since you probably would know.”

You smiled. “I mean, whoever you’re getting her from probably has her in a safe travel container already. If you don’t mind me asking, where are you getting her from?”

Jisung quickly explained and you nodded along as he did. “Yeah, they’re a good one. They’ll definitely have you hooked up, but-” You turned towards the shelves, “if you want to be extra sure, I can definitely help you out.”

Jisung nodded, smiling bashfully. “Yes please. I just want to make sure I do this right.”

You led him around your small store, hooking him up with Croissant’s favorite treats, a small travel container, and a misting bottle.

“I mean, she probably won’t need it for the short trip,” you reassured him as you helped him check out, “but, they do like humid environments. I bet she’ll already have a damp towel at the bottom of the container she’s in when you get her, though.”

Jisung continued to nod along to everything you said. Keeping his gaze on you as he tapped his card against the terminal. “Thank you for all of your help.”

“You clearly did a lot of research too, I’m sure you would’ve figured it out without me,” you told him seriously, “but I’m still happy I could help even a little bit.”

“No, no, you helped a lot,” he reassured. “I mean, I did research a lot but,” that lovely blush comes back onto his face, “I second guess myself a lot, so having someone who clearly knows what they’re talking about tell me I’m doing it right means a lot.”

You beamed. “Well then I’m doubly happy I could help.” You reached out, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You got this. You’re gonna give her a great home.”

“Thanks,” he breathed softly. He looked at you for a moment longer, before blinking, breaking the moment.

He leaned back away from the check out counter, laughing slightly. “But, um, yeah, hah, thanks for your help. I should probably get going.”

You nodded, fingers twitching on the counter. “Yeah, of course. Next time I see you, you’ll hopefully have a name for her, yeah?”

He laughed more genuinely this time. “For sure.”

The rest of your day went by normally. The flow of customers was fairly slow, so you managed to get some cleaning done, including deep cleaning Croissant’s tank.

As you were closing up your store that evening, Jisung kept popping up in your head. You knew why. He was cute, charming, and also had a soft spot for reptiles, which was always a huge plus in your book.

Plus, he seemed so dedicated to making sure he was about to give his new gecko a good home. Considering it was his first reptile pet, you were super impressed by his dedication.

You assumed it’d be a few more days until you saw him again. He probably had work, and he really didn’t have a reason to come in immediately. He’d bought plenty of supplies from your store already, and more from online retailers as well.

So imagine your surprise as you started to walk home after locking up the shop, when you spotted his face on a large sign on a building.

Well, it wasn’t just his face, Minho was there, too, as well as six other men.

Holy shit. He was a k-pop idol??

You knew of Stray Kids. You listened to music of all kinds, you just rarely looked up the artists to memorize their faces. Plenty of your friends and customers had mentioned their love for random k-pop groups, including naming some of their pets after them. Stray Kids was one that had come up more than once.

And you’d had two of them in your store. One of them twice now.

There was a part of you that felt you needed to do something with this information. What if Han expected that you knew who he was? Should you look him up? 

You ended up throwing on some of their music as you made dinner that evening, thoughts still racing around your head. Out of curiosity, you did look up the group, to see if there was something glaring you needed to know.

You read a basic bio of the members, mainly their names and the roles they played. Jisung was apparently one of the main rappers and was also part of their production group known as 3Racha.

And then… you just closed the tabs. It felt wrong to read more, even if the information was right there and thousands, if not millions of people knew more about Jisung and his likes and dislikes than you did.

But did you really need to know?

By the next morning, your mind had settled. Sure the guy in your shop was probably fairly rich, travelled the world, and had millions of fans. So what?

He was also clearly passionate about reptiles, got a bit nervous talking to strangers, and looked adorable when he blushed.

And you kinda wanted to squish his face.

And his eyes looked so pretty when he got excited.

… And you really hoped he'd come back to your store sometime.

As much as you tried to distract yourself, Jisung kept lingering in your mind over the next couple of days.

Your store was open on Saturdays, but you gave yourself Sunday and Monday off instead. At least working at the store helped keep you mostly distracted, but over the weekend, not so much.

Croissant was surely tired of your attempts at keeping busy by Monday, so you made yourself leave the house and take Croissant to the park for a bit. You also drafted up a few posts for your store's socials and updated the website with promotions for your new inventory you were getting in next week.

Come Tuesday, you were itching to get into the store, anything to give you less time to fight the urge to check Jisung's socials.

Had pick gone well with his lizard? How did she do on the ride back to his place? Had he shared her with the world? If so, what did they think? What had he decided to name her? How did her enclosure look now that she was in it?

Croissant shifted on her perch, causing you to snap out of your thoughts. You glanced over and saw her staring at you, unimpressed.

“What?” You asked her. 

Croissant blinked at you.

“You don't even know what I'm thinking,” you pointed out.

Her tail flicked. 

You groaned. “I know, it's stupid to be crushing on a guy I barely know, but you saw his big eyes right? And how excited he was about everything in here? That's like my biggest weakness.”

Despite remaining silent, Croissant was clearly judging you. 

You'd had a steady flow of customers that day, maybe above average for a Tuesday but nothing wildly busy. 

It was about 30 minutes before closing and the store was peacefully quiet. You were finishing cleaning one of the cages when you heard the door open. 

“Welcome in,” you called out. “If you need any help, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

You finished refilling the water dishes and setting everything back into place before getting the snake who had been residing in there out of his temporary box and back into his home.

He settled back in easily and you smiled, closing up the top and finally stepping away to look for the customer that had come in.

He was easy to spot, a familiar silhouette hanging out by the register. He was gently petting Croissant, who was leaning into his touch, eyes closed in contentment. 

You felt your steps stutter for half a second before you composed yourself, taking a soft, but deep breath.

“Hey Jisung,” you greeted, walking over to the counter.

Jisung jumped slightly and you had to resist the urge to giggle. 

“Hey!” He greeted, standing up straighter, though his hand didn’t leave Croissant. “I, um, I was worried I was going to make it before you closed.” A blush crept slowly up his cheeks as he spoke. “I tried to come yesterday, but I didn’t realize you guys were closed on Mondays, which was totally my fault for not checking. I know being open every day of the week is unreasonable anyway so like, it’s not a big deal you were closed or anything I just uh-” 

You smiled at him, leaning against the counter. “You’re all good. We’re open on Saturdays, and since supposedly a ‘work life balance’ is healthy or something," you made air quotes teasingly as you said it, “I decided I should probably still have two days off a week.”

Jisung licked his lips, cheeks still a dusty pink. “I honestly hadn’t thought about the fact that I’ve only ever seen you here before. Does anyone else work here?”

You shrugged. “It’s mostly me. I have one part-time employee who comes in a couple evenings a week, mainly Fridays and Saturdays because they’re our busiest days, but also stock day, too.”

Jisung nodded along as you spoke, his tongue peeking out for a moment, distracting you momentarily.

“So, um,” you said, regaining your train of thought. “Did you need something on Monday?”

He perked up. “Oh, um, not necessarily,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know you wanted to see picture of Richard once I got her, and I know it’s too soon to bring her, but I wanted to show you pictures. I was freer yesterday than today, so I almost didn’t make it. I know it could’ve waited but-”

“No, I’m glad you came,” you replied softly. “Come on then, show me. I want to see her.”

Jisung beamed, immediately whipping his phone out. Croissant grumbled as he lost access to his chin scratcher.

He would live.

“She did great on the car ride home, and she started being curious about her tank super quickly,” he started saying excitedly as he turned his phone for you to see. “A few of the memb- my friends have already come over to meet her. She’s so cute, too.”

You nodded, cooing at the photos. “She’s super cute. I’m excited to meet her.” You glanced over at him. “So, Richard?”

He laughed. “Um, yeah. It’s sort of an English joke but also, because Richard and lizard sound similar, you know?”

You snorted, which evolved into a laugh. “Oh my gosh, that’s hilarious. Perfect name for her. How did you think of that?”

“I can’t take all of the credit,” he shrugged, still smiling. “Honestly my friend Changbin is the one who suggested it.”

“Well I’m excited when you finally bring her by,” you said. 

Jisung nodded, suddenly looking more nervous. He glanced over at Croissant, fiddling with one of the sleeves on his jacket. “So, um, uh, have you heard about the dinosaur cafe downtown?”

You nodded, eyes lighting up. “Yeah, I think I saw that on Instagram. It just opened recently, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it did,” he replied. “Would you- uh… maybe want to go? Together?”

Your heart fluttered but you tried not to get your hopes up. “As friends..?”

“No- I mean, unless that’s what you’d prefer!” He quickly said. “But, um, I’d like it to be a date if you would also like that. For it to be a date, that is.”

You felt a blush crawl up your own cheeks now. “I mean, I would like that, too.”

Jisung beamed, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay, cool, great.”

“I do have to admit something, though,” you said in a bit of a rush. Jisung blinked at you, waiting, so you continued. “I do know that you're, like, a big k-pop idol. I saw your face on my way home the other night on a big screen. I didn't know before then, but I felt like you should know that.”

He looked hesitant when you first started but then he relaxed again and nodded. “I mean, I was pretty sure you didn't know me, at first at least. I can't always read people, but usually I can tell.” He shrugs. “You would've found out eventually, but… are you okay with that?”

You shrugged too. “A job is a job. I've heard some of your guys' music before. It's really good.”

He blushed. “Well, thanks. I'm really proud of what we do. What we have done.”

“Then I'd really like to hear more about it,” you told him honestly. “Do I need to sign like, an NDA or something to go on a date with you then?”

Jisung spluttered and you laughed playfully. “Uh, Skigji would probably prefer that. Not that I don't trust you, but-”

You waved a hand. “No, you're fine. It'd be like a whole liability probably.” You tilted your head to the side. “How much could someone reasonably sell your phone number for?”

Jisung laughed. “Oh gosh, tens of thousands at least. Some Stay are pretty determined when it comes to stuff like that.” He licked his lips, looking mildly more confident now. “You'd need to have my number first in order to sell it though, so.” He put out a hand and winked at you.

You laughed but couldn't stop the blush from spreading as you placed your phone in his hand. “Smooth.”

He shrugged nonchalantly as he typed into your phone. “I try, sometimes.” He handed the phone back to you. 

“So,” you shot him a text, signing it with your name, “now that I have your number, and you have mine… when do you want to go on this date?”

He blinked rapidly, his cool act quickly diminishing. “Oh! Um, are you available maybe tomorrow evening?”

You giggled. “Yeah, I think my calendar’s clear then.”

“Great!” He beamed. “I can pick you up here at 5?”

You nodded. “That works.”

“Cool, cool,” he nodded. “Um… I guess I’ll get out of your hair then, let you close up the shop and all.”

You shrugged. “I don’t mind, you’re certainly not a bother.”

He beamed. “Well, I could help if you want?”

You laughed. “I mean, sure. How do you feel about sweeping?”

You switched the sign to closed as Jisung began sweeping the floor. Even though you’d closed with your employee a few times, doing it with Jisung felt different. It was still so easy to talk to him, and even though he needed some guidance with your closing tasks, it was honestly fun.

As you locked up the store, Croissant safely tucked away for the journey home, Jisung lingered nearby, shifting from foot to foot.

“Um, I could walk you home if you’d like?” He offered. 

“I’m sure it’s out of your way,” you countered.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind… I like spending time with you.”

“And you're not worried about being spotted or something?”

He slipped a face mask on and put his hood up. “People don’t usually notice me when I’m by myself.”

“Then sure,” you smiled, “I wouldn’t mind the company. Especially when they’re cute.”

He spluttered, and even with the mask on you could see the blush on his face. “Not as cute as you.”

You blushed in return. "Up for debate."

“Well we can debate then, on our date tomorrow,” Jisung offered.

You laughed. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The Case Begins

You leaned back in your chair, eyes scanning the board in front of you. Photos, notes, and newspaper clippings were pinned in a chaotic display across the corkboard. All centered around a string of unsolved murders that had been haunting the city for months now.

It wasn’t just the brutality of the killings that had made headlines—it was the precision. Each crime scene, so meticulously staged, so calculated. There was something almost… personal about the way they were set up. Like the killer wanted to leave a message—one that was too complex to decipher.

You rubbed your temple, frustration mounting. You knew you were close, but the pieces weren’t fitting. You could feel it in your gut. Every time you thought you were one step away, the trail seemed to fade just out of reach.

It was around that time that you noticed him—a figure who had become a familiar face in the case. Tall, with dark, brooding eyes. He’d been attending every one of the briefings, standing in the back of the room, barely saying a word but always watching. You couldn’t help but feel a strange pull whenever his gaze landed on you. It unsettled you in a way you couldn’t explain, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was involved or if it was just his presence that had an unnerving quality to it.

His name was Johnny—a former detective turned consultant for the department. He was there on his own terms, never explaining much about what he was working on, just offering his insight when the higher-ups requested it.

You’d found yourself alone in the office late one evening when he approached your desk. His steps were soft, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

"Still working on the case?" His voice was low, calm.

You glanced up, offering a tight smile. "Yeah. I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something. But I’m not sure what it is yet."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "You think you’ll figure it out? Or do you think the killer will get away with it?"

There was a sharpness in his voice, a coldness that sent a slight shiver down your spine. You met his gaze, trying to assess the man in front of you. "I don’t believe in giving up," you said firmly. "I’ll catch him."

Johnny didn’t speak for a moment. He simply stared at you, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, he turned and walked away.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that his words weren’t just about the case. They felt like a warning—something that lingered, hanging in the air long after he was gone.

Tension Rising

Over the next few days, Johnny’s presence became harder to ignore. He would appear in the background of your meetings, always just out of reach. Every time you caught his gaze, there was something intense behind his eyes—something dangerous. It was as if he knew more than he was letting on.

One evening, as you worked late again, Johnny was the only other person left in the building. You had expected him to leave, but when you looked up, he was standing in the doorway of your office, watching you.

"You don’t give up, do you?" His voice was low, almost a whisper.

You felt a tightening in your chest as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I don’t. I need to finish this." Your tone was firm, but you couldn’t deny the slight nervousness creeping in.

Johnny walked closer, his movements fluid and controlled. "I admire that. But sometimes… the answer isn’t what you expect."

He was standing a few feet away now, his gaze fixed on you. There was something about the way he looked at you that sent a chill through your body.

"What are you saying?" you asked, voice low.

Johnny stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. "I’m saying you should be careful, detective. Some things are better left uncovered."

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There was a heavy silence between you, broken only by the sound of your breathing.

And then, before you could react, he was right in front of you, his hand brushing against your arm. The contact was electric, and you felt a pulse of heat shoot through you. You looked up into his eyes, searching for any sign of his intentions.

Johnny’s lips quirked into a small, almost knowing smile. "You think you can catch me, don’t you?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

The slow burn of tension between you and Johnny continued, like a thread that was growing tighter with each passing moment. You didn’t know why you couldn’t stop thinking about him. But every time he came near, that simmering unease—along with something else—pulsed between you.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the thought: What if he was the one you were chasing all along?

Only You Saw Me

The kiss deepened until it wasn’t a kiss anymore — it was a confession of everything you both had buried.

Johnny lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you on the old wooden table in the center of the room, his hands firm but reverent on your waist. The tension between you snapped the moment your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him in close. His mouth dragged down your jaw to your throat, kissing with teeth, tongue, and heat.

"You don’t know," he rasped, pulling your shirt over your head, "how long I’ve needed this. Needed you."

Your fingers fumbled at his jeans, breath hitching as you felt him — big, hard, pulsing against your thigh.

He hissed as your hand brushed him, voice gravel in your ear. "You’ll ruin me."

His mouth found your breast, hot and open, tongue circling, sucking hard until you arched into him. Then he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, the other slipping past your waistband.

He found you soaked, panting, clenching at nothing.

"Already like this?" he growled. "All for me?"

You could barely speak. You nodded, gasping, body burning.

He yanked your pants down roughly, guiding himself to your entrance. "Eyes on me."

And when he pushed in — slow, thick, deliberate — your breath broke entirely.

You clawed at his shoulders. He groaned into your neck. "So damn tight," he gritted. "You’re mine now. You know that, right?"

You nodded frantically, crying out when he began to move. Fast, punishing thrusts that made the table creak beneath you. The slap of skin, the grip of his hands, the sting of every breath — it was rough but intoxicating. The way he bit your shoulder, licked over it, told you he was lost too.

He pulled out and spun you around over the table, tugging your hips back and sinking in again from behind with a loud groan. This time deeper, harder — you cried out his name, fingers scrabbling at the worn wood. He fisted your hair, pulling your head back as he snapped his hips into you with wild hunger.

"You take me so damn good," he grunted. "No one else. Only you."

Your legs trembled. The pleasure was overwhelming — and when he leaned over, hand sliding to your throat with just enough pressure to tilt your chin up, it pushed you to the edge. You came shaking around him, gasping like you’d been starved.

But he wasn’t done.

He turned you again, lifted you up onto him, and fucked you standing. Your back hit the wall, arms wrapped around his neck as you rode out his rhythm, overstimulated but too far gone to stop. His hands gripped your ass, bouncing you harder, faster, until he groaned like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"Where do you want it, baby?" he asked, desperate.

You kissed him. "Inside."

He came with a loud moan into your neck, trembling, buried deep inside you as his body shook. You clung to him like gravity had disappeared.

Then he held you.

He sank to the floor with you still in his arms, your body limp against his, his hand brushing your hair off your sweaty forehead. He kissed your temple, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

"You okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, burying your face into his neck.

He cleaned you gently with his shirt, whispering praise like prayer. “So good for me… so beautiful, even now.”

His thumb brushed your cheekbone. His voice softened.

“I’ve done terrible things. But this—" he kissed your lips, slow, honest, “—this was the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

You hadn’t moved from his lap.

Johnny sat back against the wall with you curled into him, the early morning light creeping through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. His hand had never stopped stroking your back, like he feared you might vanish if he let go.

You didn’t speak. You couldn't. Your body ached in every delicious way imaginable, but your mind was at war.

He was a killer. You were a detective.

And you had just made love — no, fucked — like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“I should arrest you,” you whispered.

Johnny laughed softly, but there was no mockery in it. “You should’ve done that the moment I had you against that table.”

You looked up, and his face was calm. Like a man who’d made peace with something, even if the world burned around him.

“You’re not afraid?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been running my whole life. I wasn’t afraid of dying. I was afraid of you seeing who I was.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

“But you did,” he continued, brushing his fingers across your lower lip, “and you stayed.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

“I don’t know what to do,” you said honestly. “You make me forget who I am.”

“No,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “I make you remember who you really are.”

You stared at him, the man with blood on his hands and a heart that beat like it belonged to you. His touch was still gentle. Reverent. You realized his crimes weren’t just sins — they were shields. Walls he built around something soft.

You should’ve left.

Instead, you kissed him again — slow, searching, like maybe the truth lived somewhere between your lips.

The End.

When you heard thunder rumbling in the distance earlier, you didn’t think anything of it. You’d be done before the rain comes! Nope. You scramble to gather all of the books you laid out at your stand, getting them under the surface so they won’t get damaged. A giant flash of light followed closely by clap of thunder startles you, and you bleat, your long furry ears pressing back against your hair. Your short tail under your hanbok twitches, slightly rustling the fabric it lays under. Once all of the books you’re selling are safe, you grab the sseugaechima you have and sling it over your head, stepping back toward the building you’re in front of. It’s some kind of accessories shop, but the roof awning is quite short and so you’re barely able to hide from the downfall underneath it. People scramble on the street to flee to rain, and the few of them that have coverings continue on their way normally. You peek out from under your own covering, observing the sky best you can. It’s clearly not going to end anytime soon; it’s just that time of the year. You have no idea how you’re going to get all the books back to your house. Your father doesn’t mind you working to copy and sell books for the local seller, but he won’t let you establish your own business. The seller you work for also doesn’t have a store front himself and so the two of you sell at stalls in the market.

You decide to wait just a bit longer, wondering if the shop owner of the building behind you will let you store the books for a bit. The street has more or less cleared out, but you watch a nobleman come closer. His clothes are nice, even nicer than yours, so his status is probably much higher. The gat he wears is adorned with a silk strap and the beading is clearly finely made as well. As you look over him, the belt tying his hanbok accentuates his narrow waist and wide shoulders. Your eyes travel up to his face and he’s stunning. But also…he has tiger ears. As he gets closer, you catch a glimpse of his long tail. Definitely a tiger. It’s incredibly likely that the guy is not just nobility, he’s possibly one of the princes. There are like eight of them so that isn’t too unlikely. Despite the downfall, he’s simply strolling down the street, almost likes there isn’t any rain. Since you’re one of the few people still outside, he stops in front of your seemingly empty stall. He lifts his head, and his eyes meet yours and you feel them widen. Instinct flares to life, your deer-like genes screaming at the sight of the predatory gaze. It isn’t that he’s trying to scare or threaten you, he just simply is a predator hybrid, and you a prey.

"Have you nowhere to go to escape the rain?" He’s definitely of high status, with not just tone but the exact words he uses. You nod dumbly, back pressing to the stone foundation of the building behind you. The sseugaechima over your head covers your deer-like ears and your tail is completely hidden by your hanbok.

"I-I have books to sell, and I don’t want them to get wet." You point under the stall, and at the crate that holds your wares. He makes an 'ah' of acknowledgement. You wonder why he feels the need to stop at an empty stall.

"You might have to wait a while for the rain to stop." He looks up at the sky. You sigh, knowing he’s right.

"Do you want me to help?" He offers and you flinch. Really?

"If you wish, my lord." You bow a bit, and he huffs.

"Shh. Pretend I'm not that important." His smile is much softer than you expected from a tiger. You nod, not able to speak and he comes around and you drag the crate out, ready to use the sseugaechima to cover it.

"Use this." He corrects, taking the cloth that you’d laid out on the wooden stall, and you wonder how frazzled you are that you forgot about it. He tucks the edges of the fabric over the books and easily lifts the crate. You move around him so you can start to lead him home and you feel tense the whole time. Negating that he’s a tiger and you a deer, he’s clearly a nobleman, and he’s doing physical work…Then again, you’re technically a noble yourself, and a female at that. Finally getting to the entrance for your family's estate, the gate is open already and you wave for one of your father's guards to come and help. The guard takes the crate from the tiger, bowing deep in respect and then dashes off to put your wares in your quarters.

"Thank you, my lord." You bow again, sseugaechima still covering your head.

"San." he adds, and your brow furrows trying to wonder why he’s talking about a mountain. Then it hits you, it’s his name, he is one of the princes!

"Oh, yes, your highness. (Y/N)." You introduce yourself as well, staying bowed and making sure not to look at his face.

"Get inside and out of the rain Lady (Y/N)." He smiles and your eyes flit to his gorgeous face. You bow deeper then dash further into the courtyard and book it to your quarters.

 ~θωθ~

Looking up at the clear blue sky, you squint at the tiny white cloud you can see. It had rained for nearly four days straight and therefore you couldn’t set up your stall for that long. You don’t really have need for money since your father is…well, rich, but he doesn’t just give you pocket money to buy stuff for yourself. It’s because you want books that aren’t normally what noble women would read, you know, like things you can actually learn from. You’ve read more than your fair share of romances and adventures from copying them. After you’ve set out the final pile of books, you look at your hand and rub your finger over the callus you got from holding the brush. Yes, it’s painstaking, but you’re extremely glad that you can use hangul, it would take ten times longer if you had to use hanja. Right as you get done setting up, two women stroll up and you continue your day.

~

About an hour before you’d get ready to go home, you note that you’ve done well for the day and have only about six books left, each a different one. Since it had slowed, you’re sitting on a stool, people watching the few that are wandering around. It’s nearing the evening mealtime, and you can smell the food from the restaurant down the road on the corner. Your stomach rumbles and you sigh deeply, ears drooping. You start to zone out a bit, watching some birds on the ground, not looking up when someone stops.

"What is this one like?" the man asks, and you finally look up so you can see which book he’s pointing to.

"Hm, something about a servant seducing a nobleman's son…" You sniff and look up at the guy and startle. It’s that prince from before! Even if you hadn't carved his face into your memory, it’s a bit obvious from his tiger ears right under the brim of his gat. You immediately stand and bow, and he looks around quickly.

"It's fine, I'm trying to lay low." He waves you off and your eyes catch sight of the black claw-like nails on the end of each finger. You risk glancing up at his face and he’s smiling, dimples indenting his cheeks, your eyes focus on his large canine teeth. You feel your tail flick a few times, your skirt ruffling a bit. You feel his eyes moving over your face and your ear flicks at well, nervous under the gaze of his golden colored eyes. You freeze when his arm moves, hand coming up and your eyes follow the movement till you can’t see, and you feel a little tug on your earring.

"These aren't real." He makes note of it, and you cringe. You had wanted real jade earrings, but you didn’t have enough money, and so you had to settle with those instead. Your father might have bought those for you, but you really wanted them right then and there. You aren’t even sure what they’re actually made of.

"N-no." You bow your head, and he lets them go.

"When do you leave?" His question startle you and your ear flicks again.

"In about an hour."

"Don't leave till I get back." He tells you and he heads off further down the market road, back the way he came. You blink after him, eyes wide, wondering what the heck that was all about.

~

You do as he asked though and wait for him to return. Glancing up at the sky, you have another ten minutes or so and he still isn’t back. If you didn’t know he was one of the princes, you’d have left, but he told you to stay. You still hadn't sold the rest of your books despite a few people stopping by, and so you start to put them in the crate. Looking down into the mostly empty container, you look to the side and see him coming. Even at a distance you can see his smile when he notices you’re still there, and he jogs to meets you sooner.

"You stayed."

"Well, you said to." You shrug, not looking at his face. Part of it’s because of his status, but it’s also because he’s so handsome. Too handsome, actually. You wonder if all the princes are so. You watch as he pulls something out from the interior pocket of his jeogori, a small but detailed wooden box coming out. He holds it out to you, and you hesitated to grab it.

"Go ahead." He waves his arm a bit and you gently take it with both hands, lifting the hinged lid. You gasp, looking at the earrings inside. They look nearly identical to yours, but they’re obviously real jade.

"W-what?" You have to look at his face then, see what his expression is for some sort of explanation. His cheeks are a tiny bit red, and his own ear flicks some and you can see his long striped-tail swaying behind him.

"Your Lord Bak's daughter, from the Saseum Clan?"

"Y-yes?" He smiles a bit bashfully, looking down as he swings his leg around, drawing a circle with his foot.

"Can you take me to talk to him?" You nod jerkily, a little shocked at the request. Before you can grab the crate, he takes it, and you ball up the cloth from the stall and shove it on top of the books. You walk next to him as you head toward your home, feeling a bit weird, like you should be following him. You’ve never directly interacted with a prince before him, but you still know the basic rules. Don't look at his face, walk behind him, don't be physically higher than him, speak formally… Yes, he’s trying to lay low, but that doesn’t change who he is. You wonder who is genuinely ignorant enough to not know who he is though since he’s so obviously a tiger hybrid. When you show up to the house with the same man carrying your book crate as the time before, your father's guard is a little skeptical. He still takes the crate from the prince- San, his name is San, you remember.

"Can you please get Lord Bak?" He asks and the guard's gaze flicks to you, and you give a short nod. As he goes to do so, you stand with the prince awkwardly, swaying just a bit so your skirt twirls a bit around you. Your ears are twitching so much that your old, fake earring jingles. Your arm twist around your back so your hand can tug on the end of your braid, a nervous habit.

"(Y/N)? Who is this?" Your father comes around the corner, strolling down the stone-paved path toward both of you. He glances at San, and you cringe slightly at how much smaller your father is than him. His jeongjagwan is modified to fit around his antlers, only that puts him at the same height as the prince.

"I am Prince San, Lord Bak. I have come to ask permission to court your daughter for marriage." You balk at this, turning to gape at him directly. Your head turns back to your father whose gaze has sharpened. You know that there’s a lot of noblemen that have brought their sons as potential suitors, and your parents have turned down every single one. Will San be different? You’re lucky that your parents do takes into consideration your opinion on most things.

"You are the fifth eldest, no?"

"Yes."

"Are your parents aware of your request?"

"Not yet, though I have been given more freedom since I am far down in the line of succession." It seems the men are having another conversation through their eyes.

"Is that why you’d be allowed to marry a prey hybrid?" The prince falters for a reply, it seems he hadn’t even taken that part into consideration.

"I will need to request an audience with his highness." Your father answers and San seems to deflate.

"What do you think of this?" Your father turns to look at you and you cast a nervous glance at the tiger next to you. You know that you’ll have very little say in reality, and you wish you lived about a thousand years earlier. You know, before Confucianism ruined feminism. Though, the prince seems to be very sweet, and he’s extremely attractive. It could be way worse.

"If my lord finds it auspicious." You bow your head a bit and your father hums.

"Why don't you go back inside, (Y/N)?" The request is more of a command than a suggestion and you scurry off to do so. As you enter, your mother comes down the hall and you meet her.

"Geez, mother…" You lead her to spin around, and she does, though with a confused look. Adjusting her binyeo so it’s setting in her bun evenly, she then turns back to face you.

"Were you speaking with someone?" She peeks around you so she can look out the window, but she can’t see.

"A suitor…" You tell her and her long, furry ears perk up.

"I shall see then," she nudges past you and goes to go out and you huff a sigh, heading back to your room.

~

"(Y/N), your father requests your presence in the courtyard." A handmaiden comes to summon you, and you get up from your floor desk to follow her out. Your father is not alone, Prince San standing with him. It was only three days prior that your father had an audience with the king, and since the prince is there…

"Yes, father?" You come out and stop before them, bowing at the waist some.

"It seems that it is auspicious…" Your father tosses a glance at the prince, and you look up at both of them. Your gaze going to the tiger's handsome face, and he’s beaming.

~^ω^~

The next few weeks are a blur and before you know it you’ve gone through the marriage ceremony, and you’re moved into his own little palace that belongs to the greater palace grounds. Since he’s one of the younger princes you share a palace, whereas the queen and the crown princess have their own places. There’s a place as well for any consorts that the royals might have as well, but it seems San requested you to live with him. Honestly, you think it quite impersonal for a husband and wife not to share a room and bed each night, but that seems to be the norm for royalty. When you learn that even princes sometimes have consorts, you got a little insecure. What if you alone aren’t enough?

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" San's voice catches your attention, and you turn to him as he enters. You’ve been standing in the middle of the room, just looking over everything, the room fairly barren compared to the overall size.

“I was just…” You stop, trying to think of how to word it. He hums for you to continues.

“I was just trying to soak in everything I’ve been told to learn.” You lie, not ready to bring the subject up quite yet. Your head is pounding from all the new information you’ve been pumped full with and you’re nervous about messing up. Luckily since you were a noble already, you knew most of the rules and practices, but you’re going to be under a bit harsher scrutiny. Not a bit, a lot. Your head feels strange, having your long braid looped up into a chignon braid, the jade binyeo holding it up making it feel heavier. The cheopji sitting on the middle of the top of your head is heavy as well, since it’s gold. Your hanbok is of much higher quality and you feel nervous about getting it messy or torn somehow.

"(Y/N)?" He calls your name again and you snap out of your tumbling thoughts.

"Why did your eldest brother step down as heir?" You finally remember the question you’ve been wanting to ask him, before your insecurities start to spiral. You’d heard some of the other women talking about it but don’t want to rely on gossip.

"Hm. The woman he fell in love with was too low in status. He abdicated so he could marry her. That's why Hongjoong is the crown prince."

"I see. The eldest is Seonghwa, yes?" San hums and you sigh, racking your brain for all the names you’ve learned. There are too many. Finally, you look over San…your husband. Just the thought makes you a bit giddy. Even though it hasn't been very long since you two met, maybe about two months, you have endeared to each other. He’s so sweet, contrasted greatly with the normal thoughts of how tigers are. Then again, he’s a hybrid, not a full tiger. He’s in a much different ensemble than what you met him in, more princely clothes. He doesn’t have any kind of headwear on then, just his manggeon and you can see the streak of orange and white in his hair to the right of the center of his head.

"Are you nervous?" he asks and your ears flick. Not really sure what he’s talking about, you just nod. You are, but you aren’t for sure in what way he means. He steps forward and his hands find your waist, your own landing on his chest. San pulls you closer and your ears press back against your head. Your nervous habit of tugging on your braid is going to have to be replaced since it’s no longer hanging down your back. You let out a noise similar to a bleat when he hauls you even closer, his nose nuzzling against your ear.

"We get to make it official." he whispers and what he’s getting at finally hits you. The consummation of the marriage. You’re nervous, and a bit worried as well. You were told that predators have a much more aggressive…mating process. Plus, apparently, tiger hybrids are much likes real tigers, and have 'barbs' on their… You’re in your own thoughts; you can say whatever; they have barbs on their cocks. Plus, you’re a good 30 centimeters shorter than your husband and he’s just big overall. Your hands on his chest fist, digging your fingers into the fabric and you squeak when the claws on his hands dig into your own clothes enough you feel them against your hips. You shudder as his slightly rough tongue runs up the side of your throat. Your heart rate spikes, nearly taking your breath away, some primal part inside of you freaking out.

"Your high-"

"It's just us, call me San."

"San, I-"

"Your highness!" A eunuch calls from the other side of the door, and you pull back. He reluctantly lets you remove yourself from him and you turn away from the door as he turns toward it. He allows the servant in, and you’re informed that the bathing chambers are ready. After the eunuch steps out and the handmaidens are waiting outside patiently, San goes back to you.

"Why don't we be efficient and take a bath together?" He wraps his arms around you from behind and you’re sure he feels your tail wag nervously even through the layers of fabric you both have on.

"C-can we?"

"Hm. I don't see why not. Not exactly traditional, but…I can get away with a lot." He chuckles and you feel it rumble through his chest pressed to your back. When he finally pulls back, you turn to him, face warm and he grins.

"So cute." He nuzzles your ear again and then comes back, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It’s your first kiss as a married couple, not that you haven't stolen a few leading up to that point. This one is different though and he nearly growls as he deepens the kiss. You squeak, it’s like he’s trying to eat you, and the obvious comparison is not lost on you. His tongue is rough against yours when it wiggles into your mouth and your head swims when his large canines clacked against your much smaller ones. When his lips let yours go, a trail of saliva connects your mouths, and you let out a shaky breath.

"Go with the handmaidens and get ready, I'll join after." San presses another kiss to your cheek and allows you to leave his embrace. You stop in front of the door, looking back at him again as the servant on the other side opens the door. He smiles warmly and you bite your lip giddily and then follow the maids to the bathing chamber. They carefully remove your garments and take your hair down, so it’s still just in a braid, you don’t need to wash it yet. You’re left in a simple white sokchima, not ready to be fully disrobed since San is still to come in. You hear his own servants getting him ready in the adjoining room and as soon as your maids leave, the side door opens. He steps in, closing it behind him and you gasp, eyes widening. Speaking of wide…his shoulders are so broad, especially compared to his waist. It’s fairly obvious even when he’s clothed, but right then he only has a pair of white sokbaji. His torso is toned as well and your mouth, still hanging open, starts to water. Well, not really, but you’re close. Feeling very small and delicate under his intense gaze, it softens when he notices your shoulders are tense.

"Come here." San coos, coming to meet you halfway and you let him hug you again, not able to help yourself placing your hands on his bare chest. His skin is smooth, and his muscles are hard and your thighs clench as you practically stroke him. He chuckles and your eyes flit up to his, ears flopping they’re twitching so hard. His tail is sticking out the back of his pants, swaying slightly, his ears drooping just a bit.

"Can I take this off, (Y/N)?" The prince's voice is quiet but deep in your ear and his hands grip the back of your sokchima.

"Y-yes." You do feel the amount of clothes is fairly unequal, but your final garment being removed will leave you completely bare. Shivering a tad as he pulls the tie open, the straps of the undergarment fall from your shoulders, then the rest of the fabric onto the floor. Your arms go to cover yourself, but his hands stop you. Your face is hot, almost on fire and you can’t meet his gaze, ears no longer twitching but pressed back hard against your head. Your short tail is waving back and forth quickly, no longer impeded by any fabric over it.

"You're beautiful." San tells you as he makes sure you won’t cover yourself and he steps back a tad, fingers going to the tie of his sokbaji. Your tongue runs nervously over your bottom lip, eyes immediately zooming in on his hands. He notices your gaze's direction and he huffs a laugh but continues with his task. Your arm wraps around your back, tugging on the end of your braid, now free of the pin holding it up that shows your wedded status. It’s like time slows down as he lifts the waistband up and over his half-hard cock and the fabric pools on the floor as well and your eyes widen almost comically. You’ve never seem a man naked in person, only having seen what are basically medical diagrams in books. All you know is that they probably aren’t all that big, and he isn’t even fully hard. The little spines at the base and head of his cock aren’t quite like you’d imagined; unlike the barbed end of a fishhook you thought. Your cunt clenches hard, and you swallow hard as he steps closer.

"Here." He grabs your hand with his and brings it toward him. You both gasp when your small, warm hand wraps around his cock, and you bite your lip as you pump up with your fingers wrapped around him. You wonder if it’ll hurt with how thick he is, your fingers not even meeting, and you ponder what the flesh would feel like on your tongue.

"(Y/N)?" His amused voice pulls you from your thoughts and your head has to tip back to look him in the eye with how close you are. A drop splats onto the floor, and you realize what it is when your slick thighs rub against each other. A rumble rises in San's chest and his nose nuzzles over your ear again, then down your throat and he inhales deeply. The rumble pick up and his warm spiced scent grows stronger, and you feel his cock harden fully in your grip.

"Let's get in." You whine a bit in disappointment when he pulls back, but he takes your hand and leads you down the little steps into the water. It’s nice and hot, but not too much so, flower petals floating in the water and carrying with them their sweet aroma. He sits on the bench that sits inside the large wooden tub, and he hauls you into his lap, legs straddling him. You watch the wavy image of his tail through the water, your tail not able to wag as hard with the water resistance. As you rest on his lap, his hard cock presses to your tummy and you press into it more, making him groan.

"You need to stop doing that if we're going to wait." His tone is a bit harder, his brow furrowing after your next press closer to him.

"Wait for what?" You give him a coy look. You know it would be "proper" to wait till you’re actually in a bed to…bed each other, but…

"(Y/N), love, don't you want your first time to be-" He grunts when you lean in, your breasts pressing into his chest, and he has to close his eyes to think.

"San, I don't care if you take me here, now, or in that bed. What matters is it's you." You rest your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling his neck, your head feeling foggy as you breathe in his scent. You hear the water sloshing before you feel anything, but his strong arms wrap around you, lifting you up a bit. His lips crash to yours as he maneuvers you, only pulling away so he can flip you around. Your back pressed to his chest and he has you rest your knees over his so he can hold your legs open. Even with the water of the bath, your slick is still stuck to your folds, and he groans as he runs two fingers over you. Your entire body jerks, thighs twitching at the little bit of friction, already sensitive. San's arm holds you to him as his index finger breaches your entrance, your slick easily letting him in. You had noticed earlier that he filed his claw-like nails down to blunt them, and now you know why. You had expected a bit of a sting at his finger's entrance, but you only feel pleasure. You have…tested on yourself before, but his fingers are longer and thicker, and your head falls back over his shoulder as a second joins the first. He grins, watching your cunt swallow his fingers, his tail sliding through the water to wrap over your thigh, holding it to his. San grinds the palm of his hand against your clit and your gummy walls clench around the digits inside and he hears you whine right into his ear. Under normal circumstances, your flitting ears and tail would tickle, but he can use them to tell just how you’re reacting.

"S-San!" You gasp, the pleasure he’s bringing over you rising fast and your blunt nails dig lightly into his arm where you grip it.

"Good girl, (Y/N). Fall apart for me." His prompting words leads you to your climax and he rumbles as your cunt clenches and pulses as your orgasm hits. When the little twitches finally die, your body slumps into his, he removes his fingers and helps move you once more. You face him again and your nails dig harder into his shoulders as he holds you over him, the head of his cock rubbing through your folds.

"Ready, princess?" He smirks a bit at the pet-name, though it’s completely and officially accurate now.

"Please." You lean down and kisses the corner of his mouth and down his neck. San grunts and your grip on him tightens as he presses you down, fat cock finally breaching your entrance. It stings, burning in the best way though, the rubbery spines of his cock flicking against your clit as he finally gets the head all the way in. The rest of his dick follows a bit easier, but each little increment deeper, the spines rub against the ridges of your cunt. He’s only halfway in when you throw your head back, breath harsh, chest heaving at the sensation of him splitting you open. Your cunt spasms and pulses, you’re already close, heat pooling and growing in your groin and lower stomach. Your flowery scent fills the air even more than the petals in the water, the pleasure and pheromones your husband are letting off spurring you into a semi-heat. Immediately, your cunt slicks even further, the thick wet not able to be washed away by the water. As he starts to bottom out, the spines at the base of his cock flicks over your clit and against the folds of your pussy and you shudder hard as your groin meets his. San barely shifts and that’s all it takes, your second orgasm hitting quicker and harder than the first. His growl rumbles through his chest, you and the room as your cunt clenches hard around him.

"Fuck-" You swear softly and hearing the vulgar word leave your soft, sweet lips makes him groan.

"Are you okay, love?"

"J-just give me a second." You’re still shuddering in his arms, tiny waves still pulsing through your cunt.

"I can't last much longer." He warns and you shift once yourself, pressing your knees harder into the bench of the bath and you nod jerkily. You’re prepared…well, you think you are. San's arms around you tighten, almost to hold you in place, and he lifts you off his cock some, then pumps up his hips, fucking back into you deep. Your head flies back so hard he’s a bit concerned, but he continues his thrusts, not even pulling out halfway before filling you once more. The water sloshes around you, your tail wagging hard through the water, his own wrapped around your right thigh.

"Shit-" He grunts, pressing you to him and standing. You yelp at his movement but then he lightly rests you against the rounded edge of the wooden tub. He reaches past your head for a towel and bunches it under your head.

"San?" You don’t get an answer to your prompting tone, and your breath hitches as he hauls your legs up to wrap around his narrow waist. One hand rests against your thigh to hold your leg up, the other taking your hand from his shoulder and lifting it up above your head. His fingers linking with yours, holding your hand tightly as his lips hover over yours.

"Hold on, princess." He more or less warns, and your other hand flies to the narrow wooden column near you, barely getting a hold on it before he snaps his hips, relentlessly barreling his cock into you, head battering your back walls. You let out a choking sound, followed by unintelligible whimpers and babbles, your next orgasm rising already. With each thrust, he grinds his hips down, the spines at the base of his cock teasing your clit and he doesn’t even slow down as your third orgasm crashes over you. If anything, it makes him go harder, the water around his legs sloshing hard. He’s full-on growling at this point, tongue running over his long canines, a drop of saliva falling past his lips and into your mouth, gaping open, drool dripping from the side. Your eyes roll back as his pace seems to pick up, the thrusts somewhat shallower but even harder.

"Fucking hell, love, you're taking me so well." San rumbles, watching his fat cock split you open, the shine of your slick and cum on his cock makes his head swim.

"Want me to cum inside? Fuck my cub into you?" He laughs cockily; eyes fixed on the joining of your bodies. You both aren’t even sure how easy it’ll be for you to conceive, and he honestly doesn’t care if you can’t. He’s so far down the line of succession himself, let alone his kids. Though, if it is harder, that just means he can try all the harder.

"Please! San, want your cum!" You whimper, neither of you caring anymore if the servants hear the filth spilling from your mouths.

"Gonna make you my mate too, my wife…" He growls and his thrusts grow unsteady, his nose nuzzles your neck again and your breath hitches as the sharp ends of his canines meet your skin. Your blunt nails dig into the wood of the column, hand gripping his hard as he finally falls over the edge himself. His teeth sink in as he cums, white, hot spurts of cum coating your walls and filling your womb. Your orgasm helps him ride out his, core gripping him hard, eagerly drinking in his seed. You almost feel like you’re going to pass out, brain clearing some as he stops, licking over the bite wound in your shoulder. He pulls back enough to look down at your worn-out body, face red and splotchy but still so cute, so pretty. And you’re all his.

The next few minutes pass with a blur; all of the servants are called to leave the hallway leading from the bath to your bedchambers. You only realize you have changed location when the still-wet skin of your back hits the silk sheets, and San is filling you back up. You have nothing to hold onto, so you white knuckle the sheet of the futon under you. Your legs are thrown over San’s wide shoulders, ankles by his ears, and animalistic noises are leaving him. He’s salivating like a hungry…well, tiger, growls turning into near roars. You aren’t sure how many more orgasms he fucked out of you before he fills your womb with even more of his seed. Your mind is nearly gone, only little squeaks leaving you as he flips you over, hips raised in the air, chest pressing to the bed below. His giant cock, with all those blasted spines, carves into you, and your cunt clenches hard, molding to him. You’re both a mess already, the bath having been nearly negated. Sweat drips from his brow onto your bare back, a thick mix of your releases coating both your thighs and forming a puddle below. A dark stain from the tears caused by the overwhelming sensations and drool forms below your cheek. Even with his claws blunted, they tear into the bedding some as he leans over you, hips pumping hard, the slap of skin muffled by his grunts.

“One more for me, princess. Gonna get you pregnant, keep you stuffed full till you do.” He chuckles, pace stuttering, and your vision spots as he cums once more, squirts and sprays of your own release soaking his groin further. Soon, all that can be heard is both of your panting breaths and you’re having trouble staying awake, all strength leaving your body. That’s when something terrifying hits you…he’s still hard.

hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over the heads. gat - this is the hat that noblemen would wear, more specifically the ones that were black and made of mesh. jeogori - the top/shirt part of a hanbok. hangul - the Korean alphabet we use today. hanja - the old Korean characters derived from Chinese used prior to Hangul's creation. jeongjagwan - a type of gat that noblemen would wear, it looks much like a pagoda. binyeo - the long pin that would hold a woman's bun up, mostly used for married women. cheopji - a hair accessory worn by women, looks similar to a headband with a clip or pin in the middle. manggeon - the mesh-like headband men wore to hold their hair in place sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. sokbaji - pants-like undergarment, mostly worn by women under their chima

At the front lines, it's all fun and games until an Undead touches you. “Touches you” isn't quite the right term.

“Did it bite you?” Jongho demands with gritted teeth.

Yeosang in tiger form snarls as he launches himself at said Undead. I’ll maul him to death, his quiet tone echoes in your mind through your bond.

The Undead loses its head as Yeosang’s powerful jaw descends over it and wretches it off.

Two three story slabs slam and grind together as a group of lesser Undead become…

“Zombie ground meat?” You pose to your earth Elemental.

Yunho tosses his head back as a belly laugh escapes him. “That’s a good one, Pretty.”

Mingi sends a wounded look, one minute in Limbo the world of dreams, and the next snapping into existence by your side. He grabs your arm and exhales. “How dare you let anyone harm your beautiful limb?”

Only I’m allowed to bite you, Yeosang reminds you.

“Can we focus on the task at hand, please?” Jongho barks.

His fingers darken with his necromancy as he pulls life from nearby plants and dark tendrils race across the battlefield. A lake pools around more Undead and they are shredded to pieces in an instant. 

Mingi pulls you to his body tightly. “Close your eyes, Dream,” He whispers. 

Travelling through Limbo makes anyone other than an incubus or succubus mad. You gladly push your head against Mingi’s chest, close your eyes, and your match transports you away from the battle to a more advantageous spot.

“Be my good little keeper and maintain our battle strategy from up here, ‘kay?” And with a gratuitous wink, Mingi flings his arms wide and falls backwards from the clifftop he had transported you to.

You run to the lip of the cliff just in time to see Mingi wink out of existence and back to where your other matches were. 

“Show off,” Yunho rolls his eyes.

“Can we all focus on ruining the Undead so we can go home?” Jongho barks. 

Sir, yes, Sir, Yeosang says sassily before he’s snarling and launching himself at another Undead, ripping this one's arm off first this time. 

You send a hex that gathers a few Undead together like catching fish in a net. Except the net cuts through all their flesh and leaves them in perfectly symmetrical cubes. 

“Much better,” Jongho says with satisfaction. Several Undead are simply undone as the necromancer unravels the threads of their existence. 

Yunho’s eyes swing towards your high-ground position. “That’s because our Keeper is perfection on legs.”

Mingi smirks. “I prefer those legs around my head.”

Jongho laughs in embarrassment. “Focus!” he yells instead. 

Mingi sighs, sweeps some hair off his forehead and then begins to pull Undead into Limbo, one by one, teleporting to a high height, only for the Undead to drop and crumble with a bone-crunching noise. 

The faster we finish, the faster you’ll finish, you send to your entire quintet. 

Suddenly, the battlefield is a fury of men killing, with even more fervor than before. Yunho is creating sinkholes that swallow legions whole. Jongho controls the Undead and they rip into each other. Yeosang is using his claws to slice through sinew to disable the Undead, growling with fierceness. 

All with the exception of Mingi. His eye is on the prize. Your incubus match appears at your side once again. His shirt’s lost an extra button--no, scratch that--he’s got no buttons, only the fabric tucked against his stomach holding it from flying open in a light breeze. 

“Like what you see?” Mingi flirts with you. “I’d say take a picture but those don’t do me justice.”

You wrap your arms behind Mingi’s neck, drawing him closer to you. “Why are you here and not taking out more Undead, Dreameater?”

Mingi shudders delicately at your petname. “You know I fade into nothing without kisses from my Keeper.”

“The only sustenance you require are dreams, Mingi.”

“That’s not true!” Mingi protests, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I also need your cu--”

“Mingi, you son of a nightmare!” Jongho shouts from his place on the battlefield. “Why do you always play dirty?”

He plays to win, Yeosang replies solemnly. The tiger shifter launches himself from rock to rock, arriving second to your spot on the clifftop. He shifts back to his human form, nary a stitch of clothing on him of course. His muscles gleam in the moonlight. “As do I,” he finishes. 

Yunho forces the ground to spring him upwards to bring his body to the top of the cliff as well. “Just finish the rest off and join us, Jongho,” the earth elemental yells cheekily over his shoulder. 

You laugh silently as Jongho curses loudly, the last to join. Shadows flow almost like an escalator until he steps lightly to the top of the cliff. “You are all dicks,” He sniffs, insulted that he's the last man standing. “I should report you.”

You gently break out of Mingi’s hold and move to console Jongho. “Don’t be angry, love.”

Jongho melts at your words but then his eyes sharpen down at the bite mark still on your arm. “Why didn’t you heal yourself?!”

“Oops.” With a wave of your hand, green magic emanates from your fingers and soon the bite mark fades away. 

Jongho crosses his arms over his generous chest. “You’re going to pay for that.”

You squirm slightly. Yunho laughs at the sight. “I think she likes the thought of that.”

Jongho wipes his face tiredly. “Brat.”

Yeosang pulls your arm up and huffs at it, smelling no rot or infection. He promptly licks your arm, eyes rolled up to watch your reaction. He groans when he smells your arousal instead. “Heart,” he says, his voice tight. 

“I’m thinking of that tongue in other places.” You press your lips inwardly. 

“Teleport us out of here, Heart, before I take you in the battlefield,” Yeosang growls. 

“That wouldn’t be the worse place we’ve fucked,” Yunho shrugs. Jongho eyes him in disbelief. “What? It wouldn’t be! Remember, there was the blood-drenched castle full of vampire traitors we killed and then Mingi--”

“I want a bed, please,” You beg with your eyes as well. All your matches smile benevolently. Each grabs onto each other, and you teleport everyone back to the cottage you call home. 

Your quintet has been posted near the Divide to battle everything the Entity spits out from time to time. You fight to keep the humans safe and the other Legacies enjoy their comfy life. Luckily for the five of you, you all enjoy a good battle, so it’s your pleasure to do so. 

But if you’re not busy wiping the Undead from the mortal plane, you’re usually fucking each other’s brains out. 

It’s not long before Mingi’s proving his point, licking your cunt like he requires it to remain alive. Jongho’s stroking his cock in time with Mingi’s tongue, eyes hooded and taking in every shake of your thigh and gasp that escapes your lips. Not that you’ve got a lot of room to gasp because Mingi suddenly moves up your body to exchange a kiss. 

Do you taste yourself on my tongue? Mingi sends through your bond. You’re so fucking sweet. 

Yeosang takes Mingi’s place, replacing tongue with cock. Your head tosses back as Yeosang enters you. “So fucking wet, gods, I don’t even have to fight your sweet cunt for room,” Yeosang’s eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Yunho pulls off your nipple, leaving it covered in his saliva. “Pretty, are you going to come around Yeosang’s cock?”

You swallow hard and nod down at Yunho. He smiles happily and then descends on your other nipple to cover it in his spit and tease it into a stiff peak. 

“Don't let her come yet--!” Jongho moans loudly and you get to see the necromancer come all over his fist. His jaw is on display and his chest heaves, thighs spread comfortably. 

Mingi releases your lips to frown at Jongho. “Did you really just come before our Keeper?”

Jongho’s face heats up and he avoids Mingi’s accusing gaze. “How am I supposed to hold back when I’ve got that bounty to view?”

“Shit, Yunho, you should--”

Without another word from Yeosang, Yunho sucks on his fingers and presses two onto your clit. “Squeeze Sangie for all he’s worth, okay, Pretty? He's having a hard time holding back.”

Yeosang sends an unfriendly look to the earth elemental before he makes the most beautiful cum face you have ever had the honor of beholding. 

“You’re beautiful,” you say in awe.

“No, Heart,” Yeosang breathes shakily through his come-down. “You’re the beautiful one.”

Yeosang pulls back, only for Yunho to gently turn you around, so you’re on your hands and knees now. He pushes Yeosang’s cum back into you as his cock enters you from behind. “Nothing’s better than this cunt once she’s been used and abused. So warm and wet after you’ve been fucked well.”

You bury your face into your arm, partly from embarrassment at Yunho’s dirty talk and partly because you’re trying to endure your sensitivity.

“It’s too much!” you whine. 

Mingi draws your upper body so that your arms straighten up and you’re no longer head down ass up. His large hands cup your face tenderly. “You can take us both, right? I know you love your oversensitivity, don’t lie, Dream.”

Like a good, obedient Keeper, you open your mouth and Mingi slips his cock against your tongue. You savour the weight of it as it slides along your tongue and then pushes at your tender throat. 

Mingi lifts an eyebrow in question towards Yunho. “Slow down, Loverboy. I want to fuck her face. She can’t focus on her breathing if you’re rearranging her guts.”

Yunho’s grip on your hips lessons as his pace moves to treacherous pace. “Whatever, just make sure she doesn't choke this time. Yeosang almost killed you when you brought her to tears.”

“But her tears are just so pretty,” Mingi coos mockingly down at you. 

Please fuck my throat, you plead. Your entire quintet groans loudly as you send that through your entire bond by accident. 

“Fuck, Dream, you know I’ll give you exactly what you want, you don’t have to ask,” Mingi says gruffly before gripping your head between both of his palms and does as you command. 

Yunho fucks you without any care in the world, caressing your ass, hips and lower back as Mingi roughly face-fucks you. For a time, the only noise in the room is the wet noises of your throat being fucked before Mingi is crying out and spending his seed down your throat. 

Mingi falls back, ringed hands running absentmindedly over his chest. “Fuck, Dream, you’re always exactly that. My type of dream.”

Yunho draws your upper body so that your back is flush with his chest. “Pretty, you know I can’t come unless you squeeze me tight,” he murmurs against your shoulder, placing an open-mouthed kiss there. 

“I don’t think I can,” you admit.

Yunho pretends to gasp in insult. “You don’t think you can come because of my cock rubbing against the one spot no one else can reach? Is that really how you feel?”

Your eyes search out Jongho's. He's cleaned up now, in soft pajamas, waiting for Yunho. His arms are bent behind his head. His mouth is in a hard line and it doesn’t bode well for you.

“Can I come, please, Sir?” 

Yeosang has put on a pair of boxers for the sake of the rest of the quintet. Not your preference, for your tiger shifter is beautiful naked. “Come on, Jongho. She's lasted this long. She's been a good girl.”

The praise and “good girl” comment makes you clench down on Yunho, who thrusts roughly into you from behind with a grunt. You beseech silently to your necromancer match.

“I can't fill up our Keeper without her having a mind-blowing orgasm, Jongho. You know she's my kink.” Yunho's chuckles rumble through his chest and warms your heart.

“You can be my cuddle buddy when we sleep tonight,” you offer as a last ditch offer.

Jongho sends a quiet prayer to the ceiling. “Fine.” 

“Such a softie,” Mingi teases, blinking to lie on his side on the other side of the bed to watch the final show.

“Shut up, you nightmare slut,” Jongho snaps.

Mingi winks at you. “A nightmare to most, but a slut for only one.”

The tips of Yunho’s fingers play with your lower lip before you open up to take him into your mouth. You moan around his fingers and feel at peace.

“That's right, Babe, suck down on my fingers,” Yunho says huskily.

His hips start back up, slowly rolling against your ass at first, all the while his fingers pressing gently down on your tongue. You begin to push your hips backwards against Yunho’s thrusts, finally with permission to come. Your eyes are locked with Jongho’s, panting with your pending orgasm. It’s only when he says “Come, you damn brat,” that your pleasure unlocks and then you’re screaming around Yunho’s fingers as you come. 

You squeeze around Yunho. The earth elemental grips your hips harshly and you know there’s going to be bruises later. He moans loudly and unloads into you, the third load you’ve taken today. He pulls his fingers from your mouth as you both catch your breath, Yunho’s forehead taking refuge on your shoulder. 

“Shower,” Jongho announces immediately, swooping you up and taking you to the bathroom. 

“Hurry up!” Mingi shouts after you. “I want to give her wet dreams so I can feed off them. I’m starving!”

Jongho rubs his cheek against the top of your head, easily balancing you in his arms and turning on the shower. “You’re going to do better next time and not get yourself harmed with our next run.”

Your fingers skim his strong jaw and he leans into the touch. “Yes, Jongho.”

Jongho smiles like a fool in love and then shakes his head. “That’s Sir, to you, Brat.”

You open your eyes, lids heavy and slightly swollen. You blink a couple of times to adjust to the light of the living room, before checking the time on your phone.

2.56am

Not quite believing the time, you rub your eyes, but when you look again, the screen doesn’t lie. You sit up from the couch, slowly, your limbs sluggish with uncomfortable sleep.

Yunho is nowhere to be found, though you have a feeling he’s still in his office, gaming the night away. You turn the lights off, dragging your heavy feet to his door. His grunts become louder and louder the closer you get.

You knock lightly, barely any energy in you to move at this hour. He doesn’t respond, probably unable to hear through his headphones, so you open the door lightly.

“Baby?” Your voice sounds groggy, not having been used for hours.

He turns his head to you, eyes flickering between you and his screen. “What is it Beautiful?”

You turn your phone on and show him the time, squinting one eye to try and shield yourself from the flashing of his game. “I’m going to bed.”

He does a double take on the time, eyes wide in disbelief. He pauses his game quickly, not even bothering to let his friends know.

“Damn, have I actually been playing for this long?” You nod your head slightly.

He takes all of you in as you lean against his doorframe. His t-shirt falling to your thighs, letting the hem of your shorts peek through, your adorable frilly socks at mismatched heights on your ankles. Your hair is slightly dishevelled, and he can see the faint line of the couch pillow on your cheek.

“You fell asleep on the couch didn’t you?” He turns his chair towards you fully now, the game long forgotten. “You should’ve come to get me, why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrug lightly. “It’s your day off, you’ve had a packed schedule recently - I didn’t wanna bother you when you were unwinding.”

He lightly pats his thighs, indicating for you to come sit. You walk up to him, straddling your legs on either side of his thighs.

“Beautiful, you know I’d rather spend time with you than gaming, right? Sure, I love my games, but you’re my priority. I can’t believe you let me go on for so long!”

You scoff. “To be fair I fell asleep for a few hours, it wasn’t exactly on purpose.”

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. Your hands meet behind his neck, face nuzzled into his chest. You inhale, almost on impulse, letting out a soft hum as the faint trace of woodsy jasmine and cedar hit your nose. His fingers glide under your top, rubbing soothing circles on your back, whilst his other hand rests on your head, playing with a strand of hair.

You could stay here for hours, the late time of night only an afterthought now. You shift a little, adjusting your position to melt into him deeper, not realising you rubbed against a certain spot. You sigh again, content, the noise going straight to his head.

“Y/n?” His low voice rumbles against your forehead.

You look up at him, eyelids growing heavier as his warmth settles around you. “Baby?”

When you look at him like that, it makes it harder for him to not think about what area of you is pressed against his length.

“You need to stop moving like that,” he mutters. “You’re - you’re pressing…” His ears are turning a little red.

“Oh!” You sit up, unknowingly rubbing against his rapidly growing length again. “Sorry.” Your cheeks starting to match the tips of his ears. “I should go to bed, it’s late.”

You put your hand on his chest to help yourself up but he grabs it to stop you.

“Wait.”

“Yuyu I-”

“Please.” He whispers, stopping your protests in their tracks. “I haven’t spent any time with you today. Let me make up for it.”

His almost whiny tone settles low in your stomach, but you hesitate. You don’t have work tomorrow, but isn’t it too late for this?

He kisses the inside of your wrist, his other hand on your hip to hold you close to him. “Please, Beautiful.” His lips continue peppering your skin, moving further up your arm. “Please.”

Your eyes fall shut at his begging, unable to resist.

Each kiss brings you closer to him, pulling you like gravity, until he reaches your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, and finally, your lips.

He doesn’t rush, following the same rhythm he used on the rest of you. Every kiss feels like an apology, one for every minute he left you alone. Your hands find their way up his abdomen, fingers grazing at the ripples of tensing muscles, only for him to grip your hip tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear.

The tip of his tongue swipes on your bottom lip, silently beckoning for you to let him in. You do without hesitation, your tongues entwining and tangling into a dizzying dance, mimicking the way your limbs are searching for each other.

His hand has settled on your cheek, cupping it softly, like holding you too tightly might break you. Your own has made its way to his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. He moans into your mouth and you can feel it travelling through you until it gathers in the pit of your stomach.

You hear him rustling for something and you pull away, your chest rising and falling quicker now. You track his hand and see him rolling a spare hoodie to lay it against the edge of his desk.

“Lay down.” He orders softly. You do as you’re told, placing your back on the previously sharp furniture.

His eyes follow your every move, devouring you from afar. Even in your pyjamas and tired eyes, you look more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen. Sometimes, he questions whether you’re real, or if his mind created the most perfect woman he could think of, just so real life couldn’t disappoint him.

He takes his time, gliding his hands and your shirt up from your hips to your stomach, tracing every freckle, every stretch mark, every curve of your body.

The look in his eyes alone makes you moan.

His eyebrows are slightly drawn together like he’s seeing you for the first time, every time. There’s a sparkle in them as he watches your stomach rise and fall with every pant, a result of his intoxicating touch.

“Yunho…” you whisper, barely audible, your head falling back.

His breath brushes your stomach as he places light kisses on your skin, creating goosebumps that send shivers through your entire body.

“Beautiful…” he murmurs, continuing his path of kisses, covering every inch of your skin. “I’m sorry-” another kiss, “for leaving you-” another, “alone.”

You bite your lip, his words and his touch creating a fog in your head.

“It’s okay…” you breathe, voice unsteady.

He shakes his head, nose grazing against your skin and you gasp. “No, it’s not.” He looks up at you, hands delicately kneading your skin, digging his fingers into your sides in quiet possession. “How could I do this to my favourite girl?”

Your hand reaches out to grab his face, caressing your thumb on his soft cheek. He turns his head slightly to kiss your palm before his hand drops to your shorts, playing with the hem.

You whimper at the sensuality of the touch, so simple yet so charged with expectations. You squirm, craving more, friction dragging against his lap, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Please stop moving Beautiful, or I won’t be able to hold out.” he grunts between gritted teeth.

You can’t help it, your hips circling again in defiance.

He pulls you off of him in one swell move, sitting you on the edge of his desk.

“I said-” he grunts, pulling your shorts down to pool at your ankles, “Let me make up for it.”

Your centre throbs at his proximity, the sight before you making your chest swell: he’s looking up at you on his knees, an evident tent in his sweats, tongue swiping against his bottom lip in hunger.

He grabs your knees gently, spreading them apart, giving him an unobstructed view of your soaked panties. His long finger traces the wet patch, making you twitch and whimper.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of it as he whispers under his breath, “How can I ever even leave you alone when you look so fucking good?”

You squirm again, desperate for more, your knuckles white as you grip the edge of the desk. He already knows he’s driving you wild and chooses to not prolong the torture, sliding your panties down your legs until you’re bared for him - folds glistening in the faint screen light.

His lips find your clit in an instant, hunger devouring you as your knees falter, your senses heightened at his long awaited touch. He laps you up, your arousal coating his lips and chin with every pass and flick of his tongue.

Your breathy moans and whimpers only seem to fuel his desire more.

He stands up, slowly, replacing his tongue with his fingers. His eyes are now glancing down at you in adoration, forehead pressed against yours, admiring the shape of your mouth as his fingers circle your sensitive nub. The cadence is slow, the pressure delectable.

All thoughts of your tiredness have now vanished, replaced by the all consuming feeling of his presence on you.

You crave his proximity, pulling him down until his wet lips meet yours, his middle finger pushing into your entrance at the same time. You cry out into his mouth, the sensation overwhelming.

He inserts another finger, the squelching produced by his curling inside your dripping cunt echoing inside the silent room. Your moans are getting louder and louder. You’re close - he can sense it by how your walls are clenching around his fingers.

Your hand travels down to the warmth in his joggers, palming him, getting a delicious moan out of him. You continue to rub him over his clothes before sliding into his boxers - your cool hand on his burning cock makes him buck, his fingers hooking harshly into you.

Your whimpers are mixing in with each other’s now, and you’re both about to lose control.

You let go of him, tugging his shirt up as he devours you with his lips. He pulls his fingers out. You cry out at the loss, but seeing him shed his t-shirt and reveal his beautiful smooth skin makes you forget all about it. You run your hands along the ridges of his skin.

There’s never a day where you don’t marvel at his beauty, and he knows it.

“Like what you see Beautiful?” He teases, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

You grab his hand and kiss the tip of one of his fingers. “Baby, please, just fuck me.”

His eyes grow dark. He grabs your waist, pulling you to him in a feverish kiss as he pushes his bottoms a little lower, freeing his leaking cock. He lines you up to him, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Breathe.” He huffs out, and you do, feeling him push into you slowly.

Your head falls back as you feel him filling you up. You’ve never been quite wide enough for him and it takes a minute for you to adjust. He swears he could burst just from seeing your gorgeous slightly fucked out face and feeling how tightly your walls hug him.

Once he’s bottomed out, he takes a second for you to breathe, making sure you feel comfortable the whole time. But you can’t wait anymore - you roll your hip into him, capturing his mouth into yours, giving him the signal.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He moves against you, slow and deliberate, shaking slightly at how tightly you’re wrapped around him. Every muscle in his body is locked tight, not from lack of want, but from the effort of holding back just long enough to do this right.

One hand on your back, one on the wall behind you, he’s anchoring the both of you whilst driving into you - pouring all his love into every move. Every thrust hits that sweet spot inside of you, butterflies erupting in your entire body.

Your cries are louder now, neighbours be damned.

“Do you forgive me?” he pants, sweat beading on his forehead and chest.

“I d-do Yun - ah… fuck!”

The roll of his hips is ecstasy, his lips on your neck euphoria.

You know he’s holding back by how taut his muscles are. He’s trying to make sure you cum - hard. He takes your leg, hooking it over his arm and holding the back of your neck, knowing full well this is the one position that will leave you replaying this moment in your head for days.

“Let go Beautiful.” He grunts between thrusts. “Let go for m-me.”

He crashes into you once more, his lips devouring yours, pleading for you to release your tension. And you try to hold out, you really do, because it feels so good and you never want it to stop. But the pressure is too great.

The desk shakes with the force of both of your orgasms, and you don’t even realise what’s going on until you feel how wet your thighs are. Only then do you understand what just happened - you just squirted all over your boyfriend.

You blush, still shaking, not entirely sure how to process it as your brain is still hazy.

“Yun- s-sorr…” you say through the tweaks and jerks of your body.

He looks at you, incredulous. “Oh Beautiful” he cooes, caressing your face, “it’s more than okay. I… I can’t believe you did that, it’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He’s wearing one of those lopsided smiles that always makes your heart swoon, and it’s the first thing you can see clearly when you finally come down from the high.

“Are you okay?” The slightly worried undertone in his voice makes you smile.

“I think so…” You run your hand through your hair, still in disbelief.

He pulls out of you slowly - you hadn’t realised you were still linked to each other.

“I’m gonna get a towel, you wait right here.”

He kisses your forehead, leaving the room momentarily before returning with clean joggers, a towel and fresh underwear. Slowly and carefully, he wipes your skin and the desk clean, before sliding your still slightly numb legs into your underwear. With his hands around your waist, he pulls you off the table, making sure you’re okay to stand. He takes out his phone, checking the time, and showing it to you with a smirk.

4.07am

“Maybe now we should really go to bed, what do you think?”

You peck his lips lightly. “I think you can play your games whenever you want Baby, I’m more than happy to fall asleep on the couch again.”

And with that, you walk to the bedroom on shaky legs, leaving him behind, phone in one hand, wet towel in the other, with a completely bewildered and enamoured look on his face.

---------

They didn't hear the door open. Oscar had her folded in half, hips grinding into hers, his mouth on her chest, her legs trembling from a second orgasm she hadn't even come down from yet.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, cock buried deep. "You're so wet-so tight-"

Her nails scratched down his back.

"Please please, Oscar-don't stop-"

He didn't.

Of course he didn't.

He was fucking her like he meant it, slow, deep thrusts, sweat on his brow, moaning low and soft every time her cunt clenched around him.

And that was the scene Lando walked in on. Hotel suite. Bedroom. Door open. And them, tangled in the middle of the bed, her legs over Oscar's shoulders, Oscar fucking into her like he'd die if he stopped.

"Oh-fuck-sorry," Lando choked out, stepping back.

But neither of them moved. Oscar looked up, eyes low, sweat-slicked, glowing. And said, "Don't leave."

Lando froze. She turned her head, dazed, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. "He can stay?" she breathed, voice wrecked.

"If he wants to," Oscar said. "Do you want him to?"

Her lips parted. Then she nodded. Lando didn't speak. Just stared. Watched.

His gaze dropped to where their bodies were joined, the wet sounds, the slow grind of Oscar's hips, the look on her face when Oscar whispered, "You're gonna come again with him watching."

Lando's cock twitched. Oscar smiled. "Come here."

Lando stepped forward. Oscar didn't stop moving, fucking her through another tremor, slow and brutal, the kind that made her whimper.

"Take her hand," Oscar said.

Lando did. She squeezed his fingers.

Oscar moaned. "Good girl. Let him see how good you are."

She was crying again. From the pressure. From the heat.

From how filthy it was, fucking her boyfriend while his teammate sat beside them, stroking her hand, watching her like a movie.

"You want to kiss him?" Oscar murmured.

She nodded fast.

Lando blinked. "Are you-?"

"Yes," Oscar said.

And so Lando leaned down, slow, hesitant, and pressed his mouth to hers.

She moaned into it. Oscar groaned. "You're fucking soaked."

She cried, "I can't-Oscar-I'm gonna-"

"Do it."

She came. Hard. Shaking under both of them, clenching around Oscar, whimpering into Lando's mouth. And then? Oscar pulled out. Let her fall back into the pillows, ruined and panting.

Lando looked stunned. Until Oscar turned to him and said: "Your turn." 

Lando was panting before he even touched her. Not just from the heat in the room, the sweat on her body, the flushed look on Oscar's face, but from how it felt to be given permission.

To fuck Oscar's girl. To watch him pull out, shift to the side, and say calmly: "She's ready for you."

Her eyes were already closed. Fucked out. Beautiful. Lando crawled between her legs, one hand sliding down her thigh, the other stroking his cock in slow, shallow pumps.

"Fuck," he whispered. "She's still warm."

"She's perfect," Oscar said, sitting beside her now, one hand in her hair. "Go slow. She's sensitive."

Lando nodded. Lined up. And slid in. Her body arched. The stretch, even after Oscar, still made her gasp, and Lando groaned low in his throat as he bottomed out in one slow, heavy thrust.

"Oh my-fuck-"

She whimpered.

Lando leaned over her. "Too much?"

She shook her head frantically. "Don't stop."

Oscar smiled. "Told you," he murmured. "She can take it."

And Lando fucked her.

Not rough, not yet. Just deep, thick, devastating strokes. Every thrust dragged a cry from her lips. Every time she clenched around him, Lando moaned like he was going to lose it.

Oscar was beside them, watching, stroking her cheek, whispering in her ear. "You're doing so well," he murmured. "Taking Lando so good, baby. You look so pretty like this."

Lando's rhythm stuttered. "I'm not gonna last."

Oscar laughed softly. "You haven't even seen what she's like when she comes with your cock inside her."

And that, that was enough to make Lando lose it. He leaned in harder, grabbed her hips, slammed into her once, twice, and she screamed.

Oscar caught her face. "Eyes on me," he said. "I want to see you break."

She looked at him and came. Loud. Shaking. Falling apart with Lando still inside her, cock twitching, body heaving.

Lando groaned as she clenched around him, so tight, so fucking wet, and came too, pulsing deep inside her, head falling to her shoulder.

Silence. Breath. Bliss. Until Oscar leaned in, kissed her temple, and whispered: "You still with me, baby?"

She nodded, trembling. Oscar kissed her lips. Then said, "Sit up."

"What-"

"I want you on my lap."

Lando blinked. "You're going again?"

Oscar just smiled. "She can take it." And she could.

She crawled into his lap, already dripping, thighs sticky, eyes glassy, and Oscar guided his cock into her like coming home.

She moaned, weak, soft. Oscar wrapped his arms around her, cradling her back, and began to grind up into her. Lando sat beside them, watching. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Because it was beautiful.

The way she rode Oscar. The way Oscar held her close. The way her tears mixed with her moans as she whispered, "Don't stop, Osc-please-don't stop."

Oscar didn't stop. He fucked her deep and slow. Lando stroked her thigh.

Oscar kissed her cheek. "You're ours now," he whispered. "For tonight."

"For always," Lando added.

And when she came again, slow, quiet, full-body devastation, they held her through it.

A date with a shared friend of your two roommates, one you originally didn’t want to go on, but were now somewhat excited for. You haven’t been on a date in a while, which you didn’t think much of, but it seemed everyone and their mother was more than concerned for your love life than you were. You were content with San and Wooyoung, your two roommates, and your one year old black lab named Sweetie who was almost as big as you.

After fighting both San and Wooyoung’s attempts at convincing you to go out with Yunho for a week, you finally agreed, days into the follicular phase of your cycle, mere moments out of the month when you craved the touch of a man. Now, mid-ovulation, you weren’t completely sure where you wanted to end up tonight. 

You knew Yunho well. Being a friend of both San and Wooyoung, he was over your apartment all the time, with his shaggy brown hair, cozy clothes that made him look like a librarian, legs that stretched on forever. Sometimes you caught yourself staring at his veiny hands for a second longer than what was considered appropriate, but you never thought of Yunho as an actual option. 

When you came home after a long day of teaching, blabbing to San and Wooyoung how the other teachers at the studio teased you for being single yet again, telling you that you should at least go on dates, the pair took it upon themselves to find you a suitor. Silently, without your knowledge, they hooked you up with Yunho, one of the only other single people in their friend group. Your friend group.

“I guess the second one?” You tilted your head to the side in thought, turning to stare at yourself in the mirror again, a black dress that hugged your curves dangerously. “Maybe this is more club than it is dinner and drinks.”

“Try on the other one again,” San tilted his chin toward the brown dress you tossed on the chair in the corner of your room, the one usually tucked under your desk that held your two-monitor PC setup. Used mainly for The Sims 4. No one had to know that part, though, your set-up was sick. 

You whined, head falling backward, effectively giving up. Sweetie’s head picked up, and San’s amused smile grew as you trudged across your bedroom, crawling on your bed, sprawling yourself across your best friend who rolled on his back, opening his arms to welcome you in. 

San chuckled, your head tucked below his chin, vibrations bleeding through your skin. His body was so hard beneath you, so warm and inviting, you could happily stay here, buried into him forever. He turned his head, making room to press a kiss to the top of your head, “You’ll have fun, Yunho’s a great guy. He’ll treat you well.”

“What if I just want to cuddle and watch movies all night? Is it so bad to cancel now?” You mumbled, voice muffled by the cotton white tee he wore, one from the pack you bought him a month ago. His home uniform, a white tee that clung to his body like latex, and gray sweats that hung so low on his hips you wondered how they didn’t fall off sometimes. 

“Come on,” San ushered you upward, his chest pushing on your cheek until you pulled your arms under your body to lift yourself off of him. You pouted, he smiled, dimples joining the party on your bedspread. “If you don’t like him, you leave, no harm, no foul.”

“He’s your friend,” you whined again, bottom lip jutting out in the most exaggerated way. “Why did I agree to a set up with one of your friends?”

Just as San was about to protest that Yunho is one of your friends too, you heard the front door snap open, sneakers hitting the wall as he kicked them off his feet, you always heard him before you saw him. Yours and San’s heads turned to your opened bedroom door as Wooyoung yelled from the living room, “It’s date night!”

You sighed, sitting backward, legs tucked under you. Sweetie got up from where he snuggled against San and joined your pity party by laying across your lap, head nuzzling into your tummy. Like a reflex, you scratched your fingers along his back, on the top of his head, he pushed air through his nose in delight. 

Wooyoung ran into your bedroom, halting dramatically in your doorway, both hands propped up on the frame on either side of his head. His eyes danced between you, San and your dog, but they landed on San. “Why isn’t she ready?” Eyes sliding to you, “Why aren’t you ready?” 

“I don’t wanna go,” your head tipped back again, whining, “Sweetie doesn’t want me to go either, look at him, he’s so cozy. He wants me to stay home and cuddle with him.” 

Wooyoung’s lips flattened in a line, “You can’t cancel on him, Shy. He’ll be here in thirty minutes to pick you up, it’s rude if you cancel now. Get up, girl.”

Your top lip curled in distaste, you hated when he said your name like that, even if it was the nickname they both had for you. Really, it was San’s nickname, which was originally your mother’s, he picked it up when he was three, when your entire family called you their shy girl. The nickname had always stuck with him, even after moving away from your hometown and into the city that your family thankfully wouldn’t step foot in, even after almost a decade. When you met Wooyoung your junior year of college, he thought the nickname was so damn cute he started calling you Shy, too. 

Wooyoung moved to the center of your room, movements fluid, eyes dancing about the space like he was your fairy godmother. Picking up the brown dress thrown over your chair, he cheered, “Aha! I love this one on you.”

Sighing, you tapped on Sweetie’s head, a warning to him before you stood up. He crawled off your lap and back into San’s chest, settling in his side just like he had before you interrupted. You stood up off the bed, pulling your dress down your thighs, and Wooyoung grinned, eyes flaring, “That dress is an option? What, are you planning on fucking him?”

Eyes narrowing, you scowled at him, crossing the room to snatch the brown dress from his hands. In all black, jeans, tee and jacket, he wore his hat backwards on his head, hiding his short, cropped black hair. Rings adorned his fingers, silver necklaces on his neck, he and San so opposite it still made you laugh at how close the three of you are. 

You supposed you were the glue. To Wooyoung’s hotheaded, outspoken, free-bird self, San was more emotional, logical, he actually thought before he spoke, when his feelings didn’t cloud his mind. You were the perfect combination, spontaneous yet level-headed, in tune with your emotions, in tune with theirs, you were the ground they stood on, the final word in their decisions. Why did you need to go on this date when all you needed was in this room with you?

“No,” you bite, throwing the dress on the bed while you pull the one you already wore up and off your body. 

Woo laughed, sitting down on the chair he stole the dress from, “No? Your panties match your bra.”

“I just wanted to be prepared,” you throw the dress at him as soon as it's off your body and he catches it with one hand, eyes obviously drinking in your figure. Too close for comfort, that’s what the three of you were, roommates and best friends and an enigma no one around you can understand. 

When you turn to San, his eyes are on Sweetie before him, his fingers lightly scratching his head. Always polite, always considerate, you grabbed the brown dress you threw on the bed, forcing yourself to not recall the days where he wasn’t so respectful. 

“Did you shave? Be honest,” Wooyoung’s eyebrows raise as you step into the low cut, bodycon brown dress. You snort, walking towards him so he can zip it up your back. 

“I trimmed,” you answer simply, amusement dancing in your tone, pulling your hair to one side to give him access to the zipper. He straightens in the chair, one hand on your hip as the other tugs the chilly zipper up your back, he stands back up to reach the top. You turn to him, hair still grasped in your fist, brows raised as the thought crosses your mind, “Should I have shaved?” 

“Hell no,” San responds from the bed, eyes trained on you and Wooyoung standing feet away from him. “Yunho’s a man, like, a man. He doesn’t give a fuck if you have a bush or whatever.”

“You should have left the bush,” Wooyoung’s smile is swimming in his eyes too, half-joking, half-serious, “it’s like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.” 

You peel away from him with a laugh as you stand before your full-length mirror, hands gliding down your body as you twist from side to side, head tilted to look at yourself from every angle. You look good, the color compliments your features, accentuates your curves just enough, you didn’t know if the heavy feeling in your gut was anxiety or if you didn’t feel confident or what. It’s been a long while since you’ve been on a date. You sigh, “I just feel like it’s too much.”

Wooyoung comes up behind you, one of his veiny hands on your waist, his cologne in your nose. Woody, notes of creamy sandalwood, spicy, you ease into his touch as he swings a pair of pumps around your front for you to look at through the mirror. You missed when he grabbed them from your closet. “You’ll feel better with these on,” his voice is low in your ear, velvety even if it wasn't intentional, “Your legs will look longer. He’ll wanna eat you from across the table instead of his food.”

You nod, swallowing, ridding your thoughts of all things incriminating about your roommate and best friend. He moves to crouch down on one knee in front of you, your heels on the floor beside him. San, on his stomach now, is beaming while he watches Wooyoung give you princess treatment as if your heart wasn’t reaching tachycardic level, “It’s like you’re Cinderella. Shinderella.”

Your brows scrunch as a punched laugh rushes from your chest, one palm holding the hat on Wooyoung’s head for leverage as you slip your foot into the deep maroon heel he’s holding out for you. “That was an awful joke, Sannie.”

“I liked it,” Wooyoung smiles up at you, sincerity in his eyes, all warmth and love as he grabs the other shoe, “You deserve to be treated like a princess, so if he doesn’t hold the door open for you, pull the chair out for you, if he doesn’t pay the bill, you come home straight to us.”

He stands up on two feet to lean forward, pressing a kiss to your freshly done hair, hands squeezing your shoulders, “Why does this lowkey feel like a big deal?” He turns around to look at San while your face flushes aggressively, “I feel like we’re giving her away.”

San snorts a laugh, tucking a muscled arm under his head to lay his cheek on, “She knows she’s ours at the end of the day.”

You roll your eyes, hands on your hips again as you turn to San, disagreement in your body language but in your heart you know it’s fucking true. Ever since you were little, you’ve looked up to San in a way, always taller than you, stronger than you, older than you. Even if it’s only by a year, you’ve always seen him as someone wiser, someone you could count on no matter what, if you needed him, he’d be there. Because of that you’ve always stuck by his side, never treading farther than arm’s reach, because as much as you were San’s, he was also yours. 

And he knew it in his bones, too. 

“It’s one date,” your voice is full of reassurance as you walk to your closet, pulling out your collection of bags, totes, purses, already having one in mind. Finally finding the tiny black Coach purse as you realize what you’d just said, you whip around to look at his dimpled-cheeks deep in the pocket of his elbow, purse tucked under your arm, “Why was I just about to convince you why I should go? This is getting very backwards.”

“Because you love us so much, you don’t want us to sit here all night, all sad because some six foot sexy man is taking you away from us,” Wooyoung’s voice is full of humor as he sits back on your bed, one leg tucked under him, one hand rubbing San’s exposed ankle. He sits up a little straighter, “You should still go, though. We won’t be that sad.”

With your features blown into offense, you scoff, “I’d expect you two to be crying, nervous wrecks while I’m gone. You’re telling me you’ll be fine and dandy while I’m off getting pounded by that same six foot sexy man?”

“Pounded?” Wooyoung and San answer at the same time, their eyes wide, eyebrows in their hairlines. San even picked his head up from the pocket of his elbow. 

You laugh loudly as you put your everyday purse on Wooyoung’s lap, transferring all your necessities into the tiny handbag. San sits up, crawling behind Wooyoung with his legs straddling the younger man’s back, “You’re really gonna fuck him?!”

“Do we need to have the talk?” Wooyoung blinks at you, face completely shocked, leaning back into San’s arms that wrapped around his front, “When was the last time you even had sex?”

“I’m twenty-eight years old, first of all.” You hold up two hands in front of you, palms flat, facing both men. “Second of all, I don’t know! Who knows? If the date goes super awesome-ly then I might end up in his bed, yeah.” You point a finger at Wooyoung, eyes narrowing, “Third of all, screw you. Two years, shut up.”

Wooyoung raises his arms in defense, lips tucked between his teeth to stop himself from giggling. San still looks surprised, cheeks pink, jaw slack and eyes wide, “I– I don’t know why I’m so shocked that you admitted that so easily.”

“You’re acting like I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you close the clasp on your purse, “I may have not fucked in two years but I’ve fucked plenty.” Looking at Wooyoung again, you ask, “Can I wear your Chrome Hearts jacket? The leather one?”

Wooyoung nods with his face scrunched like it was no biggie before asking, “So are we expecting you home tonight or what?”

“Why are you being so adamant about this?” Your eyes bounce between them, lingering on San’s cheeks that deepen by the minute, “I don’t know yet, jeez. What time is it?”

San scrambles for his phone, “He’ll be here in ten.”

As if Yunho himself was in your bedroom with the three of you, the doorbell rang. Your eyes widen, “Shit, he’s early.”

“We’ll distract him,” Wooyoung grabs your waist to move you to the side as he stands, rushing out of your room to greet Yunho at the door. Sweetie jumps off the bed next, following him, probably thinking something exciting was happening, and San mimics the two as the third musketeer.

Your finishing touches, extra deodorant, more perfume for good luck, a little lip gloss, a few fluffs to your hair. You caught yourself in the mirror again before leaving, doing another three-sixty, viewing yourself from every angle possible without twisting into a pretzel. Scrunching your lips, you stare at your own face, something still didn’t feel right. You hated when your gut was telling you something, but didn’t say what it was.

The three are in the kitchen, four if you count Sweetie, mid-conversation as your heels announce your presence before you breathe a word. Meeting San’s eye and then Wooyoung’s, both stared at you in awe, affection sparkling in their dark eyes, like they’d never seen you so dressed up before. Sweetie is at Yunho’s feet, the six foot man crouched into a hunched-over ball, hands scratching the dog’s ears until he sees you. 

“Wow,” he stands, black slacks on his long legs, a cream-colored button up on his upper half, brown jacket thrown over his arm. Black hair styled and off his forehead, he looked clean, crisp, handsome. “You look beautiful.” 

Your face heats up, beaming as you say, “Thanks, you look handsome, too.”

Wooyoung giggles like a child, you snap your head to sneer at him, catching San who’s still staring at you fondly. They’re like your parents, chaperoning your first date like you’re a teenager. 

Wooyoung skirts around the kitchen island, “Your jacket, milady.”

Rolling your eyes, you smile apologetically at Yunho who looks amused as Wooyoung drapes the leather jacket over your shoulders. Yunho’s eye drops to the emblems on the sleeves as you slip your arms inside, the obvious Chrome Hearts crosses, the jacket Wooyoung paid an arm and a leg for. His eyes flicker before rising back to your gaze, face unreadable for a moment before he slaps the bright smile back on his cheeks. 

“Ready?” He asks after you pull your hair out from beneath the collar. 

Nodding, you murmur, “Yeah, ‘m ready.”

San and Wooyoung stay tucked into each other, watching like proud mothers as you wave your goodbye, wiggling your eyebrows. You blow a final kiss to Sweetie before you’re out the door, in the open air of an unforgiving February night, Yunho’s car parked directly next to yours. He opens the door for you, closes it behind you, and he’s in the driver’s seat in a flash. 

“How are you?” He asks as he clasps his seatbelt and immediately you’re filled with the ick of inevitable awkwardness. You hated small talk, you hated this feeling, of a new relationship budding, of not automatically being at the oversharing-because-I-can stage. 

But you respond politely, with a smile on your face that he couldn’t see through, all the way to the fucking restaurant. A nice place, moody lighting, an obvious date night spot. Your table is off to the side, against the beige-colored wall, more private than the center of the restaurant, thankfully. The air between you is a little more congenial by the time you’ve had a quarter of your fruity cocktail and there’s food placed at the center of the white tablecloth.

“I love my kids,” you shake your head, swallowing down a bite of the appetizer he ordered, “they’re all great kids, it’s the parents that make me want to rip my hair out.”

Yunho laughs, an easygoing thing, and you smile when it reaches your ears. “They’re all bad?”

“Not all of them,” you respond, words practiced, almost scripted, at the point in date talk where you were discussing what you do for a living. Next comes future talk, if this went anything like the dates you’ve been on in the past did. “Just the ones that nitpick everything I do, like they have any idea what they’re talking about.”

Yunho nods, “It’s like that at my job, too. But not with parents, with clients, the ones who talk about artwork like it means something to them. I know they just think it looks cool and they want it on their wall, but that’s enough, I mean, leave it at that. I understand not everyone is a connoisseur.”

Your grin widens, a giggle falling past your lips as you bring your glass up to catch it. You have to give it to him, he’s funny, but not as funny as Wooyoung. He doesn’t look at you the way San looks at you, either. 

By the time you’re halfway through your entree you know you aren’t going home with him. You could possibly see him again, depending on how the second half of your entree goes, but the need to see him naked on top of you isn’t quite there. A sweet guy, heart of gold, you know he’s a genuine friend, you’ve had plenty of conversations with him before at your apartment during gatherings to know enough about his nature. But romantically, sexually, there isn’t a spark in your veins, a sizzling to your blood, a dampening in your panties that makes you want more. 

He’s a great guy– but he’s not for you. 

“Can I ask you something?” Now a singular piece of chocolate cake between you accompanied by two silver forks, you nod as you dig the prongs into the triangular edge. 

“Your jacket,” he raises his perfectly trimmed brows to the leather that hangs off the back of your chair, “it’s Wooyoung’s?” 

“Definitely,” you nod furiously, without missing a beat, “you know him and Chrome Hearts are in a very serious, very committed relationship.” The smile Yunho gives you in response doesn’t completely reach his eyes. You pop a brow, “Why?” 

His fork dances around the plate, “I don’t know.” Setting it down softly, he leans back in the upholstered chair, “wearing his jacket on a first date, when he’s the one who set us up. I don’t know.” 

Your head tilts, heat flooding you, the nervous kind. Confusion bites at the corners of your eyes as you blink at him, “What do you mean?” 

“Can I be frank?” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re Yunho, but sure.” 

Amusement huffs from his nose, but he doesn’t exactly smile. “Is there anything going on between you?” 

You pause, mid-bite, cake millimeters from touching your tongue. Body going hot, your arm lowers slowly, “Between who?”

“Between you and Wooyoung. You and San. Both of them, I don’t know.” 

Your brows shoot upward, jaw dropping, “What the fuck?” Looking around, noticing the eyes on you, you cover your mouth with your hand. You didn’t realize the volume you cursed at— you mumble an I’m sorry sheepishly to the room around you. 

“I’m serious,” Yunho leans forward again, and his eyes are so genuine it throws you for a loop. You knew your friendship with the pair was closer than the typical, a little strange at times, with the flirting and the touching and the looks. You knew how you felt about your roommates, your best friends, how there’s a certain depth in the way they treat you, love and respect too raw to be faked, how it always makes your stomach pang with gratitude too deep to express. 

“No, Yunho.” You shake your head, fork landing on the small, ceramic plate. The words are short, not necessarily offended, but it’s clear the question didn’t sit well. Your relationship with the two men, both a third of your being, is completely platonic. 

Did it really seem like it wasn’t?

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezed tight, regret oozing off of him. “I don’t know why I asked you that, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you try to laugh to ease the tension, but it comes off demeaning. Yunho stiffens, hands coming up to dig the pads of his fingers into his eyes. “I’m serious, it’s fine. I know we’re a little closer than your average roommates, but we don’t fuck.” 

You could feel eyes in the room on you again, this time you ignore them. Yunho’s hands leave his face, eyes cracking open, words escaping from his lips too quickly to have been thought about first, “You never have? Not even with Sannie?” 

“Not even with Sannie, no. I haven’t seen him naked since we were seven, we’ve never once kissed, nothing.” 

Lies. Lies, lies, lies. You don’t know why they spill from your lips like a waterfall, like you had to defend yourself. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself more than Yunho. 

His brow pops like he asked the question just to receive your deception, “That’s not true.” 

Taking you by complete surprise, your heart plummets, sputtering, “O-okay, well—”

How did he know? He shouldn’t know about your times in college, Sannie throwing you around the mattress with a boy from your English class. Or the handful of times with the girl from your contemporary dance class. Or the times you’ve been each other’s New Year's Kiss, or the times you’ve messily made out in the corner of a frat house after he finished a keg-stand. It was all platonic, anyhow, so whittled down to ancient history it wasn’t even worth bringing up. 

“Why lie if you aren’t doing it still?” 

Your eyes widen. You don’t know why you lied. You weren’t expecting him to catch you in it. Your ears are on fire. 

“I’m not lying!” It comes out louder than intended, too defensive, too full of quickly found, nervous anger. If you were honest with yourself, you thought about ancient history often, you thought about what it would have been like with Wooyoung involved too, yours and San’s missing link. A line you haven’t crossed. You and San haven’t touched each other since you were twenty-one. 

But you still think about it. More than you should. 

You empty a much needed breath, one heavy and long. You ignore the stares of the people around you. You try not to let Yunho’s gaze be patronizing. You try not to feel the embarrassment radiating off of him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, head dropping down until your chin is tucked. “I don’t know where that came from.” 

“I do,” Yunho says quietly, almost shakily, like he’s scared of saying the words that follow. “You and them… you want it, don’t you?” 

“We’re just friends,” you nearly whisper, an unexplainable tightness in your chest. “Roommates,” you add, and it sounds like an insult. 

He lays an open palm on the table, and you pick your head up to meet his soft smile, eyes full of sadness, pity. You take his hand anyway. 

“You should really tell them how you feel so this doesn’t happen again.” 

How you feel? How you feel? 

You don’t even know how you feel. You have memories that linger, a soft spot for the two men you spend all your time with that was the size of a crater. You have touches, eyes, words you weren’t sure should mean more than they do. You have emotions, you have a fantasy you keep buried, you have a secret that would shatter you if it ever saw the light of day.

That line hung over your head the entire drive home. Yunho paid the bill, much to your dismay, you definitely didn’t give him the best date of his life, but your argument was cut short by the reminder that you had bigger fish to fry. You needed the brain power for the thoughts that’d keep you awake tonight, while your roommates were fast asleep in their rooms, unaware that you were pondering about the possibility of them ever being more. 

Yunho parked beside your car again. Turning towards you, keeping the car running, he said, “I won’t say anything about tonight.”

“Thanks,” you mutter in a breath, “I’m sorry again.” 

“Don’t be,” Yunho shakes his head, laying a hand on your thigh to squeeze it encouragingly, “I hope it works out for you.” 

Giving him a weak smile, you unbuckle your seatbelt and let yourself out of the car, the stupid fucking heels on your feet clacking against the pavement. “Drive safe,” you say before closing the door behind you, and Yunho nods with a warm smile. 

You face your apartment building with a pout. That could not have gone any fucking worse, and those two upstairs are going to do nothing but pester you for every single detail. Forcing a breath through your lips, you walk up the stone steps to your front door, bracing yourself for questions you can’t answer as you push it open. 

The apartment was quiet, lights dim, you slipped your heels off upon entering, dangling them from your fingers. Sweetie didn’t greet you, very unlike him, but maybe he was asleep at this hour— with the frenzy in your mind you didn't realize it wasn’t late at all. You took the corner around your foyer to reach the living room, and the sight before you had a shriek ripping from your chest, eyes blowing wide, heart positively dropping into your ass. 

On your living room couch, brown leather, wrinkled and weathered from years of use, was Wooyoung, shirtless, lip locked with a shirtless San beneath him. Bronzy, sculpted chests pressed together, veiny hands in dark hair, spit-stained lips messily tangled, Wooyoung’s toned hips were rutting against San’s before your shriek bursted their bubble. 

They broke apart like teenagers getting caught, Wooyoung so surprised he launched off of San’s lap and onto the fucking floor. “Shy!” San yelped, as shocked as you are, gaze panic-stricken as it bounced between you and Wooyoung, he stood up instinctively. 

Your insides felt like weeds. Tangled up, knotted together beyond belief, the air in your lungs was gone, there wasn’t enough oxygen in the closing room to fill them. You stared as Wooyoung blew his hair off his face, leaning back on his elbows on the floor, legs bent up and spread, denim unzipped, sporting a tent in the pocket of his undone fly. 

San was no better. Undeniably hard, droplets of wetness on his low hanging gray sweats, skin red and splotchy, glowing with a sheer sheen of sweat. His hair was fucked up, as was Wooyoung’s, sticking out in every direction, curled where fingers had been rooted. 

Wooyoung’s lips curled in a lazy grin, “You’re home early.” 

Your hands are shaking. You think if you take one step, your knees will buckle. This feels like betrayal. Your skin is fire-hot, body buzzing with confusion, shock, rage, hurt— you were out on a date they set up for you, while they were at home fucking?! Did they just want you out of the apartment for the night? How long have they been hooking up?

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, you can feel every ounce of blood thrashing beneath your skin like your heart was the eye of a hurricane. 

Your vision blurs, words coming out short, “I-I don’t—” shaking your head, you move in the direction of your bedroom. Sweetie’s at your side, you don’t know where he even came from, you don’t have the heart to greet him. Under your breath you mutter, “I’m going to bed.” 

“Shy,” San calls after you, his voice strained. A little louder, a little harsher, he tries again, “Shy!”

You close your bedroom door and flatten your back against it, breath leaving you in tremors, palms shaky against the wood behind you. Sweetie is at your feet, dancing on his paws, whimpering for some form of attention from you, sensing all the emotion in your chest. 

You sink down until your ass meets the floor, eyes focused on nothing, hands mindlessly reaching for Sweetie as your brain replays everything you just saw. Wooyoung’s back arching his chest into San’s, San’s tongue slipping between Wooyoung’s lips, one hand on Wooyoung’s thigh while the other tugged at his hair. Wooyoung’s hips rolling against him, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, a shakiness to his lean body that could only be perceived as need. This was not the first time they’ve done that. 

Your chin tilts upward as Sweetie licks your cheeks, you didn’t realize silent tears poured down them, dripping from your jaw. You couldn’t deny it now— everything Yunho insinuated, everything he said, how witnessing those two together made you feel. You wanted them. You wanted to be in the middle. You wanted their lips and hands on you just as much as you wanted to watch them touch each other. 

Fuck. 

You can’t pretend like your feelings don’t exist anymore. Half the reason you didn’t want to go tonight was because you wished they were taking you out, instead. You wished they begged you to stay home, with them, watching movies curled up on the couch, just to end up how they did without you. Without you. There wasn’t any room for you, they had a relationship on their own. They left you out of it. They set you up with someone else so they could have each other. 

It hurts like a knife to your gut. 

You can hear them whispering through the walls. You can’t make out a word, but they sound like they’re arguing, or debating. Then it’s quiet. 

Sweetie whimpers again. You pouted at him, his precious face seemed like it was pouting back at you. “It’s okay,” you reassure the puppy, hands cupping his face, scratching behind his ears, “I’m okay, I promise.” 

Wiping your tears, heaving a breath, you push yourself up, leaving your heels thrown beside the door where you dropped them. You tug the leather off your shoulders, hanging it in your closet— you didn’t have the heart to give it back to him right now, but it was too expensive to throw haphazardly on your gaming chair. 

After pulling out pajamas, you reached for your zipper, but you couldn’t reach it to get it down. You tried again, folding your arms behind you, fingers touching, zipper out of reach. You curse under your breath, shoulders strained, it hurt, your breathing picks up again in frustration. 

Sweetie jumps on your bed, watching you. It seemed he felt pity for you, too, sitting on his back legs, head tilted as watches how pathetic you looked— the tears bubbled up again. 

San knocks on your door twice. You know it’s him because the knocks are soft, gentle, Wooyoung would have just barged inside after a slew of obnoxious knocks of his knuckles. You didn’t want to see either of them right now. 

“Let me get your zipper.” 

Your arms unfold from your back, hands planting against the mattress beside Sweetie, head dropping as a defeated sob silently rips from your throat. The black lab’s nose nuzzles in your hair as you force the tears back in, back down, away. 

San opens the door without waiting for your response. You can’t see him eye the pair of heels on your floor, picking them up, placing them in front of your wide closet, you keep your eyes on the white comforter, laser focused on keeping your emotion locked up. On silent feet he comes up behind you, moving your hair out of the way, deft fingers slowly pulling your zipper down your back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is as soft as his movements, tender, like if he spoke the wrong word you’d crumble in his hands. You shake your head, sniffing. His sigh is light, apologetic, “We didn’t think you’d be home so early.” 

“It’s okay, I’m fine. The date just didn’t go as planned,” your voice is nasally from how much snot had formed in your sinuses. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, standing up, turning to look at him. Still shirtless, skin still red and splotchy, the only difference now was that his face was filled with concern instead of shock. “I’m sorry I broke up your date night.” 

He shakes his head fervently, “You didn’t break up anything, Shygirl, what happened on your date? You didn’t like Yunho? Are you okay? Did he do anything—”

A sharp chuckle tumbles past your lips, you look off to the side, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna talk about it, I just wanna go to sleep.” 

You can feel the cool air of your bedroom on your bare back. You feel exposed, despite being naked in front of him so many times in your life, despite standing before him in a bra and underwear just hours earlier. You cross your arms over your chest. “Go back to Wooyoung.” 

His lips tighten, but he nods, eyes searching your face for something he can’t find. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” 

You nod, looking up at him just as another hot tear slips down your cheek. He raises a hand to cup your cheek, to wipe your tear away with his thumb, but you pull away. His eyes widen ever so slightly, you’ve never once pulled away from his touch. He doesn’t press it, instead he turns on his heel, leaving your room, closing the door behind him gently, knowing space was what you needed, even if he wished you needed him. 

You felt better in comfy clothes, curled up in your bed, Sweetie snoring softly beside you, his head basically on your pillow. You tried to focus on that, how his shiny black coat rose and fell with each breath, how he stayed by your side because he knew you needed comfort. Your brain was too muddled to pick apart each and every emotion you were feeling, there were too many, too blended together. 

But you definitely tried, for each hour you were supposed to be asleep. 

The studio is quiet.

Rehearsal finished for the night, all of your kids home by now, probably doing last-minute homework or showering before school tomorrow, you don’t know what you’re still doing here. The floors are mopped, the mirrors wiped down, the speaker is off and plugged in, your laptop and charger tucked away in your tote. Sitting on the floor of your studio, criss-cross-applesauce, you leaned back on your palms, chin tipped up to the ceiling. 

It’s been a week since you found out your two best friends, your roommates, the two people you now know you’re in love with, are in a relationship. You truly have no idea how you got away from their barrage of questions unscathed, the two men want to know every detail of your life on a regular Tuesday, let alone when you come home crying after a date. You put your deceptive shoes on, straightened your back, and blamed every single one of your tears on how sad you were about it not working out with Yunho. 

Truth was, you haven’t spared the date with Yunho a single thought since you came home to see them making out on the couch. Since then, it’s been a constant fight convincing yourself everything was fine. In reality, everything was fine, you’re healthy, you’re stable, you have a puppy at home that still pees a little out of excitement when you walk through the front door. 

You just couldn’t have what you wanted most, and you’re not a child anymore. Wooyoung and San seem so happy together, attached at the hip, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips randomly, giggling at something the other said, so lovesick and ignorant to how shitty it all made you feel, you couldn’t be mad. You tried your hardest not to be upset. 

As if you’ve been onstage for a week now, it’s felt like seven days of constant performance. Wearing the mask, playing the part of a perfectly-okay-girl, not letting them peer inside to see your heart shredded beneath your ribs. There was still a part of you that was disappointed they couldn’t see through the charade, they knew you better than anyone else, too occupied with one another to make an effort in seeing the truth. 

“What are you still doing here?”

You picked your head up, wide-eyed as you glanced at Wooyoung in the doorway, holding a silver ring of multi-colored keys around his pointer finger. Gray sweats, hoodie on top, a black puffer layered over it, sneakers on his feet half-tied. His hair laid messy over his cheekbones, forced down flat beneath the deep red hood, the color compliments him. You think every color in his closet compliments him. 

“Hello? Shygirl?” He’s smiling now, taking a few steps inside the studio, eyes raking over your frozen form. He pushes the ring of keys inside the pocket of his puffer as he gets closer, bending down at the knees, the backs of his thighs tucked to his calves. 

“Just thinkin’,” you smile weakly, head rolling to the side, cheek landing on your shoulder. He’s so pretty, barefaced, skin clear and soft and beautiful. Shadowed beneath his hood he looks even more breathtaking, the hollows of his cheeks prominent, the freckle under his eye appearing darker. 

With a heavy breath he leans backward, landing on his ass, arms stretched out behind him, mimicking the same way you sat. His legs longer than yours, they straighten out in front of him, feet tangled between where yours sat strategically. Always close, never close enough. 

“About what?” He tilts his head. “Competition?”

Yeah, that sounds good enough. You nod and he begins his encouraging monologue all over again, softness in his tone, a determined edge of confidence, you’ve heard it all before. You didn’t care to listen to the details. 

“Okay, be serious, what’s up?” He reigns in his knees, wrapping his arms around them, leaning forward, brows furrowed. “You’ve been off all week, Shy. I know it’s not dance-related.”

You give him a weak, disappointed smile, shaking your head. The worst, shittiest excuse comes to mind, but you’d rather use any excuse than tell him why shrapnel floated through your blood, pieces of your heart that shattered beyond repair a week ago. “I’m just getting my period, I’m in my head, that’s all.”

He pouts, “You swear?”

You nod, eyes heavy, “I swear.”

It doesn’t even feel bad to lie. Maybe you’re tired of wearing the mask. Tired of feeling.

“Wanna dance with me?”

Your eyes flicker up to him, a question in your lifted brow. “Dance?”

His grin has turned mischievous, lopsided eyes thinning with the giddiness on his cheeks, he plants his palms on the floor to push himself up, throwing his puffer to the side as he walks to the speaker in the corner of the room. Turning it on, static catching as he plugged in his phone, he looked over his shoulder to ask, “What song?”

“Woo,” you shake your head, “I don’t want to–”

“Come on,” he looks back at his phone screen, you can only assume he’s scrolling through his liked songs on Spotify, “your endorphins are in jail right now, they need to be released.”

Your lips tighten, he leaves no room to argue. He never does. 

Ain't another woman that can take your spot, my…

He turns with the same feline grin as bass pounds through the room. He turned the volume up on the speaker, the building empty, no one lingering around to hear it. 

Your brows raise, a smile begging to curve your lips, “Justin Timberlake? Really?”

“Get up!” He yells, chest pumping to each beat, limbs fluid as his feet glide in your direction, “It’s just you and me, Shy-Shy. Come on.”

You push yourself up off the marley flooring reluctantly, and then you hear his voice. 

“If I wrote you a symphony, just to say how much you mean to me,” he grabs your hands as soon as you get your footing, a scowl on your face as he pulls you towards him, “If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular?”

You can’t fight the smile that creeps over your cheeks this time, letting him guide you to the center of the room, still fighting your instinct that begs your body to move to the beat of the song. Bodies facing the mirror that stretches from one wall to the other, he glides behind you, his right hand still over yours, freeing your left.

“I can see us holdin' hands, walkin' on the beach, our toes in the sand. I can see us on the country side, sittin' on the grass, layin' side by side,” still holding your hand, you sing with him as he guides you, his left hand on your hip. “You can be my baby, let me make you my lady, girl, you amaze me. Ain't gotta do nothin' crazy, see, all I want you to do is be my love.”

You’re giggling at first, moving with him, singing loudly in the studio, until he spins you around, two hands on your hips, holding you close. 

Ain't another woman that could take your spot, my love…

Your smile falters, lips parting as you stare up at him, breath stolen from your chest. His hoodie had fallen, leaving his hair visibly messy over his face, a smile so true, chocolate eyes holding half of your heart, you remember who he is. Jung Wooyoung, roommate, best friend, coworker, he’s so many things to you, but not yours. 

Is this some kind of sick joke?

Like he can read your thoughts, like he’s trying to make you forget, he twists you back around. Two hands on your hips, knees bent and legs spread, you follow suit, watching each other in the mirror. Your outfits look planned, your sweats baggy and low, hoodie tucked up, hair that was once in a bun now halfway spilling down your cheeks, you let your body flow. Allowing your mind to go blank, you let yourself feel the music, your hips sway with his, your movements clean, you dance together like you choreographed it. 

“There you go,” he’s grinning again, nodding, encouraging, “my love, my love, my love.”

Four minutes and thirty-six seconds feels like a lifetime, yet no time at all. You and Wooyoung, your bluetoothed brains, and Justin Timberlake in the studio nearing eleven at night, you ended the song out of breath, staring at each other from feet away, as if you’re twenty-five all over again when San had just opened the studio. Brain cleared, endorphins released, you did feel lighter– not better, but lighter, like Wooyoung reached into your mind and took the edge off himself. 

“Feel better?” He’s smiling, chest heaving, hands on his hips, one knee bent with the other holding his weight. 

You nod, tugging on your ponytail to free your hair, just to pull it up all over again. Walking toward him, you’re still out of breath, “We should have recorded that.”

“We can do it again,” he offers, “although I don’t think we’ll ever reach that level of synchronicity without choreography again.”

You laugh, a lighthearted thing, “No, I think that was the extent of our bluetooth abilities.”

He takes a step forward, throwing his arms out to wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I missed dancing with you.”

He smells like home, woodsy, spicy, sweaty– you can’t help the way you drink him in, letting the smell of him calm something primal, something integral in your soul. 

Wooyoung is convinced you’re the only person in the world that can steal the breath from his lungs just by looking at him. Your arms wrapped around his torso, chin tucked into his chest, looking up at him with those big eyes he could get lost in, his breath catching in his throat is a verbal sound. He can feel the heat in the base of his spine, he settles into your touch as it spreads through him like wildfire, his heart picking up speed, pounding harder against his chest.

Holding you like this, wanting you like this, like he has since the day he first saw you– around a fire, in the backyard of a house party at Seonghwa’s place, sat next to San with a cute, shy little smile on your cheeks. He thought you were San’s girlfriend, he assumed it from the way you looked at each other, spoke to each other. Stars in your eyes, a soft, comforting tenderness in your voice that turned your words into song, Wooyoung thought he’d lost before he even entered the game.

But then he watched San leave your side for the pretty brunette from his dance class, the guy Wooyoung kept his eye on, taller than San, muscular, beautiful. Mere minutes went by before San kissed him, and even if San was shorter, smaller, Wooyoung watched as he dominated the kiss, hands in his hair, making the taller man cower for him. Obey him, even just in a kiss. 

Then you stood, sauntering over in your ripped denim that hugged your ass perfectly, one hand on San’s shoulder had him pulling away fully, dimples out in a smile, face flushed with a hazy, lustful stare. You talked, talked, and talked before San was grabbing you by the hand, the man following behind you both as you left. The three of you, together, you left together.

Wooyoung was left confused– aroused, curious, hopeful, but still so fucking confused. He asked around, Yeosang told him the nature of your relationship, that San’s known you forever, that you do that sometimes. Casually. You weren’t dating– but you fucked. Other people. Together. 

Wooyoung wanted to be next. 

He wanted you. He wanted San. He wanted both of you. Carnally. 

But that day never came. He formed a friendship with you easily, with San easily, the three of you becoming a trio that did everything together, but your hobby, your past-time after a party, never included him. In fact, it stopped altogether when Wooyoung became involved.

It’s not like he didn’t try, he’s flirty by nature, it comes as easily to him as breathing, but eventually he accepted that your relationship, your friendship, had taken root in something platonic. It bloomed into the best thing that’s ever happened to him, two people that love him fully, unconditionally, but by the time he moved into your shared apartment, he had to pluck the petals off the basis of his interest– his arousal, his want, his need, tucked away in his back pocket like it was never there to begin with. 

It became easy, over time, until San kissed him for the first time, restarting all the work he’s done, placing him back at square one. Three in the morning in the kitchen of the apartment, the only light over the sink, dimmed and low, San took Wooyoung by his cheeks and made him feel like San wanted him the whole time, too. 

And he did, Wooyoung learned. And he still wanted you. So did Wooyoung. 

“I missed it, too,” you whisper, your face too close, he has to swallow down his instinct, every fiber of his being that tells him to fucking kiss you. Dancing with you, it’s something the two of you used to do often when San first opened the studio, when you weren’t as busy, as successful as you are now. 

Sometimes San was included, in the corner of the room, correcting your form with a smile on his dimpled cheeks, amusement on his tongue, sometimes he was dancing with you, too. Late into the night, sometimes a few seltzers added into the mix, those nights Wooyoung could have sworn there was an understanding between the three of you, that there was a layer of arousal, of want, those nights Wooyoung prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d repeat history with him. For him. The way you looked at him, the glint in your eye, even now, more often than not you looked at Wooyoung like you wanted him to pin you to the floor beneath you. 

For years that look has given him hope, that eventually something will happen, something will bloom between the three of you. It won’t just be him and San pining over you while they try to fill the gap with each other.

He hasn’t seen that look once since you caught him with San. You said you were fine, okay, that their relationship doesn’t bother you, that you’re happy for them– and there’s truth to it somewhere, Wooyoung assumes the truth is mixed into the lies, that you weren’t completely bullshitting him, the only reason they tried to set you up with Yunho is because they were convinced it’d never happen with you. They gave up. At least Yunho was a nice guy. 

His arms lift from your shoulders to push your hair away from your face, stray pieces that had fallen even if you’d just put it up, barefaced, maybe some mascara on your lashes, he’s stunned the way he always is. So beautiful it makes his stomach hurt, your skin soft in his palms, warm in such an inviting way, he doesn’t want to let go. His voice tumbles out small, “You’re so pretty, Shy.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. His eyes look so soft, a fond smile on his lips while his eyes glance at yours like he was going to kiss you, while he looks at you like he loves you, he does love you–  it’s different. It looks different. Chest turning tight, stomach doing a flip, your arms uncurl from around his waist, you break away from him quickly like he burned you, the loss of warmth hits hard even if you were the one who enforced it. “You shouldn’t do that,” your tone comes out harsher than you wanted it to, voice slightly broken, stressed. Panicked. 

Wooyoung’s brows furrow, “What? I- Shy.”

“It’s disrespectful,” you don’t know why you’re speaking, where this is coming from. Your throat is tight, heart pounding against your breastplate, you bring your hand up to lay where it’s bursting from your chest. “You can’t do things like that anymore, Woo,” you’re avoiding his eye, head shaking rapidly, voice panicked and wary beyond control, “not anymore.”

“I made her hate me because I couldn’t control myself.”

Wooyoung is pacing around San’s room, shirtless, his hair sticking out in every which way atop his head, oily after work, even more so from how many times he’s ran his hands through it. San, on his bed, also shirtless, briefs loose on his hips, wears furrowed brows and a solemn downcurve of his lips after hearing the story Wooyoung frantically woke him up to tell him. 

The younger man ripped his hoodie and his tee off his upper half upon entering the room, crawling onto San’s bed, shaking him awake. Eyes barely closed, he’d just fallen asleep, blinked awake upon the first shake of his shoulders, “Woo? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I think Shy hates me,” his face was red even in San’s dark room, brows furrowed and voice panicked in a way he hadn't heard in a long time. 

San sits up halfway, turning over to face Wooyoung, “What? No she doesn’t, what happened?”

“We were at the studio, we danced, I called her pretty and she freaked out,” Wooyoung sits back, his breaths quick and uneven between his words, he toys with his fingers in his lap, eyes wide, blinking rapidly. “She called me disrespectful, Sannie, she said I can’t do that anymore, I don’t know what happened San, I–”

“Baby,” San reaches to put a hand on his cheek, taking note of how hot he felt, “calm down, breathe. Don’t say anything, breathe with me for a few and then we can talk, okay?”

Wooyoung’s first breath is shaky, panicked, like he couldn’t suck down air fast enough, couldn’t get it deep enough. San sits up fully, pressing a hand onto his diaphragm, keeping the other soft on his cheek, “Breathe, baby.”

A few counted breaths until he sounded even, one singular hot tear rolling down his cheek onto San’s palm, the older man leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. “No matter what, she doesn’t hate you, okay? Tell me what happened.”

Wooyoung takes another two breaths before speaking, telling him the story from the start. How you looked at him like you were offended, like he’d just done the worst thing in the world, how you didn’t speak to him the entire subway ride home. How when you walked inside the apartment you barely greeted Sweetie, instead you silently gave him a treat from the counter before bringing him to your room, closing the door behind you. You didn’t even look at him, like he wasn’t beside you the whole time. 

Mid-story he’d jumped off the bed, began pacing back and forth on San’s carpeted bedroom floor, speaking a mile a minute, each word edged with panic like he’d done something despicable. 

“She hates me,” he finally stood in the middle of the room, voice cracking, “I made her hate me because I couldn’t control myself.”

“No, Woo,” San shakes his head, voice soft and comforting, “knowing her, she thinks our dynamic changed. To her, we’re off-limits now, we can’t act the way we always have, can’t flirt and touch and do all the things that make us, us.”

He starts pacing again, hands running through his hair, tugging at his roots. San can barely see more than his shadow in his dark room, but he doesn’t need to see to know what look is on Wooyoung’s face, how his brows tie together, how he tucks his lips together, face splotched red. 

“I don’t want that!” Wooyoung keeps his voice a low cry, “I don’t want us to change. This isn’t what I wanted to happen, I want her to want us, I want her.”

“Come here,” San keeps his voice calm, steady. Wooyoung walks over, standing between San’s legs, one of his hands still in his hair. San leans forward, plants his palms on Wooyoung’s hips, “She has no idea how we feel about her, Woo. She’s trying to be fair, to keep her distance so she doesn’t hurt either of us. You know how her head works, baby.”

“What if she doesn’t forgive me?” The way his voice breaks is like a shot through San’s heart. But San knows you better, he knows your mind, knows your soul, he’s known you since you gained consciousness, he’s watched them form, learned you as you grew.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, baby,” San whispers, tugging the younger man towards him, forcing his knees onto the bed, to bracket around his hips. He brings a hand up, petting his hair, sliding down to cup Wooyoung’s cheek, bringing him closer, “Everything is okay.”

Wooyoung presses his lips into San’s, hands landing on his broad shoulders, his body melting into San’s touch, finding comfort in his hard, broad body, his own sinking into him. Wooyoung’s hands travel to find his neck, his cheeks, deepening the kiss, his tongue poking out to slide into San’s mouth, still light, steady. 

Until San’s length twitches under Wooyoung, making the younger man smile into his mouth, “Yeah? Hard already?”

“Don’t tease me,” San is breathless, their lips still touching, “I’m supposed to be making you feel better.”

“Ah,” Wooyoung’s tone is still teasing, his grin spreading into a smirk, “I know how you can make me feel better.”

San snorts, head tipping back until he falls back onto the bed, letting Wooyoung crawl on top of him, his head tilting as Wooyoung leans his head down, pressing a kiss to one of San’s pecs, soft hands roaming his torso. Body shivering, San keeps his voice light, “Did you freak out just to fuck me? A ploy, huh?”

San can make the outline of Wooyoung’s scowl as he stares up at him, making San chuckle, Wooyoung bites down on his skin and he hisses. “I was stressed,” Wooyoung’s voice is sharp, “I still am stressed, but now I’m kinda horny and it’s your fault.”

San laughs again, hands coming up to tangle in Wooyoung’s hair, pulling him upward, “I’m sorry baby, I'll fix it for you, yeah?”

Thirty minutes rolling around in the sheets, keeping their voices quiet, their movements slow but not any less tantalizing, Wooyoung is filled, sated, skin sticky against San’s as he lays on the older man’s chest, dozing off to the sound of his heartbeat. 

Despite being woken up by Wooyoung, it’s harder for San to find sleep now, mind muddled with thoughts about you. Analyzing Wooyoung’s story, the details, how you looked at him– he wondered if there was a small chance you felt the same way towards them. 

While you were still in college, you and San had moments where lines blurred, he can still remember the nights where you brought someone home just to barely touch them. So wrapped up in each other, lost in pleasure, you almost forgot there was a third person there to play with. It didn’t just happen once, not even twice, it happened enough times to where you had to stop after the third person left angry and unsatisfied, an unsettling feeling floating around the room that neither of you had the balls to address. 

Always light, always casual, you explored pleasure together, different positions, different kinks, different dynamics for so long– he blamed those days on you two being young, horny, rabid animals, looking for a good fuck, a new skill to add to your arsenal. It was around the time you two met Wooyoung, San thinks, when that night happened, the last time you touched each other sexually. Still to this day, unspoken, swept beneath the rug. 

San sometimes wonders if the lines blurred sooner, he’s loved you since you were young, in high school even, it’s petrified him since he was a teenager to tell you how he feels. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if he told you, and your friendship ended? He couldn’t bear a life without you, he doesn’t know a life without you. 

Maybe he figured one day his feelings would dissipate into thin air, that he didn’t need you to love him back, that as long as he never told you, you’d still be friends. But then you fucked. And then you fucked again. And you kept fucking until San realized he’d never be satisfied with anyone else, that he needed you, he needed you to love him back, he needed to treat you how you deserved. 

 When you stared at him with wide eyes, crawled off the bed with shaky legs, retreating back to your room without a word, San almost laughed at himself. At his feelings. Because why would you ever love him back? He's watched you grow up, each phase, your best and your worst, that’s friend zone material, at least in his younger, twenty-something year old mind. 

But you never grew apart. And after the fucking stopped, the makeouts, the lazy hookups, the people you both thought were sexy and sought out together, it seemed to have added yet another layer of strength to your relationship. Vulnerability. A closeness you should never, ever have with a friend as close as you two are, it never ends well. 

Years later, still in the same boat. He still loves you the same. He still wants you the same. Somehow he got comfortable without the intimacy— or without the sexual aspect, he should say, because your relationship was full of intimacy. It never really bothered him, he never really yearned for more, until it was three in the morning and he had his fist wrapped around his cock with only you in his mind. 

Then he had Wooyoung, the sole person he’s entrusted with his feelings, sputtering words between Wooyoung’s tongue pushing between his lips, so obviously confessing feelings that he’s kept trapped inside for over a decade, just to find out Wooyoung feels the same way. That he’s also wanted you since he laid eyes on you. 

It was confusing, the lack of possession, of jealousy in his gut. He already knew he wanted Wooyoung, living with the younger man only made him love him more, their friendship was already blurring lines the day they met. For awhile San thought maybe you felt it too, that maybe you saw how Wooyoung looked at you, maybe you realized San had never started treating you differently. That he loved you, that Wooyoung loved you, and it wasn’t all platonic. 

He wonders if you love them back. If there’s even a small, microscopic part of you that wants them, more than friendship, more than sex, even. Not that he’d decline you if you proposed sleeping together. For a week now, your spark’s been gone, the twinkle in your big, doe eyes you wear like an accessory was replaced with something dull, something sad. You blamed it on the date with Yunho— but was that really the truth? You barely told them any details, you kept it vague, you even blamed that on not wanting to think about it, talk about it. 

As he settles into the mattress beneath Wooyoung, one arm curled up to hold his head close to his chest, he wonders if you’re asleep in the other room, dreaming of more, too. 

“It’s fine,” you smile weakly at Wooyoung whose head is burrowing into your chest like he’d crawl inside and make a home there if you let him. “I’m sorry I gave you the silent treatment, I just freaked out a little.”

His voice is muffled by your hoodie, your chest that his head was buried in, “Don’t apologize, please don’t apologize to me, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“Woo,” you forced out a chuckle, flexing your body on the old, brown leather couch that he was forcing you deeper into, “look at me.”

He picks his head up, his pretty, bronzy, bare face is littered by splotches of cherry. You ruffle his hair, smelling your shampoo, a blend of grapefruit and vanilla, “I’m not mad, it’s fine. Let’s just be done with it, put it past us, okay?”

Wooyoung pouts, but he nods, then lays back on your chest all over again. You groan, shifting your body to get comfortable under his weight, wondering how the fuck they were hooking up on this thing when you have to fight for your life to get comfortable on it.

“Sannie,” you shout into the open, living room air, “come get your boyfriend off of me!” 

Wooyoung gasps, picking his head up to shout towards the hallway, “Don’t! I’m exactly where I want to be.” 

Your head tips back in a laugh, knees bent up on either side of his body that’s dead weight on top of you, arms caging you in against the couch. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

“You’re warm, let me stay,” he nuzzles his head into your hoodie further, his voice a sated mumble. 

You smack your teeth, eyeing the pink princess blanket between your bodies, “You’re laying on top of the blanket and you don’t have clothes on.” 

Shirtless, briefs on his legs, he snickers, guilty as charged. “You’re the only heat I need, baby.” 

“Woo.” 

“Too soon?” He picks his head up, brows lifted and eyes apologetic, “I’m sorry.” 

San comes out of the hallway, fresh out of the shower, droplets of water sinking down his temples, onto his bare shoulders, his chest from his still-soaked hair. It makes your breath stutter in your chest the way it always does, he’s so effortlessly perfect it makes you miss touching him, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers, sinking your nails into his strong, hard muscles. He smiles when he sees you, dimples prominent, he says nothing as he crosses the room with bare feet, nothing on his body but gray sweats on his legs. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warn, seeing the twinkle of mischief in his eye, how his grin turns from soft to playful. 

He ignores you by crawling onto the couch, shoving you into the back of it so he can take up the side, the couch just big enough to squeeze the three of you, only if San’s strength is on the outside to keep you boxed in.

You yelp as your body sinks into the couch, “San! I was comfortable.” 

“You’re only comfortable on the L part,” San quips, body nuzzling into yours, Wooyoung giggling from below you.  

“The chaise?” You snort, eyes flickering up to his that stare right back, “we’ve had two sectionals since we got this apartment, and you don’t know it’s called a chaise?” 

He giggles, “I don’t care what it’s called, I just know that you like it.” 

“And you only sit in the corner,” Wooyoung adds, his head sinking down to lay on your stomach. Your ankles cross over his back as his arms curl under yours, more comfortable now that you’re tangled, his arms taking pressure off your lower back. 

“Let’s stay like this forever,” San doesn’t give you time to answer, squeezing in closer, pushing you and Wooyoung further to the back of the couch. He smells like his bodywash, sweet and soft, you would stay forever if you could. 

Your voice comes out strangled under the pressure of his body, “We’re gonna have to, because soon I’ll be dead. You’re gonna kill me if you keep pushing me into the couch, Sannie.” 

“I just want to keep you here,” he pouts, squishing his face closer until his nose presses against your cheek, “if I let you go, you’ll run away.” 

His wet hair bleeds into the pillow, quickly spreading to where your head lays, it brushes against the side of your head the closer he gets, it’s cold. You squirm, “Your hair is freezing, Sannie, holy shit, there’s too much happening right now.” 

San whines, but he rolls off the couch, landing on one steady foot, standing up. You suck in a breath, but your pillow’s already soiled, you frown. He grins. 

“I’m going to the studio,” he says swiftly, “come with me, I have a few things to do before the day starts.”

You groan, lip lifting in protest, “I don’t have a rehearsal ‘til six.”

“Lucky,” Wooyoung mumbles, “Mine’s at four.”

“I know when yours is,” you mumble back, “I was gonna enjoy my alone time.”

“Freak,” San teases, a smile playing on his lips, amused at what he insinuated.

Wooyoung’s laugh is loud, piercing through the room, “That was a good one.”

Your brows raise, deadpanning, “And what if you’re right, hm? What then?”

They both turn to look at you, faces serious, both silently asking really?

It’s your turn to laugh, head tipping back into the pillow, and they both groan, San walking away, Wooyoung pushing off of you. It makes you laugh harder, talking through it, “Come on, that was a good one, you should have seen your faces.”

“Are you seriously not gonna come?” San, brows raised, asks from the entry to the hallway. “We can stop for food on the way, the three of us can hangout before everyone else shows up.”

You make a show of shaking your head back and forth, “I have shit to do here before work.”

Wooyoung smacks his teeth, “Like what? Laundry?”

You flatten your lips, “Have you seen the mountain of clothes in my room?”

San snorts, disappearing into the hallway, and Wooyoung finally climbs off the couch, “Fine, do your laundry, but I know you’ll miss us.”

“I’ll miss you so bad,” you’re wearing a smile now, watching him with lazy eyes as he follows behind San into the hallway, disappearing into the shadow of the walls. 

Your smile falters, settling, before a frown takes its place. Soon enough, probably sooner than you think, you’re sure you won’t be able to do this anymore– spend so much time with them, cuddle with them, live with them, eventually they’ll grow sick of you, they’ll only want each other. 

There’s already no room for you in their relationship, and with time, you’re sure the space they’ve carved out for you will dwindle to nothing. Looking across the room, you find Sweetie sunbathing beneath the window, his head politely tucked over his paws, the sun casting a shiny glow over his black coat, the sight makes you smile. You call him over and immediately he’s jumping onto the couch, laying on you where Wooyoung had just been, replacing the warmth he’d ripped away. 

“At least I have you,” you whisper, smiling, fingers scratching under his ears. 

“Yunho!” Wooyoung all but whispers, his loud voice carrying down the aisle, perking his tall friends’ ears. The older man whips his head around in confusion, smiling when he sees Wooyoung and San, giving them a small wave before walking down the aisle to greet them properly.

Stopping in a mid-sized corner store, the halfway point between the studio and home, San made good on his promise to pick up food on the way into work; Wooyoung was already giddy before seeing Yunho, this corner store was his favorite, it sold his favorite energy drink. 

“Whatsup?” Yunho’s grin is wide as he clasps the hand of both men, pulling them both into a hug, landing a smack on their backs. “You guys going to Steer on Friday? I heard it’s got a weird industrial, mechanical vibe to it, I don’t know. Joong seems pretty hype about it.”

San and Wooyoung both nod, but it’s San who answers, “Yeah, yeah, we wouldn’t miss it.”

“Sounds weird, though,” Wooyoung adds, “do you know if the drinks are cheap?”

“Three bucks a beer,” Yunho’s tongue pokes out from between his teeth, nodding, and the three men erupt into what can only be described as men-turned-pelicans finding an endless pit of fish to feed on. 

They’re all smiles and laughter until Yunho asks if you’re going, which sparks the two men’s memory, Wooyoung and San’s backs standing a little straighter, entering Shy-defense-mode.

“I…” San begins, then turns to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, already staring at him, blinks, then turns to Yunho, “Maybe?” He gives it a second, then blurts, “Can I just ask what happened between you two?” 

San’s lips tighten, head falling until his chin tucks into his chest. They shouldn’t have asked, Wooyoung shouldn’t have asked, but he can’t help his curiosity– he wants to know, too. They haven’t gotten anything besides vague answers from you. 

Yunho’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. It makes San curious, too curious for his own good, he adds, “We won’t say anything, she just won’t tell us anything, and we’re worried about her, y’know?”

Yunho’s chin tilts in defense, brows flattening, “I didn’t– it was just–”

“We’re not accusing you of anything bad,” Wooyoung waves his hands out in front of him, eyes wide, chucking nervously. “Shy said you were really great to her, it just didn’t work out, or something. She cried for like an entire day after and wouldn’t tell us any more details.”

San frowns with remembrance, how you shut yourself away and wouldn’t let them in, figuratively and literally. When Wooyoung’s hand falls to his side, San grabs it, giving him an encouraging squeeze, the two meeting eyes with small, fond smiles painted on their cheeks. Yunho’s eyes lock on the action, on their smiles, confusion morphing his features, everything scrunching together at once.

“What?” San asks, “Was everything okay? You’re both being so ominous about it.”

Yunho’s eyes flicker upward, meeting San’s, spouting, “Are you guys together?”

“Us?” San asks, surprised, eyes wide and brows high. 

San and Wooyoung share a look, then reluctantly, they nod. Wooyoung smiles, “Yeah, we’re together.”

“Like, just the two of you?” Yunho has a finger pointed, dancing between the two of them. 

San’s head turns in question, “Yes?”

Yunho’s jaw drops, nodding slowly, then with a pitched, disbelieving tone, he mumbles, “No shit.”

“I know,” San nods with a knowing smile, thinking he’s got all of Yunho’s thoughts figured out. “Long time coming, though.”

“It’s been like, a little over a week of us being together officially,” Wooyoung adds, his grin proud and wide, “but it’s been good so far. We’re happy.”

“Does she know?” Yunho asks, his face quickly settling back into confusion. 

Wooyoung’s lips purse, “Yeah, she knows. Why?”

Yunho nods slowly again like he’s thinking, then shakes his head quickly when Wooyoung’s question settles. “No reason, just wondering. Anyways, I’ve really gotta run, I’ve got this thing that I’m already late to and… art, and you know, yeah. Bye.”

“Wait, you didn’t–”

“Sorry guys, see you Friday though, yeah?” Yunho gives them a brief smile, then scurries down the aisle like Wooyoung and San were about to put the plague in his palms. 

Wooyoung and San stand there for a second, brows furrowed, heads tilted, before they look at each other utterly dumbfounded. Wooyoung points down the aisle, “Was that homophobic?” 

San, still confused, responds, “Perhaps.”

“Hm,” Wooyoung’s eyes thin, “could’ve sworn him and Mingi fucked before.”

“I thought so too,” San squeezes his hand again, “who cares? We can snitch on him Friday.”

Wooyoung’s grin returns, laughing loud enough for the whole bodega to hear, “Imagine Hongjoong’s face.”

“Hongjoong would beat the shit out of him with one hand, Naoya style.”

The more San thinks about it, the more he thinks Yunho might not actually be homophobic at all. 

“Don’t call me schizophrenic.”

Wooyoung snorts, “Are you about to say something that will make me think you’re schizophrenic?”

“Maybe,” San responds, lips scrunched. Sitting at the receptionist desk at the front of the studio, the final piece of San’s thought process clicked into place when you brushed past them into your studio for rehearsal. “I think Shy might love us back.”

Wooyoung, sitting fully on the desk beside San, wears a white tank on his upper half, exposing the tattoo on his forearm, black sweats on his lower, hiding each inch of bronzy, toned muscle. He’s housing a granola bar, his knees spread, back hunched, brows raised as he watches San think. 

“That interaction with Yunho was kinda weird,” San begins, leaning back into the rolling computer chair, hands lazily thrown at the center of his spread thighs. In all black, his clothes look painted on, tee clinging to his chest, his arms, his torso, sweats exposing the breadth of his thighs. 

“We knew this already,” Wooyoung nods, sticking out his free hand in a rolling motion, “let’s skip to the Shy part.”

“What if she was crying the whole day after her date with Yunho because of us?” His eyes flicker up to look at Wooyoung, who only raises a brow. “What if she didn’t work out with Yunho because she wants us, and she told Yunho all about it?”

“Why would she even go on the date then?”

San deadpans, “Did she want to even go on that date?”

Wooyoung slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening, “Oh my god, she definitely did not want to go on that date. What if she didn’t work out with Yunho because she wants us, and she told Yunho all about it?”

San rolls his eyes, and then literally rolls the chair away from Wooyoung who tips his head back in laughter. “I’m sorry, come back,” he says through his laughter, “please? I’ll stop, I’m sorry. It just sounds like we’re grasping for straws here.”

“Why else would Yunho be so weird about us being together?” San continues, rolling the chair until he’s between Wooyoung’s spread legs, he lays both palms on his knees. “And when he asked ‘just the two of you’? Come on, he basically told us the whole damn story.”

Wooyoung holds onto his granola bar with two hands, eyes closing as he terribly sings, “Just the two of us… We can make it if we try, just the two of us…”

“Listen to me, Wooyoung. I’m being serious.”

It seems to lock him back in, Wooyoung meeting San’s eye, his back straightening a little. San’s lips perk upward, his groin opening an eye at the easy display of submission– not the time. 

“Okay, fine. But I do think you’re a little insane and grasping for straws.”

San smacks his teeth, “I’ll prove it to you, then.”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung cracks a smile, “How are you gonna do that? That night in the studio set us back, like, five years.”

“You don’t know her like I know her,” San sits back in the computer chair again, smirk crawling its way onto his cheeks, his arms crossing over his chest. 

Wooyoung scowls, “Are you flexing on me right now?”

“No!” San shakes his head, “I’m just saying, I think I could get her to crack if she does want us back.”

“And why would you do it any better than I could?” Wooyoung’s voice is sharper, “I wanted her to begin with, you know.”

“And I was fucking her before you ever laid eyes on her,” San responds in the same tone, “don’t get cocky with me, not when it comes to this.”

Wooyoung’s brows raise, back arching ever so slightly at the tone of San’s voice. There’s amusement playing in his words as he says, “Wow, never thought I’d see the day you get possessive.”

“With you, there’s no reason to, it’s not a competition,” San shrugs, “besides right now. You struck a nerve.”

Wooyoung smiles, hopping down from the desk to place a fat kiss on San’s lips, “You love me.”

San’s dimples are on display in a smile as he lifts his arms to grab Wooyoung by his cheeks, leaning up off the chair to kiss the younger man again, “That I do.”

“You’re really gonna try?” Wooyoung asks again, leaning against the counter, his legs crossed between San’s as he takes another bite of his granola bar. “Even after my studio debacle with her?”

San nods, “I’m optimistic about it, I know, but I really do think I’m right.”

San learned to enjoy cooking before he learned to enjoy being in the gym. Him and his mother in the kitchen, teaching him recipes she’s carried through her years learned from her own mother, to recipes he’s learned from cookbooks and the internet that fall within the strict guidelines of his diet. 

It turned from sustainability to passion— cooking became a love language before he knew it, and the main reason is because he’s always loved cooking for you most. More so since the two of you moved in together, even more so when Wooyoung moved in, too. Cooking for the three of you, to eat at the kitchen table, on the couch, even if he was dropping off plates to you in your bedrooms… San loved it. Adored it. 

For you to enjoy something he made for you warmed his blood until it sizzled with affection, to know he was making a good, hearty, healthy meal to nourish you, he never thought cooking, of all things, would make him realize how deeply he’s in love. 

It’s a constant reminder every time his bare feet touch the tiled floor of the kitchen that he loves you, that he loves Wooyoung. Tonight it feels stronger, but maybe that’s the two glasses of wine and his pink cheeks talking. The way you’re dancing about the kitchen, twirling in nothing but a big tee, singing along to the song playing from the speaker you keep in the kitchen— the confession is laying right below his skin, on the tip of his tongue, begging to be set free. After his realization, a bubble of hope so big you could pop it with a fingernail, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it in. 

You’re laughing at something he said, his tipsy mind doesn’t even know what it was, but your laugh is so loud and so involuntary it squeezes the life out of his lungs. He wants to pick you up and put you on the counter, his hands on your perfect thighs as your ankles hook around his back, he wants to kiss you. He wants to feel you laugh into his mouth. He misses you. 

“I don’t want to talk about me at eighteen,” you shake your head, still giggling. Your hair is in a bun atop your head, messy, pieces hanging out like you tied it without looking in the mirror. Barefaced, no pants, no bra, this is his favorite version of you, the one that doesn’t care, the one that’s perfectly comfortable being in your own skin.

“Why not? I loved you at eighteen, too,” San turns back around before his cock begins stirring in his pants— he stirs the pot on the stove, instead. 

You come up behind him, on your tippy toes to place your chin on his shoulder. Still smiling, teeth stained with a faint, deep red, “Yeah? You loved me, huh?”

San knows it’s the wine talking, you’d never be so bold otherwise. He doesn’t even think you’re being serious. But, being himself, his brows dance above his eyes as he says, “Of course I did, I still love you.” 

You roll your eyes, smile faltering for just a second before it returns with vengeance, “I thought you meant you loved me, you goof.” 

Should he just say it? Should he? His back straightens a little. Uneasy, voice a little shaky, he tries, “I did, I had a– a huge crush on you when we were eighteen.” 

Your eyes blow wide, spinning around next to him to press your back up against the counter, palms folding around the edge. Surprised, but a little disbelieving, your jaw drops, “No way.” 

“I’m serious!” I still have it to this day. “When you dated that one guy— fuck, what was his name?” 

“Mark.” 

“Mark, that’s it. When you dated him senior year, I was so mad, I can remember being at graduation and being so fucking jealous that you were kissing him for pictures.” 

You gasped out a laugh, mortified, shocked, stomach dropping with what you could have had, “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say?” San steps to the side, half of his body taking up all of yours. He pretends like he doesn’t notice how small you are beneath his body. “‘Hey Shy, I know we’ve known each other all our lives, but in the past few years I’ve actually formed a gigantic huge crush on you. Sorry if it ruins the friendship.’”

“Exactly that, yes,” you’re laughing again, nodding, head tilting to the side as you look up at him with those fucking eyes. He loves them, so big and full of knowledge, experience, maturity and grace that is only expressed in the most you way. In a quieter voice, like you’re afraid to say it, you mumble, “I guess that explains college then, huh?”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one full of gasoline, and you just dropped a lit match down his throat without even realizing it. 

“There’s a lot that could explain college,” San smirks, one dimple arriving at the scene, moving so he’s fully standing in front of you, caging you in between himself and the counter. He presses his hands into the ledge, voice teasing, light and airy, “Like how we wanted each other, and were using a third person as an excuse?” 

Your smile falters, eyes widening. You swallow, San watches as your throat bobs, breath turning shallow, chest rising and falling beneath your tee. He can’t help the way his smirk grows, liquid confidence and too much optimism making his arm raise to brush a thumb over your cheek, reveling in how you twitch under his touch, eyelids fluttering. He remembers this body like it was his own, how you react to him, what gets your panties wet, what makes your toes fucking curl. He wants to show you how much he remembers you. 

“Are you guys talking about college again?” 

You gasp loudly, jumping, body slithering out of San’s clutch and into the open floorplan of the kitchen, all in a few quick, panic-driven movements. With a hand clutched over your heart, you’re out of breath, “Fuck, Woo, you scared me.” 

“I could feel the jealousy simmering in my bones, I knew you had to be talking about college,” he’s leaning against the archway, playful smirk on his lips, golden skin gleaming beneath the warm light of the kitchen. Shirtless, body on display, an ankle crossed over the other with a pair of baggy basketball shorts on… fuck Wooyoung for interrupting him, but fuck, San might actually get hard with the both of you half-dressed. 

You roll your eyes, taking two steps before you press your back against the other side of the counter, using your palms to lift you up over the edge. Exactly how San wants you, how he imagined you, his breath catches in his throat. He turns back around instead of dwelling on it. 

“Shut up, Woo,” he hears you mumble, “those days have long ended. Should’ve met us earlier.” 

Wooyoung whines, uncurling his arms from his chest to walk further into the kitchen, stopping in front of you with his palms pressed to your knees, “What, you don’t miss it, Shybaby? Not even a little?” 

San turns the knob on the stove until the flame lowers to a small flicker, stirring the roux in the pot. He turns his head halfway, side-eyeing Wooyoung whose back is slightly arched as he stares up into you, hands now planted against the edge of the counter on either side of your thighs, so confident, not a shred of insecurity in him. San wonders how he’s managed a complete one-eighty from the night he woke him up to freak out. Maybe he’s really making this a competition. 

You stiffen, eyes widening. Tipsy, but not drunk enough to admit something like that.  A nervous laugh stutters from your lips, “I— What? Like I said, that ship has sailed. Those days are over. The baton has been passed to you, Woo.” 

You use one hand on Wooyoung’s bare shoulder and the other pressed to the countertop to haul yourself off of it, landing swiftly on bare feet. Scrambling out of the kitchen towards the living room, you call over your shoulder, “Let me know when dinner’s ready, I’m gonna lay down, the wine went straight to my head, I think.” 

Wooyoung waits a moment before he turns to stare at San, eyebrows flat. San tightens his lips, an insult in his eyes, whispering, “Why did you interrupt?”

Wooyoung crosses the kitchen, his voice a sharp whisper, “I thought you already did it. Do you know how it looked from over there?”

Leaving the roux, he leans up against the counter, arms crossing, “We would have been making out by now if you didn’t interrupt.”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whines, “it’s fine, just try again.”

San covers his face with his hands, “You know what?” His hands lay on his boyfriend’s shoulders, “What I just did will hit its mark, maybe if you try next, we can get the point across without having to actually say it. Then she will come to us.”

“If I try then she won’t have to come to us,” a cocky grin spreads across the younger man’s face, “it’ll be game-point. You’ll come home to find us fucking.”

San’s lips thin, but he doesn’t respond. At this point he doesn’t care how it happens, as long as it happens. 

You thought the wine had left your system hours ago, after the meal Sannie made you, especially after a movie on the couch. The wine is the only explanation for your insides feeling warm and gooey— not the fact that across the hall, you could hear the squeaking of the mattress, the bedframe hitting the wall repeatedly, strangled moans leaving two men’s lips that you could tell they were trying to keep inside. 

Sweetie slept on his bed on your floor, head buried in the gray plush, waking up every few minutes or so from an especially loud moan or a shrill bang of wood against wall. Even your fucking dog was losing sleep. 

You’ve never heard them before, not once. Not once. Why tonight, after having both of their hands on you, their eyes staring into you, after the question Wooyoung asked? Do you miss it? The fear that zapped up on your spine was so intense you needed to lay down and close your fucking eyes. 

Confusing as much as it was scary, Wooyoung speaks of jealousy, but asks you if you miss fucking his boyfriend? Was it a kink to them? Is that why they’re fucking now?

They get off on other people wanting them… Wanting each other… That had to be it. The jealousy aspect, of reclaiming one another, and they used you to do it of all people?! It’s worse than mean, it’s worse than rude, it’s cruel. Cruel to dangle their relationship in front of your face after flirting with you— even if flirting with you is all they’ve ever done. 

You can remember meeting Wooyoung for the first time, sitting with him in a smoke circle, laughing your heart out when only three or four words had left his mouth. You ended up in tears, cheeks aching, lungs empty and dry, by the time everyone up and left and it was only the two of you left, he’d come onto you. Your first time meeting, even if he said he took notice of you far earlier, around that same smoke circle.

You can’t remember why you’d said no, how you rejected him. You had a feeling, maybe, that your relationship with him would grow far deeper than one night spent together in a cloud of hazy lust. Still to this day you remember that ache, laughing so hard you nearly gagged, eyes locked in on him, waiting for the next hilarious thing to leave his lips. It became routine, the next time you saw him out, the time Sannie introduced you to him when you already knew each other, when your name fell from his lips for the first time, Wooyoung has always, always looked at you with a certain look in his eye— like he was waiting for the smile to kiss your cheeks, for the laugh to fall from your lips. 

You don’t remember exactly when your duo with San had turned to three. Wooyoung only moved in two years ago, but you’ve been close for years now, since that night around the smoke circle, passing three joints amongst nine people. 

Maybe you were meant to become friends with him so he could end up with San, so the two of them could knock their headboard against your fucking wall and remind you that you’d never be on the inside. 

It felt sour. 

Yet for some reason, the hurt laying low in your tummy swam with the heat, the desire, curling into a pit of fire-hot pressure you couldn’t ignore. You’d already pushed the sheets off your body, already tugged your shirt up, desperate for air. You tried a pillow over your head, squeezing cotton against your ears. You went on your phone, scrolled Twitter, watched a few TikToks, tried your favorite ASMRtist. 

Laying low in the background was them. Endless. San’s low grunts, Wooyoung’s pitched whines, they poured through the thin wall separating your rooms, surrounding you like wildfire. They were everywhere, in the air, on your skin, in your sheets, but the ache curled low, settling into nothingness because you could hear the pleasure but were feeling none of it. 

You gasped as you heard it— one singular line gritted through San’s teeth, “Yeah? Gonna be good for me?”

You bent your knees up, head tipping back into the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. Your fingertips tapped against the bed, pushing a heavy sigh through pursed lips. That voice, his tone, the actions that accompany it, your memories are your personal hell. You could see them, Sannie bending Wooyoung in half, a foot planted on the bed as he drilled into him. 

Then Wooyoung whimpered, “Yes, please. So good for you— I’ll be good, please, fuck me Sannie—”

Your lips parted, a shaky breath slipping through. Your body was steaming, ears straining to listen to every last fucking detail even if you didn’t want to hear any of it. Even if it hurt, you needed it like water, like air, so badly you wanted to get up out of bed and walk in there. 

“That’s it,” San grunted, you could see the sweat beading between his pecs, “stay down, don’t fucking move.”

You bit your lip as your hands traveled to your thighs. Nails scraping against your skin, your nipples pebbled against the open air of your room, shame and embarrassment twisting with the rest of everything curling in your gut. Arousal, jealousy, rage, nostalgia, shame, hurt— you needed your panties off. It felt unethical, you should put on headphones, you should leave, you should do anything but dip two fingers into your panties. 

You moaned as your fingers made contact with your clit. Immediately you clamped a hand over your mouth, back arching into your own touch, ignoring the flame of shame completely as your eyes fluttered closed. You eased yourself into the pleasure, breath picking up as Wooyoung’s moans grew louder, the smack of San’s hips landing harder. 

Your other hand sank down to toy with a nipple while your fingers circled your clit in tight, rhythmic movements, eyelids twitching as their pleasure became your own. Timing your movements with theirs, lips parting when a moan sank through drywall, you let your mind drift, placing yourself in the fantasy. 

Laying up against Sannie’s chest, Wooyoung between your thighs. On top of Wooyoung, hips circling his as Sannie pushed up against your back, hands on your chest, one sinking down to rub circles on your clit. Sitting on Sannie’s lap just like Wooyoung had the night you caught him, chests pressed together, hands in hair, hips mindlessly rutting together, Wooyoung on your back as if you really were between them that night. 

The movie played in color in your mind, so vivid, like it was happening— with noise melting walls, it felt real. Lost in the pleasure, in the fantasy, you didn’t realize their volume had lowered, that their movements slowed. 

“Sannie, stop, stop,” Wooyoung splayed a hand behind him, head perked up, face still twisted in pleasure, but his lips stayed parted like he couldn’t believe his ears. 

“What?” Concerned, San had two palms on Wooyoung’s hips, pausing immediately, “Are you okay? What's wrong?” 

“Listen,” Wooyoung whispered, like if he spoke too loud, you’d hear him. That you’d stop. 

San’s brows furrowed, lips parting to question, but then he heard it. Small, faint whimpers, and then a moan— a genuine, raw, unbridled fucking moan, yours. He recognized it, he knows it, he’s forced it out of your lips, his hips grind into Wooyoung’s warmth out of instinct.

Wooyoung’s head dropped, arm bending until his elbow hit the mattress, a low moan spilling from his lips as his arm slipped between his thighs, tugging on his length. His voice comes out low, ragged, “I can’t believe this.”

“Fuck,” San cursed low, long, hips picking up again, slow but steady, quiet enough to hear your sounds float through the wall. “She– I–, Woo.” 

“Yes,” Wooyoung whispered, moaned, hips fucking back onto San’s length in a nasty, slow grind, “wish she was in here, sh- it, want her hands on me.” 

San’s fingertips squeezed into the plush of Wooyoung’s ass, face scrunching together in pleasure, a silent moan leaving his slacked jaw. The shock, the debrief would have to come later.

“You— you wanna fuck her while I fuck you? Hm?” 

Wooyoung arched deeper, fisting his length faster, picking up speed all over again, drowning out your noise. San wasn’t faring much better, hips stuttering into Wooyoung, one hand sliding up to claw fingers into his boyfriend’s back. 

“Yes, Sannie,” Wooyoung cried, “just like that, don’t— don’t stop, don’t stop, ‘m close.” 

San’s eyes stayed locked onto where the two met, watching how Wooyoung’s ass rippled with each harsh thrust of his cock, the end approaching too fucking fast. 

A few more thrusts until he was hunched over, drooling onto Wooyoung’s back as he filled him up, Wooyoung’s release spilling all over the comforter beneath them. They didn’t even get as far as undoing the sheets. 

Dinner, a few glasses of wine, a movie with too much touching, Wooyoung was already dirty talking San before they opened up the bedroom door. Cocky smirk on his pretty lips, head tilted, eyes sparkling, teasing him about you— oh, he was begging to get fucked. San’s been overly careful of your presence for awhile now, never too loud, keeping Wooyoung’s mouth on a tight leash when you’re home. 

But Wooyoung pushed each and every button tonight, all concerning you. How he’d fuck you better, how you’d crack when he tried, how he’d treat you better than San, San put one hand around his throat and the rest unfolded in a mess of teeth, tongue and lube. To hear you through the wall, getting off to them, was the cherry on top. They needed to do something, now. 

San ripped the comforter off the bed and crawled beneath the sheet, not caring if Wooyoung spilled into them as he settled over San’s chest, their breath still heavy, hearts still pounding.

“You seriously think she was getting off to us?” San asked Wooyoung, brows raised in innocence, in fear of what he thought to be true, being false. He kept his voice low, a small whisper.

Wooyoung, fully out of breath, chest still heaving and soaked in sweat, laughed. A hearty chuckle, he ran a hand through his hair, smile lingering, “Yes, baby. Bet she’s in there nervous as hell that we heard her.” 

You sat up in your bed, chest heaving, eyes wide, right hand still shaky. Fuck. There’s no way they heard you, right? Too wrapped up in each other, they were loud, there’s no way they heard you over the sound of themselves. You looked over to Sweetie in panic, only easing when you saw his head still tucked into his half-torn bed, eyes closed, breathing even. 

If Sweetie wasn’t bothered, then they definitely didn’t hear you. 

You lay flat against your bed, mind whirling, so fucking confused because that was so hot but it wasn’t right. Masturbating to the sound of your two roommates, two best friends who were in a relationship fucking, it wasn’t morally correct, that you knew before your fingers slipped into your panties. Post-nut clarity seeping in, you’re met with regret, guilt, and the urge to give up. 

Reminding yourself was painful– they don’t want you, they want each other. There’s no room for you in their relationship. 

Maybe you’ll go with them to that fuckass bar tomorrow. Maybe Yunho will be there. Nothing could be worse than living with this. 

San and Wooyoung had enough. 

The morning after the multi-room sex debacle, you pretended like nothing happened. They supposed that to you, nothing did happen, you had no idea they heard you, and they weren’t going to say anything, either. You’d die of embarrassment if they brought it up, and they’ve come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be the best start of a blooming relationship. They at least thought you would question it, question them. But you didn’t. 

Their patience was running thin. 

The bar was loud, pop music floating through the space, a newer bar with an industrial look to it that left everything open. The ceilings showed the pipes, the walls looked to be something like steel, the decor had a very factory-mechanical vibe to it that they couldn’t quite explain– but the drinks were cheap and the music was good. With all of your friends here, they didn’t care much, anyhow, their main focus was that you wanted to be here, you wanted to blow off steam, let loose and let go after a hectic week. 

They wondered how much of that excuse had to do with them. 

You stood at the bar, one foot propped up on the exposed pipe lying at the base, tapping Wooyoung’s credit card against the bar. San leaned into him, their shoulders touching, both of their eyes locked in on you, watching like they always did. God forbid they took their eyes off of you. 

“You guys are gonna go cross-eyed if you keep staring,” Seonghwa muttered from across the circular table, settled in the booth beside his boyfriend, Hongjoong. 

“How could we not stare?” Wooyoung was quick to answer. “Have you seen her?” 

“I thought you guys were together now,” Hongjoong’s brows furrowed, eyes bouncing between Wooyoung and San, fingers tapping against his glass, his draft beer halfway gone by now. 

“We are,” San shrugged, “just trying to get her with us, too.”

Wooyoung snorted, “That’s one way to put it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jongho interrupted, leaning forward between Mingi and Yeosang, separating the couple. “You’re trying to be in… what, a throuple?”

“Yeah,” San and Wooyoung answered at the same time, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Actually, I’m not even going to question it,” Yeosang shook his head, bringing the straw in his fruity cocktail up to his lips. “San’s always had a thing for her.”

Mingi leans forward, a smile on his pink lips, agreeing with his boyfriend immediately, “Right? I thought you guys would end up together, or really, I kinda thought you were secretly together this whole time.”

San’s cheeks, already pink, must have turned four shades darker. He didn’t have time to answer though, Hongjoong cutting in immediately, “Sounds messy. Does she know you want her?”

Wooyoung’s lips tighten as he shakes his head, “Don’t know, maybe.”

“Didn’t she just go on a date with Yunho?” Jongho asks, one of his brows popped. 

San sighs, “That was before we knew she was interested in us, if she is.”

“She is interested in you?” Mingi looks completely confused.

“See?” Hongjoong shakes his head. “Messy.”

Wooyoung nudges San with his elbow, speak of the fucking devil, grabbing his boyfriend’s attention to watch Yunho approaching you at the bar, a pitstop on his way back from the bathroom. Immediately there’s a fire in his gut, jealousy spreading like wildfire to each nerve ending in his body, it doesn’t help that Yunho looks hot tonight. Baggy cargos on his legs, tight tee on his torso, oversized button down hanging loose off his shoulders, fuck him. Why is he approaching you like the two of you are friendly or something?

Last they heard, you didn’t want him, you wanted them. So why is Yunho talking to you like he’s hitting on you? Why is your hand on his forearm? What could he possibly be saying that makes your head tip back in laughter? Yunho isn’t even that funny. 

There’s discomfort lining San’s eyebrows as he watches you lean into Yunho, seeming almost instinctive. He knows that look in your eye, the exact grin on your cheeks, what you’re insinuating even if he can’t hear a word falling from your glossy lips. He takes a slow breath, calming his heart rate before his mind warps what he sees into something completely different. 

Yunho’s his friend. If his hypothesis is correct, he knows how you feel about them, how they feel about you, wait– did they even tell Yunho how they feel about you? San’s eyes widen in panic as he turns to Wooyoung who already looks like he’s settled in his decision, jealousy in the hinge of his clenched jaw, his fingers mindlessly swirling the straw in his drink. 

San thinks they’re speaking around him, he can’t hear, he chooses not to listen. He watches as you lean forward, whispering something in Yunho’s ear. His chest feels heavy as Yunho looks down at the floor like he’s hiding flushed cheeks, an easy smile on his lips, body leaning closer to you as if San and Wooyoung weren’t sitting ten feet away. 

They’ve had enough. 

You were already smiling as Yunho approached you, having watched him make the few last steps to where you stood. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey,” he leans against the bar, “getting another drink?”

You flashed Wooyoung’s black card, a smirk on your cheeks, “Getting as many as I can stomach tonight.”

Yunho smacks his teeth, “Rough week?”

“You have no idea,” you say through an exhausted breath, “and you? Drinking tonight? I’m sure Woo won’t notice if I add another beer to his tab.”

Yunho’s eyes dance from the table back to you, “Oh, he’ll notice.”

“Trust me,” your lips scrunch together, disappointment on your face, “he won’t. He’s too focused on San.”

“They’re together?” Yunho lifts a brow, “like, together together?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tongue poking your cheek. “New development in the saga, I guess. Not a good one.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho frowns, “I did not expect that.”

You’re still nodding until a sigh is pulled from your lungs, “It does leave me single, though, like super single…” Your eyes flicker up to him, blinking through heavy lashes.

Yunho snorts, “Yeah? Were you not super single before?”

You laugh, a breathy little thing, leaning closer to him, a hand mindlessly landing on his forearm. “I was, but there was hope before. Now there’s nothing, like super confirmed, nothing.”

“Super,” Yunho nods, laughter still playing on his lips like he was fighting it back. It leaves you both giggling like kids, a hand covering your mouth as your head tips back. 

He looks pretty tonight, you realize. Undone, casual, like he didn’t put in too much effort. Baggy clothes on his body, hair a little disheveled, he looked comfortable. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in your system or the last bit of sanity you were clinging on to, but he looked… Different. Good, really good. 

“Are you still super single?” The question slips from your lips before you can think about it. 

Yunho’s brows raise, surprised, they quirk immediately after, confused. His eyes fly to the table, landing there for a moment before sliding back to you, “Oh,” he blinks, “oh. Yes, yeah, I’m still single.”

“Good,” you nod, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling the heat you were so desperately missing the night you went out on your date. You needed something, a good fuck, a drunk hookup, something to distract you from how fucking miserable you felt. Hopeless was the better word, after coming to the sound of them fucking you’d never felt more pathetic in your life, you needed change, something, anything. 

“Do… you have plans after this?” Yunho’s face looked innocent, of all things. Like he wasn’t sure if he should be asking the question, the implication behind it, even though he seemed to see straight through you, what you needed.

The smirk that crawled onto your cheeks was anything but innocent. “Nope, completely free.”

“Good,” Yunho nodded, his smile a little more confident now. “Fuck the black card, let me buy you a drink.”

Your brows raised, a laugh falling past your lips as both your hands shoot up in defense, “Be my guest. You deserve a do-over.”

“No I do not,” he says through a laugh, “but you deserve to have some fun.”

You roll your eyes, snorting a laugh, “Please, we both know that date was not good.”

Yunho’s head turns back to the table again before taking your place leaning over the bar, ignoring your comment but definitely not denying it, “I’ll get us a round of shots.”

And he did– vodka, bitter and hot, it burnt your chest the entire way down. But it went down easy with the liquor already pooling in your gut, body warm enough to begin with. 

He bought you something fruity afterward, rum and juice, it tasted like candy— easy to sip on, easy to chug if need be. You stuck around the bar instead of heading back to the table, eyeing the dance floor on the other side of the bar, in easy conversation with Yunho who seemed like he had no intentions of heading back to the table, either. 

“Do you want to dance?” His eyes flicker to you, brows raised like he couldn’t quite gauge whether or not you’d say yes. 

“You know I teach dance for a living, right?” Your lips quirk on one side, “Of course I want to dance.”

“I can’t say I’m a great dancer,” Yunho admits, lips tightened in a line. “I sell art, there’s nothing fluid about walking around a gallery all day.”

You laugh, grabbing him by the wrist, tugging him towards the music that gets louder with each step. “Follow my lead,” you say simply, mind finally feeling fucking free, “I’ll give you a free lesson.”

He trails behind you with a silly smile until you enter the crowd of people, it was busy over here, you realized. The bar wasn’t too crowded, the other side of the building consisted of booths and tables for those who… didn’t want to have a good time, you guessed. Talking, catching up, the first awkward half of a date, maybe. 

You loved bars that had dance floors. Clubs, weddings, anywhere that there was a space dedicated to people letting loose, allowing their bodies to move as they pleased, to feel music in their blood. It was your favorite, even if you danced for a living, this was different– no choreography, no rules, there was nothing in your mind to keep you structured. You could let yourself feel, move the way your body allowed, you didn’t have to worry what anyone else thought. 

With liquor in your system, that freedom is amplified by a thousand. Dancing before Yunho, you quickly realize he lied about having two left feet, his smile is just as careless as yours as his body moves to the beat of the song, matching your rhythm perfectly. Hips swaying in tandem, arms flowing in the space around you, you’re giggling before you know it, a smile branded onto your cheeks. 

Until you turn your head and see that Wooyoung and San have joined you. 

San’s arms over Wooyoung’s shoulders, they danced close, hips touching, swaying together as one. They were smiling at you– or pretending to be, the first thing you noticed was how their grins didn’t reach their ears. An alarm bell sounds in your head, confused, concerned, you want to ask what’s wrong, your body stops moving as the thoughts pile in. 

Wooyoung, unaffected by your lack of movement, wiggles free from San’s grip. “Let’s switch!” He’s smiling, yelling over the music, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Your brows furrow as Wooyoung shimmies between you and Yunho, his arms gliding swiftly over Yunho’s shoulders shamelessly, dark hair glowing under the pink, neon light, shaking with each sway of his body. 

You turn your head to San who seems like he’s taking a moment to process, then he pulls you into him by your wrist, other hand landing on your hip, your back to his chest. You start moving out of instinct, hips swaying, but your brows stay furrowed. 

Turning your head halfway, you ask, “What’s going on?”

San presses his lips into your cheek, dimples out to play with the smile he gives you. This one seems more real, it eases the panic in your chest ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I–” Your head turns back to Wooyoung, who has his cheek pressed to Yunho’s, saying something into his ear. “Are you guys okay?”

“Of course,” San’s palms hug your hips, pulling you flush to him, the feeling of him behind you sends heat up your spine. Immediately you’re brought back to the other night, the sounds leaving his lips, the mental picture you came up with, your hand between your legs. With his voice dripped in honey, he asks, “Are you okay, Shygirl?”

You’re nodding, body sinking into him, heat pulsing through your core, up your spine. His body feels so strong behind you, muscular arms on your hips, rocking you so sensually it throws your head for a spin. This movement brings back memories, ones that haunt you, ones you miss so fucking much. 

You nod weakly, your voice a small squeak, “Yup, ‘m fine.”

He chuckles, cheeks pink, burying his head into your neck. You’re so close you could be considered one, it’s too close, it’s disrespectful, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. Yunho is right in front of you, expecting a night with you, he knows how you feel about San, about Wooyoung, and here you are falling into a haze, repeating old mistakes. 

A third hand to one side of your waist, a fourth to the other. When you look up, Yunho is gone. Wooyoung stands before you with a cocky, lopsided smile on his lips, hips pressing into your front, falling into rhythm with you and San easily. He looks so pretty with pink cast onto his face, so bronzy even under neon light, his dark clothes sinking into the shadows.

“Where’s Yunho?” You ask, hands finding Wooyoung’s shoulders like it was instinct. 

He takes the opportunity to come closer, the three of you molding together, the smell of both of them in your nose, the strength of them boxing you in. It feels so fucking good, it feels wrong, you don’t want them to let go, you want to stay here, dancing with them all night. 

“Bathroom,” Wooyoung shrugs, thumbs caressing your sides. “Who cares?”

“Woo,” you whine, making a show of pouting, but it isn’t real. You don’t care. 

“What?” His grin spreads wider, voice light and playful like he was proving his innocence, “The only thing that matters is you and us, right here. Nothing else.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not that you ever do. There’s nothing left inside you to make a rebuttal, anyway, there’s so you curl your fingers into the nape of his neck, spread your legs to allow one of theirs to slot through, and sway your hips like you were born to do it. Head falling back onto San’s shoulder, a lazy grin makes its way to your cheeks as you move with them, staring at Wooyoung over your nose, he looks at you like he’d do anything to drink you in. 

He’s always looked at you this way, but there was something different about the longing glint in his eye, how his tongue slowly swipes over his lips like he’s hungry. Maybe it was knowing your own feelings playing a part, if it was anyone else you’d think they wanted to fuck you, but it’s Wooyoung. You can feel San at your back, the dirty grind of his hips against your ass, it’s been so long since you’ve been with them like this– dancing, liquor involved, too close for comfort, questioning if your relationship was as platonic as you thought it was. 

Years. You haven’t touched San in years. You think back to Wooyoung asking if you missed it– you know you do, you miss it so fucking much, but was there a chance that Wooyoung wanted you to miss it? That he wanted to repeat history, this time with him involved, like all the times you’ve dreamt about? You almost groan, head tipping forward, heat spreading through your body at the thought of them wanting you like you want them. 

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Wooyoung asks, his voice low, loud enough for you to hear. His face is so close you could feel his breath on your face; minty, like he was drinking a mojito, or took a shot of Rumplemintz. His smile is feline, eyes knowing as if your skull was transparent, like he just wanted to hear the words from your lips. 

“I,” you take a breath, the admission sits on your tongue. “I’m not thinking.”

You can’t do it. To make yourself so vulnerable, so susceptible to rejection, you couldn’t do it. 

Wooyoung leans in, soft, warm cheek pressed to yours, lips ghosting your ear, “You’re lying.”

San is on your other side, keeping himself close, his nose dancing along the shell of your ear, making you shiver. He keeps his voice just as low, sounding like an aphrodisiac, “Tell us, baby, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?”

Your heartbeat quickens, pressure below your skin, they’re too close, boxing you in, there’s a pit in your core like an itch you can’t fucking scratch and they’re dangling relief in front of your eyes, out of reach. Your jaw clenches, words fighting to push through, your fingers tangle into Wooyoung’s hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing against skin– he hisses into your ear, fingers tightening around your waist like it’s all he could do to stop himself from pressing into you. 

“Fuck, Woo,” you mutter under your breath, marvelling at the sound, how it makes your stomach do a flip. The floor feels charged, tension spreading from your ankles to your spine, your words spill out before you can think twice about them, “did you like that?” 

You can feel electricity prickling your scalp at your own question, but he answers it with a quick-spreading smirk brushing over your ear, “Is it okay if I did?” Your eyes widen as he pulls away from you, keeping your faces so close your noses are almost touching. His eyes stay locked on yours and you can see the desperation changing the shape of his face. He asks again, “What if I asked you to do it again?” 

It’s so wrong. They’re together, they’re a couple, there’s no fucking room for you. But what if there’s a chance that there is?

Yet your fingers tighten in his hair, gripping at his roots harder than before and his head falls back, strong jaw on display, the curvature of his nose, jugular beckoning your lips forward. The music disappears as a tight sound leaves his lips, the rest of the bar fades away as his hips buck into yours, you’re left in awe, dumbfounded, the heat in your core unbearable. 

“He likes it a little rough,” San whispers into your ear, voice rough, edged with dominance. His teeth dragging over your earlobe, tongue following, “You’re gonna make him hard, baby.”

“S-shit,” you manage to get out, body twitching, sinking into San behind you whose hands slide under the hem of your top at your hips, palms hot and callused against your skin. Involuntarily your hips push forward, into Wooyoung, your mind so fuzzy and confused but you’re so fucking horny all you can ask is, “What are you doing?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wooyoung asks, voice playful again, his hand slides up to cup your cheek, thumb sliding over your skin, searing the trail he leaves behind. “You’re smart, use that big brain.”

“Kiss him,” San whispers in your ear, then plants a kiss right below it, using his tongue to seal the spot. You shiver, a whimper leaving your lips, brows tying together. You’re confused, you don’t have time to be, you don’t want to question it anymore.

You want to kiss him, you’ve never kissed Wooyoung once in your life. You’ve longed to know what he tastes like, how he uses his pretty lips, if his tongue can do all the things you’ve imagined it to. Your eyes drop down as he wets his lips again, so glossy and inviting, you bite your lip as his curve into another smile. 

“You want to,” San’s lips drop to your neck, talking against your skin, “I know you want to, don’t deprive yourself, baby.”

You do want to, it’s a dream, your biggest fantasy coming to life. Your hands slide from the nape of Wooyoung’s cheek to cradle his jaw, Wooyoung’s flared eyes give you the green light, you blink once, twice, ignoring everything in your mind that tells you no as you lean in and press your lips to his. His hands cup your cheeks immediately, lips moving with yours, exploratory and relieving all at once, his tongue slips into your mouth like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it, no time to waste. San keeps his hands on your waist, groaning into your skin as he watches you, attaching his lips to your neck, kissing, sucking, licking over the marks he leaves behind. 

There’s a leg between yours, you think it’s Wooyoung’s, maybe San’s, but your hips grind against it with each lick of his tongue into your mouth. It feels like heaven, or worse, mind so dazed and confused and horny but so at peace with this being everything you’ve ever imagined and more, you can’t get enough. You kiss him faster, rougher, arms wrapping around his neck, tongue searching his mouth like you need to embed the taste of him into your bones, he tastes sweet. Minty like this breath, a bitter note of alcohol on his tongue, your hands fall from his cheeks to his chest, sliding down to the hem of his shirt to tuck your hands beneath it. 

Oh, he’s warm, his body feels like it looks, harsh and unforgiving, delicious. Like he could throw you around if he wanted to, you hope he wants to, unless it’s San who does the throwing– San. 

San. 

You break away from Wooyoung with low lidded eyes and he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the fucking sky. Eyes glossy, lips swollen, you pull away and immediately he’s following, searching for more. 

You turn your head and San’s already waiting for it, palm splaying over your cheek to pull you into him hastily, lips molding against yours like nostalgia was a sentiment created by the two of you. Like coming home, his tongue slots between your lips, teeth clamping over your bottom lip, tugging on it, you whine into his mouth, back arching into his chest. You needed more. 

“Do you want us?” He asks into your mouth, breathless. You nod, and he clicks his tongue, “Words, Shy. Tell me you want it.”

“I want it, I’ve wanted it for so long,” you’re quick to admit, breathless yourself, voice raw, honest. “So, so fucking long, Sannie.”

Wooyoung grabs your face by your cheeks, stealing your attention, forcing you to face him so he can explore your mouth again, San breaking away from your back. You barely notice the loss of heat, melting into Wooyoung, chest pressed into his, hands in his hair, meeting his intentions with your own. He breaks away to peck you once,  out of breath, pupils dilated, “We’ve wanted you for even longer.”

Your breath stutters, weak in the knees, you can’t process his words, you’d put it on a checklist for later. Voice cracking, wrecked before you’d even begun, you muttered, “Let’s go home.”

You felt bad for the driver with the way you sat on San’s lap the whole drive home, switching between him and Wooyoung like you were trying to figure out who was the better kisser. Truth was, you just couldn’t get enough of them, San’s kiss was a part of your being, his touch was instilled in you, familiar to the point of not wanting to ever let go. Wooyoung was new, fresh, but an itch to a scratch, a relief you’ve ached for far too long, he was addicting, like you couldn’t stop if you tried. 

Sweetie is jumping at you when you walk through the threshold and the three of you bend down to pet him like you’ve never seen a dog before, like they weren’t just ready to strip you in the backseat of a minivan. Liquor still coursing through you, you’re all talking in high pitched voices, making his tail wag, he couldn’t choose which of you to give his attention to. After treats you’re in your room, tying your hair up, and naturally, the two men follow you. 

San makes himself at home on your bed, still in his jeans, jacket still thrown over his shoulders, he leans back on his elbows, eyeing you over the tip of his nose as you meander about your bedroom, maybe stalling, maybe thinking. Maybe you just made all of that up. Maybe you didn't even kiss in the club and you should be diagnosed with schizophrenia. 

“Shy.”

Wooyoung stands in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking. 

You look between them, jacket halfway off, heart picking up speed all over again, “What?” “Oh my god, I love you,” Wooyoung’s smiling as he unfolds his arms, crossing the room, meeting you at your back. He pulls the jacket from your shoulders carefully, pressing his lips to your temple, “We want you, baby.”

Your eyes find San’s on your bed, he sits in a cloud of arousal, still sporting the tent in his jeans. Wooyoung presses his lips to your neck, hands landing on your hips, sliding up your waist, over your chest, your breath catches in your throat, head tilting to let him explore, back leaning into his hold to let him do as he pleases.

“I know it’s been two years,” San stands from the bed, walking towards you in three long steps, slipping his fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. He tugs your hips into him, arching you off of Wooyoung, making your breath catch. The grin that spreads across his cheeks is all arrogance, “But did you really think you weren’t getting fucked the moment we walked through the door?”

Your body ignites in a way you haven’t felt in years. You whisper, “I did, I– I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He presses his forehead against yours, voice soft like velvet, invading your space again with his fingers uncurling from your belt loops to play with the hem of your jeans, two fingers pinching the button of your fly. 

Wooyoung moves to your ear, biting the shell of it, not soft enough to hurt, but enough to make you suck in a harsh breath. He plays with your top, sliding it upward, knuckles cold against your skin, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

You whine, sinking into Wooyoung, reaching for San’s shirt. You want them to fuck you, god, you want them both, you’ll take anything they give you. You can barely get out a small, broken, “Yes.”

Accomplishment is bright on San’s face as he unbuttons your jeans with ease, Wooyoung pulls away to flip your shirt over your head, the two moving in such quick motions you begin thinking they’ve been waiting for this, too. San helps you step out of your jeans before attaching your lips and it’s more than hungry, he’s starving with the way he tries to devour you, swallow you whole as he turns you both around, unclasping your bra as he walks you to your bed. 

You fall flat against your mattress with a squeak, feeling bare before them like this, standing above you like vultures. You’ve been here before with San, it feels like seeing an old friend again; but with Wooyoung, there’s a spark of unfamiliarity, it’s been years since you’ve opened up to someone new.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung groans, dark hair messy around his face, deepening the shadows of his structured face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Shy.”

You burn, heat spreading through you, knees closing, “You’ve seen me before, Woo.”

He catches your knees, spreading them as San kneels onto the bed beside you, watching Wooyoung as his eyes sink between your legs. “Not like this, do you even know how fucking wet you are?”

Your hips twitch with the way he holds you open, already searching for more. Wooyoung continues, eyes glossed over, stuck at your center like it was treasure, “Fuck, baby, you’re soakin’ through your panties.”

“For you,” you breathe out, “taste it.”

His eyes snap up to yours, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, amused. “Yeah? That what you want?” 

You nod, “Yes, Woo, wanna feel your mouth, wanted it for so long.”

His eyes slide to San’s with a smirk and the older man meets his stare with a short, cocky, “Told you.”

Wooyoung’s hands curl under your knees, pulling your ass to the edge of the bed before he pulls your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor, “Didn’t tell me she was impatient.”

“I am,” you’re quick to admit, shameless and desperate, “I’ve been.”

He smiles again, lifting one leg and pressing his lips to your ankle, keeping his eyes on yours as he sinks down to his knees. Slow kisses up your calf, your inner thigh, his tongue leaves a trail, your breath hitches in your throat as he breaks away just to tug his shirt over his head by the collar. 

“Nostalgic, hm?” San mumbles, close to your ear, laying down with one elbow propped up to watch, “We’ve been in this position before.”

You gasp as Wooyoung’s teeth graze your other thigh, at the sensitive part on the inside, eyes flickering up to yours to see your reaction. Through gritted teeth, one arm reaching out for San, you whisper, “Mm, missed it.”

“He’s good with his mouth, y’know,” San leans in closer, pressing his lips to your cheek then your jaw as Wooyoung finally leans forward, his nose meeting your folds before his lips make contact. A strangled moan escapes you, hips immediately bucking into him, other hand flying between your legs to take root in his hair. 

As his tongue swipes through your folds your back arches, your moan exposing every feeling of relief, of how much you wanted this, needed this. His name drips off your tongue and he groans at the sound, “You sound so pretty, Shybaby.”

“Prettier when she’s louder,” you can feel San smirk into your skin, “you have no idea how shameless she can get. Suck on her clit, Woo.”

As his lips wrap around your clit your moan heightens in pitch, louder than before, fingers tugging harshly at his scalp as your hips buck into his mouth, “Holy shit, Wooyoung.”

He groans into you, fingers curling into your thighs, soothing over your clit with his tongue, “Taste so good, pussy so pretty, can’t believe I haven’t done this sooner.”

Your face grows hot as his tongue flattens over your folds, flicking at your clit with precision, no haste to his actions, he’s exploring you. Seeing what you like, what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes your stomach clench in pleasure. 

His nose glides over your clit and you buck into him again, his tongue circling your entrance, drinking up every ounce of your arousal. San’s fingers find your hair, “Mm, she liked that, Woo.”

“You like my nose?” His eyes flicker up to you and you nod shamelessly, humming your agreement. He repeats the movement and your back arches as he moves into a rhythm, tongue fucking into you while his nose glides over your clit, his movements timed perfectly with each jerk of your hips.  

“Wanna see you ride it,” San whispers into your ear and you gasp out, one hand curling into the sheets beneath you. “Next time.”

“Yes, fuck,” you mumble through gritted teeth, “want it, need it.” 

“Wanna watch you cum,” San’s fingers find your chest, the pads of them running over your hardened nipples, pinching at your sensitive skin. Louder now, your moans slurring together, your stomach curls in pleasure, pressure building in your hips. 

“Don’t stop, Woo,” you whisper, a broken sound, using your fingers in his hair to rock your hips against his face, “so good, just like that.”

He grunts in response, letting you use him, adding more pressure and you’re locking up around him, whimpering as San’s fingers pinch harder at your chest, it’s enough to pull you right to the edge.

“There you go,” San encourages, lips buried in your hair, “use him, let me see you cum against his face, make yourself cum for me, c’mon.” 

“Gonna–” there’s panic in your voice like you couldn’t believe you were reaching your peak so easily, but as his fingers tighten into your thighs harder, tongue lolled out for you to ride, the slight sting in your skin combined with the stimulation to your clit throws you over with a loud cry, pleasure washing over you in waves, body trembling beneath their touch, your skin on fire. 

“Yes, so good for us,” San whispers, voice coated in praise, “such a good girl, Shy. Missed watching you cum, wanna feel you do it around my cock.”

You whimper, eyes cresting open to see him above you, dimples showing as he speaks. Dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, cheeks pink, eyes soft and warm, gaze filled with so much love it makes you dizzy. Your hand lifts from Wooyoung’s hair to cradle San’s cheek, pulling him down into a messy kiss, tongue slotting into his mouth softly as Wooyoung presses soft kisses to the tip of your mound, between your hipbones, up your stomach. 

Your back arches as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue swiping over them, soothing where San had pinched, it makes you whimper, one hand falling from San’s cheek to dig into Wooyoung’s hair again, softer this time. Nails grazing his scalp, ankles crossing over his back, everything felt slow, filled with purpose, like each one of their movements were solely for your pleasure. 

You needed more. You needed them to treat you like they’d treated each other a few nights ago, you needed the bed to hit the wall, to hear Wooyoung whimpering, San’s domineering voice. Your other hand finds San’s hair, gripping at the spiral of his crown, making him grunt into your mouth, “Shit.”

“Need more,” you’re panting into his mouth, “need you to fuck me, I need it.”

Wooyoung’s arms scoop under your back to pull you up as San leans back to groan, you meet his lips hastily, already seated on his thighs, your legs bracket his hips, your bare chest pressed to his. Denim below you, you curse at the feeling of texture, sturdy, rough fabric, “Get these off.”

“Impatient,” he smirks into your lips, “you needy? Desperate to fuck us?”

Skin alight with wildfire, your fingers find the hair at the back of his neck, tugging as you sit upward, following his face as you pull it backward by his hair, “Gonna make me say it again?”

A smile breaks out across his face, one full of excitement, “Holy shit, Shy–”

“Who are you talking to like that, huh?” San’s at your back, chest pressed to your shoulderblades, feeling so big it’s menacing, “You should be thanking him for letting you cum on his face.”

Staring down at Wooyoung, his grin had gone cocky again, one brow raising with your hands still rooted in his hair. Your fingers tighten again and his brows furrow in pleasure, a small moan croaking from his lips, it’s satisfactory enough. You mumble, “Thank you.”

San hums in contentment behind you, “Good girl.”

Wooyou watches in awe as San lifts you off his lap, turning you to face him with ease, standing on his knees he wraps a hand around your jaw, kissing you with more force than he had all night. Tongue pushing past your lips, teeth clashing, you melt beneath him, hands finding his bare pecs to hold onto as he devours your lips, your taste, your pleasure.

“You want me to treat you like a doll?” He asks into your mouth, voice harsh, edged like a blade. 

“Want you to treat me how you treat Woo,” you whimper, the admission falling from your lips without a second thought, until you feel him smirk. Hazy from a minute of his mouth on yours, the heat of shame couldn’t find you. 

“Knew you were listening,” Wooyoung is at your shoulders, hands on your waist, traveling to your front to grab two handfuls of your chest. “Fuckin’ pervert, listening to us fuck.”

Your back arches, fingertips digging into San’s skin, voice coming out tight, “Hard not to hear when the bed frame is hitting the wall.”

San stares at you like he’s debating fucking the cockiness out of you, “Almost forgot how much of a brat you can be.” Your grin is shameless, daring almost, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “Gonna look at me like that when I’m fucking you within an inch of your life?”

Your brows knit together, lips parting at his words, core clenching around nothing. “Please,” you whimper, hands sliding to his shoulders to pull him forward, “please.”

He doesn’t move, a stone wall before you. Instead he asks, “Did you touch yourself?” Left in the briefs glued to his lower half, your eyes sink to the outline of his length obvious in the polyester clinging to every inch of his skin. His face is lined by confidence, “Made that pretty pussy cum thinking about me fucking you, too?” 

Softly, you moan, “Yes.”

“Should have come in the room,” Wooyoung’s lips find your neck, pulling you back into him as his palms knead into your chest. ”Woulda made you cum so hard.”

You whine, sinking into his hot skin, chiseled abdomen searing your back. With your knees spread, your eyes are glossy as you stare up at San who grips his length over his briefs, mouth watering with his sculpted body on display, he’s changed so much over the years. This body is bigger, bulkier, stronger, he’s a completely different San than the one you knew back then. The things he could do to you now cross your mind, sinking straight down to the pit in your belly, your core clenching around nothing. 

“Wanna touch?” He asks, still sporting his cocky grin. You nod against Wooyoung’s chest, writhing beneath his palms, his touches only edging you further. He dips his chin down to his length, “C’mere, baby.”

You crawl forward on your palms until you’re standing on your knees before him, pressing your palms up to his shoulders, feeling the curves of his muscles before sliding down to his toned chest, palms laying flat, feeling his heartbeat beneath his skin. They slide down to his abdomen, so sculpted like he’s made of stone, your head tips forward, tongue lolling out of your mouth to glide across the dips and peaks, moaning at the taste of his skin, sweaty, salty, San. He pushes out a heavy breath as your head dips lower, fingers sinking into his waistband, tugging his briefs down. 

“Wanna taste,” you mutter mindlessly, mind whirling, craving his cock, missing it. It springs out of his briefs, slapping up between his hipbones, thick and red and leaking, your mouth waters. You blow cool air from your lips and he hisses, cock twitching, making you smile. Your eyes flicker upward, “Want my mouth?” 

His heavy brows are furrowed, hips tilted forward, his hands come forward to cup your cheeks. “Wanna fuck you, Shy.”

Your stomach fucking churns at the sound of his voice, whiny and desperate, you clench around nothing at the thought. You missed him so badly you ached for it, the feeling of him inside you, his cock so thick leaving you full enough it’s almost overwhelming to have him seated inside.

Before you have the chance to move you feel two heavy palms land on your hips, your head turns, back arching on command. Wooyoung knelt behind you, cock standing tall between his hipbones, the pretty pink tip leaking against his lower abdomen, so bronzy and veiny and strong. His eyes follow the trail of the base of your spine up to your eyes, “Let me have a turn first.” 

You whimper, arching lower, knees spreading to allow him entrance, whining out a breathy, “Yes.”

San holds your cheeks steady, “Can you take it?”

You’re on fire, hips pushing back against Wooyoung with impatience, mouth filling with saliva. “Yes, yes, I can take it, use me– Please?”

A guttural moan spills from the two of them, San rips his briefs off his ankles as he sits back on his calves, one arm behind him holding up his weight. You feel Wooyoung slide two fingers up your spine, rippling over each vertebrae and then back down again, the other hand hooked on your hip squeezing as he grinds his cock against your folds, slippery and wet, he lets out a tangled whine at the feeling. 

“You sure, Shy?” He asks, “Pussy’s begging to be fucked.”

“Need this,” you mumble, “need you, don’t hold back.”

“I won’t,” Wooyoung huffs, “don’t think I can, anyway.”

You turn to find San staring at you, his eyes so warm and inviting, lined with impatience he doesn’t dare verbalize. His jaw clenches as you lean down, tongue poking out to meet the leaking tip of his cock as Wooyoung lines himself up, letting his cock catch on your entrance with each slide up your folds. San’s other hand finds your hair as you lick up the underside of him, his head tipping backward as a moan tumbles out from his chest, abdomen already clenching at the pleasure. 

“Fuck, that mouth,” San hisses as you let a mouthful of saliva drip onto his cock, using one hand to spread it along his length before you take the tip in your mouth fully, his grip tightens in your roots. “Missed those pretty lips, baby.” 

You can’t answer, a strangled noise forcing itself out of you as the tip of Wooyoung’s cock prods your entrance. His hands find your hips, squeezing, “Breathe for me, baby.” His tone is absent, like he needed the reminder more than you did, laser-focused on how your entrance is already sucking him in.

You breathe through your nose, eyes screwing shut as he pushes in, filling you with his length inch by inch, slowly but steadily. A high whimper punches through your lips, mouth unwrapping from San’s cock to dip your head down, hips involuntarily pushing back onto Wooyoung, wanting to be full, fast. 

“Patience,” Wooyoung squeezes your hips harder, more confidence in his voice, “this tight lil’ thing needs to be stretched out, take it easy, baby. We’ll give you everything, I promise.”

You haven’t felt this full in years. Even sopping wet you could feel him carving into you, making space for himself where you haven’t been properly filled in so long– the pleasure was tantalizing, slight sting of the stretch mixing into a cocktail of euphoria, your eyes fluttered back into your head, hand tightening around the base of San’s cock.

“Breathe, Shygirl,” San encourages, “let him in.”

Your eyes open, flickering up to San who watches Wooyoung over your head, your body the bridge connecting the two men. The sight of him, flushed, chest patched with a rosy hue, your tongue slides out of your mouth to lick up the underside of him again, taking the tip of him into your mouth. 

His hips buck upward, surprised at your warmth wrapped around him, he pushes his cock deeper into your throat and you gag involuntarily, other hand tightening into the sheets below you. You breathe through it, your nose pushing out air as you take him deeper, head bobbing along his length as Wooyoung fully sheathes himself inside you. 

He waits there a moment, fingers gripping the plush of your ass, his voice utterly gone as he says, “She’s so fuckin’ tight, Sannie.”

San’s eyes flicker up to him, “Make her cum on your cock, wanna see.”

He pulls out all the way just to slam back inside and your throat constricts around San’s length, making you gag again, eyes watering, blurring your vision. Wooyoung whines, “Fuck, baby, holy shit, Sannie.”

Hearing him moan out San’s name while he fucks you etches stars into your vision. Your hips start pushing back, your hand leaving San’s length to take purchase in the sheets as your hips buck against Wooyoung’s length in the same rhythm that you bob your head along San’s cock. Both men moan, a pitiful sound, lewd and desperate, it makes you clench around Wooyoung, nose diving down to press into the tuft of hair at the base of San’s cock. 

“There you go,” San huffs, voice strangled, you look up to see him sink his teeth into his bottom lip. “Fuck, so pretty, taking my cock so fucking well. Missed seeing you like this.”

You moan around him, core clenching and you can hear the whine caught in the back of Wooyoung’s throat, his fingers curling into the plush of your ass, squeezing so fucking hard it rips a tight noise from your chest, dying on San’s cock. 

“Don’t know how long I’ll last, fuck,” Wooyoung chokes out, hands sliding up to your hipbones.

San does his best to make his smile appear cocky, “When’s the last time you fucked, huh?” He gasps the moment the words leave his lips, as you swallow around his length, he curses under his breath, tightening a hand in your roots.

Wooyoung speaks through gritted teeth, “Too fucking long, shit, she’s suckin’ me in–”

“Can’t wait to feel,” San grunts, hips twitching into your mouth, forcing you to take him deeper, “mouth just as dangerous, you’re a demon, Shy.”

You try to smile, he’s too wide in your mouth, in your throat, you settle for shooting him one with your eyes. You’re in rhythm now, head bobbing at the same pace as Wooyoung fucking into you, being so full, so manhandled by the two of them even if you were the one who put yourself here feels so good. Wooyoung’s cock is thinner than San’s, longer, you can feel how it curves along the front side of your walls, hitting every single spot you need it to. 

It makes your knees wobble, your fingers twisting in the sheets, it feels too fucking good. It’s been a long while since you’ve breached an orgasm around someone’s cock, it’s muscle memory the way your arch comes back to you, the rhythm in which you fuck against him to get yourself off, the pressure building so different from when you do it yourself. 

Wooyoung notices, landing a sharp smack to your ass, “Usin’ me? I can feel you fucking back.”

You pop off of San’s length to turn your head halfway, “Y’feel so good, Woo, can’t help it.”

His brows tie together, jaw falling slack, “Fuck, don’t stop, baby, don’t stop–”

“Inside, kay?” Between a moan and a whimper, “Don’t pull out.”

His palms push into the plush of your ass again as you take San’s cock into your mouth, stretching your lips wide to take him, using the slick you’d left behind to glide your tongue all the way down, choking yourself on him, bobbing your head in rhythm again. 

“Shy,” there’s nerves in San’s voice, “baby– fuck, Shy– gonna cum–”

Wooyoung’s hips stutter, he curses under his breath, one of his hands slides around to your front, between your legs, “Can’t– need you to cum first, baby, please.”

Two fingers to the bundle of nerves between your legs, your hips jerk, back arching impossibly deeper, a gargled moan vibrates San’s cock and he curses low, hands in your hair pulling, it’s overstimulating, how much is happening all at once. 

Wooyoung’s fingers take all but three tight circles at your clit to send you freefalling over the edge, pressure blowing, pleasure spreading through your body like fireworks reaching each limb, every nerve ending. San tugs you off his cock by your hair, one hand fisting the base of him to stop his orgasm from hitting, and Wooyoung cries out as he barrels into you, hips finally stilling when he’s fully sheathed, filling you with warmth. 

You’re gaping, staring at San wide-eyed, “Why?”

It takes a moment for you to process the warmth. Like sitting before a fire, it’s comforting, head dropping to let it sink in– nostalgic, you missed this. 

“Wanna cum inside you,” he answers simply, “c’mere.”

Manhandling you all over again, he pulls you onto his lap, you can’t help but reach for Wooyoung behind you. San wastes no time, ignoring your heaving chest, the exhaustion in your eyes you’re hiding with adrenaline, with one hand on your hips he lines you up over his cock, easing you down onto his length, you hiss at the stretch, at the width of him. 

“Big stretch,” his grin is taunting, “you can do it, baby, easy.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, arms stretching behind you, “Woo.” Searching for the man who just came inside you, he’s at your back, broad and steady, arms wrapping around you. 

“I’m here,” he whispers into the curve of your neck, moving your hair away from your sticky neck to press his lips into you, and it’s the comfort you needed to start grinding your hips into San’s cock, moans spilling from your lips, small gasps and whines as he fills you up perfectly, walls molding to the shape of him like he’d never left.

“Fuck, Sannie,” you murmur, “‘s too much, missed your cock, but it’s too much.”

“You can do it,” he leans into you, groaning at the feeling of you around him, he searches for your lips. You pick your head up to meet him, pressing your lips to his, tongue sliding into his mouth, tasting every inch you can find. He grins into your lips, “Look at you, taking it like you did all those years ago. Still my fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?”

You gasp, hips twitching against him, clenching hard, and he curses under his breath like he wasn’t just taunting you. Lips still ghosting yours, he whispers, “Still like my mouth? All that nasty shit?” 

You nod, nipples brushing against his chest with every bounce of your hips, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. All you can manage is, “More.”

“I know, baby,” his hips jerk up and you cry out, arching into Wooyoung behind you who reaches around your front, fingers pinching at your nipples, teeth at your ear. San, voice wrecked, grunts as he says, “Still need a little pain with the pleasure to get you off, huh?”

You can’t answer, eyelids fluttering, hazy at the feeling of Wooyoung’s release spilling out of you onto San’s thighs, the squelching sound of it coating his cock, making it easy for you to bounce yourself against him like a bitch in heat. 

Wooyoung chuckles into your ear, low and velvety, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Never woulda guessed that from you, baby.”

It makes a lazy grin break out across your cheeks, head turning to kiss him, all teeth and tongue, messy and delicious. “Really?” 

“My Shygirl,” his voice is filled with affection, lips pressed to the side of your head, parted and spilling spit onto your temple, your cheeks, it feels dirty– so fucking sexy you can’t control the way you hump San’s cock, slurring mindless babbles and strained noises you can barely comprehend. 

“Our Shygirl,” San corrects him, eyeing Wooyoung over your shoulder, a severity to his tone that makes your eyes flick upward in question. 

His brows tied with pleasure, sweat dripping down his brow, dark hair messy and tangled on his head, he looks like a fucking dream. He is a dream, this is a dream, harmonious with the two as if you’ve done this a thousand times, like it was always supposed to be this way, he can read the question on your tongue. He cups your cheek with a hand, sliding it to the back of your head to take root in your hair, tugging you towards him close enough for your lips to touch, “It’s different this time.”

You try to kiss him with your slacked jaw but it’s a trading of spit more than it is a kiss, “Different.”

“Mine,” he growls, a hand wrapping around your back, fingers digging into your skin, his words too coherent to be born of the heat of the moment. “Wanted this for too long, both of you, you’re both mine.”

“Yours,” you repeat, confirm with an airy head, echoed by Wooyoung as your hips stutter against San’s cock, head tipped against the younger man’s shoulder, “f-fuck me.”

“Sit,” it’s an order from San to Wooyoung that’s answered on command, he sits on his calves before uncurling his legs from below him, cock half-hard laying stiff between his hips. 

San maneuvers you with two hands on your waist, you gasp as he tugs you off his cock effortlessly, laying you back on Wooyoung’s chest like it took no fucking strength at all. Strong arms wrap around you as your skin meets his, tilting your head to the side to see him, to kiss him, he smiles as he sees you, teeth on display. 

“So fucking pretty,” Wooyoung looks at you the same way he always does, stars in his eyes, like he couldn’t smile without his whole face if he tried, like the look was solely for you. “You’re mine too, y’know.”

You reach up with one arm to pull his head down to yours, the kiss softer than those you’ve shared tonight, more controlled like you needed a moment to let his words sink in, your mind too fuzzy to process the weight of what that meant. 

San’s fingers hook under your knees, pushing them backward until they leave you spread, lining himself up all over again, pushing inside in one quick motion. 

A different feeling of full, Wooyoung holds your face against his as you whisper a cry into his mouth, your lips still touching as he grins, “Been waiting for this too, haven’t you? You wanna be ours?” 

Body going limp in his hold, hand falling from his cheek mindlessly, your body feels like fucking jelly. You nod, breath quickening, short and tight at the feeling of San fucking into you, “Need to be, waited so long.” 

San’s grip tightens under your knees, picking up speed, your head turns to see him and god you want to take a picture, want to frame it and hang it on the wall; brows furrowed, lips parted, eyes focused on your meeting below, his abdomen flexing as he rolls his hips into you, it makes your toes curl where they hang in the air. 

Face scrunching up, you reach for him, pulling him down to you, “Need t’kiss you.”

Messy, sloppy, wet, you can feel him in your stomach as your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close. With the last peck to your lips he presses his forehead against yours, “I missed you, I love you— taking me s’fucking perfectly, like you always do—”

A strangled noise fights to leave your chest, heavy where it sits trapped, the words forcing the warmth in the pit of your belly to bloom, explode, shattering every wall you’d built up in the past few weeks. 

“I love you,” it’s a broken whisper, an admission you can’t keep inside any longer. A little louder, a little firmer, “I love you.” 

He smiles into the kiss he plants on your lips, “Yeah?” 

“Hey,” Wooyoung interjects, hands cupping your cheeks to tilt you backward, “I love you, too.” 

You’d smile if San didn’t pick up speed all over again, instead you’re babbling a mess of I love you, I love you too into Wooyoung’s mouth, lips barely touching enough to call it a kiss, so mindless and breathless and overwhelmed all you can do is feel. 

Wooyoung’s hand leaves your cheek to sink between yours and San’s bodies, two fingers pressed to your clit, swirling tight circles on the bundles of nerves. Your body fights to jerk between them, trapped between sweat and muscle, head lolling backward on Wooyoung’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. 

San switches his angle, strong arms tilting your hips upward to fuck into you harder, to angle his cock to hit the sweet spot inside you, building the pit of pressure of your stomach with purpose. 

Your eyes blow wide, breath quickening, “San— Sannie—”

“C’mon,” he encourages, sitting backward to fuck into you faster, “Lemme feel it, want it.” 

Incoherent babbles and the clenching of your cunt has your hands reaching for his forearms, fingernails pressing into his skin, all while Wooyoung keeps his pace on your clit, rhythm perfect, pressure nothing short of unbearable. 

“Woo— Sannie—” you don’t know who to cry for, hips fighting to meet San’s thrusts, grinding into Wooyoung’s fingers, “I’m gonna cum.” 

“Let go, baby,” Wooyoung’s voice is light and encouraging but he’s babbling as if San was fucking him, “let him feel it, he wants it so bad, he loves it, loves you.” 

Breath caught in your chest, your jaw drops as your pleasure hits its peak, meeting San’s gaze as your orgasm washes over you like a fucking hurricane, utterly speechless as your legs shake in the open air, inescapable euphoria reaching every inch of skin. 

“Fuck, Shy,” San groans, “you’re so fucking sexy, oh my god, oh my god—”

You don’t have time to respond before Wooyoung is kissing you again, tilting your head backward with one hand as San extends your orgasm with every thrust of his cock, Wooyoung’s fingers slowing on your clit, letting you ride it out until you’re a whining, twitching mess. 

“Fuck,” you mutter harshly, letting Wooyoung guide the sloppy kiss as San’s hips stutter, rhythm quickening to something ruthless, chasing his own high, a selfish pace. 

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” San’s babbling, “all mine, mine to fill,” his voice is somewhere far, deep in the moment, “I love it, love you, my Shygirl, shit—”

Erratic thrusts come to a hilt, stalling fully seated, you moan softly into Wooyoung’s mouth as heavy warmth fills you steadily, making you shiver. 

You break away from Wooyoung to look at San, eyelids low but you couldn’t miss the way his skin glows, as if you poured water over a sculpture made of gold, you stare in awe at his heaving chest, how his abdomen still clenches, flexing each muscle. 

“Pretty,” the word is mindless, said through a breath. 

He leans down, pressing his palms to the bed on either side of you, attaching your lips in a slow, steady kiss. “That’s you,” he whispers, “my pretty girl.” 

He picks his head up to Wooyoung behind you, pressing a kiss to his lips, too. “My pretty boy.” 

Wooyoung holds him close, you feel him melt under San’s touch, his words. “I love you,” Wooyoung mumbles, half-heard to you because he says it into San’s mouth, “so much.” 

“I love you too, baby,” San presses one more kiss to his lips before he plants one on your forehead, “and I love you, too.” 

“Do you really?” The question is pure instinct, “Like, actually?” 

“Baby,” he says it like it’s obvious, like it’s silly for you to even question it. “I’ve spent my whole life loving you.” 

There's a heaviness to your chest, the same tightness you felt when he said it earlier, it travels to your throat, the heat under your eyes pushing water into your lash line. 

“No,” he says softly, “don’t cry.”

You can’t help your smile, sniffling, giggling as two tears spill down your cheeks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Hold on,” his voice is still delicate, like glass, he sits back on his knees to carefully slip out of you, “come up here.” 

You move with Wooyoung, the younger man half carrying you to the top of the bed, your heads falling into your pillows, their bodies on either side of you in your queen-sized bed like it was big enough to fit all three of you. 

Your back is halfway pressed up against San, eyes hazy and low with Wooyoung in view, you ask him, “And you?” 

His smile is soft but his face reads relief like he’s been sitting on this information for ages. “I’ve loved you probably since I moved in, but I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”

“That I knew,” you sniff, giggling again, turning your head up to see San who’s staring at you like you’re his entire world, “why didn’t you guys tell me?” 

“It’s not an easy thing to say,” there’s a small, apologetic smile on his lips. 

Wooyoung adds, “When we started living together I just assumed we were friend-zoned forever. When San and I got together, like, half of our relationship was based on the fact that we both still loved you while loving each other.” 

San’s arm wraps around your front, tucking you further into him, “When you’re best friends and roommates and a little too close for comfort, it’s hard to not fall in love.” 

“Especially when all of those things are you,” Wooyoung adds, shuffling towards you like he couldn’t get close enough, “why didn’t you tell us how you felt?”

“Because you started fucking dating each other,” you answer like you’ve been waiting for the question, amusement overshadowing the truth to your words, “I didn’t think I was invited to the party.” 

Wooyoung leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, he looks at you when he pulls away, so much love and honesty swirling in chocolate it makes you shiver, but because he’s Wooyoung, he starts singing, “I only threw this party for you, only threw this party for you, for you for you…”

You snort, giggling into San’s chest, and the older man continues, loud and proud, “You could watch me pull up on your body like it’s summer take my clothes off in the water—”

You join him, just as loud and maybe even prouder, “—splash around and get you blessed like holy water, I don’t know what you’ve been waitin’ for, you know that I’ve been waitin’ for you.” 

Wooyoung laughs, turning on his back, you watch how his chest expands and falls with each loud, obnoxious cackle. He turns his head to face you, “If you think about it, that song is kinda us.” 

“I think that song is Jay Gatsby,” you correct him, “I’m kinda Jay Gatsby and you guys are kinda Daisy Buchanan.” 

“No, we’re Jay Gatsby and you’re Daisy Buchanan,” San says a little more confidently than you did, “we threw the party and you didn't come.” 

“Oh we are not arguing about this,” you turn your head to furrow your brows at him, reiterating, “but let the records show that I was not invited to said party.” 

Wooyoung is quick with his answer, “We only threw the damn party for you.” 

It’s like nothing has changed. 

Curled up on the chaise of the couch, you in the corner, Wooyoung’s head on your lap with his leg stretched one way, San’s head is between your legs with both of your bodies laid out the other way. 

Dirty Dancing is playing on the flatscreen across the room, Sweetie cozy right beneath you, on the hardwood floor with his body pressed up against the deck of the couch, everything, everyone you love is in one room. 

A month of being together, the only thing that’s changed in your relationship is where you sleep, and that you kiss— and fuck, entirely too much for a typical honeymoon phase, but as San says, you’re making up for lost time.

Waking up together, going to work together, sleeping together, you wonder after years of being attached at the hip how you don’t feel tired of them. You suppose you never could, the two men being fibers of your being, embedded into you like the essence of your own being, it’s more that you can’t live without them. 

And the more you think about it, the more you wonder how you didn’t notice it sooner. So hyper focused on what you want, you couldn’t realize what you already had, there was a reason your relationship has always been too close for comfort. 

But now you have them, and you love them, and they fucking love you— they are not afraid to show it, they’d scream it to the rooftops if you let them. Sometimes you almost do let them, just to let the feeling sink in a little further, to let their love overflow the gap in your chest that’s been full for a month now. 

One hand in San’s hair, the other drawing shapes into Wooyoung’s chest, a thought dawns on you. You ask, “Hey, remember that night at Steer?” Their heads tilt toward, eyeing you over their eyebrows, nodding. “Whatever happened to Yunho?” 

Wooyoung snorts, San shakes his head, it makes you giggle. Wooyoung answers, “I told him his work was done and that we could take it from there.” 

“His work was done?” You question, “What work?”

“You told him you love us the night you went on the date with him, right?” San suddenly asks, looking over his forehead at you once more. You nod like this was common information and he laughs so loud it makes Sweetie sit up on his hind legs. 

“I told you, you called me schizophrenic!” San shouts over the couch at Wooyoung, sitting up on an elbow, “I knew it, my Shy senses were tingling.” 

“Shy senses?” You ask, a question ignored. 

Wooyoung sits up too, eyes wide, “Wha—? Maybe you should be a detective, Sannie, I’m serious.” 

“What are you talking about?” You ask a little louder, “Inform me right this second, please.” 

“I know you so well it’s scary,” San lays back down, one hand lazily thrown over the side of the couch to scratch Sweetie’s head, calming him. “Like the back of my hand, baby.” 

His words make you smile, settling back into the couch again. Wooyoung turns on his elbow to see you, “San knew that Yunho knew,” he shakes his head, “with literally no proof, just vibes. Scary.” 

You run your hands through his hair, your smile completely teasing, “You’ll get there, baby. One more decade.” 

Wooyoung’s top lip curls, “Not you, too. I know you just as well, if not better than San—”

San’s head picks up with a gasp, “You do not—!”

Your giggles cut through their bickering, “You’re both stupid, I love you.” 

“We love you too,” they mumble, settling back into their positions on the couch, where your hands fell to their hair, scratching their scalps into silence. Your smile stays as your head lifts back to the movie across the room, not actually watching, too consumed with contentment and that lovesick feeling in your stomach. 

Yours. Finally. 

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voices blur together into one long sound. music thuds through the walls, the rhythm steady. someone laughs too loudly, then too far away.

yuma hooks an arm loosely around your shoulder as you pass the kitchen. “you’re leaving already?” he asks, as if he’s offended.

“i’m tired,” you say, speech slurred like his from the alcohol you’ll regret in the morning. 

“you’re always tired,” he replies, but he doesn’t let go.

nicholas is a step behind you both, quieter, slower. he’s drunk in a way that doesn’t show much, more subtle than you and yuma. “upstairs,” he says, not asking.

you glance back at him. “yeah.”

yuma lets out a satisfied hum, guiding you toward the stairs like he always does when three of you to leave together. “my room’s closer,” he says, already starting up.

“of course it is,” nicholas mutters. 

you catch the way yuma looks back at him over his shoulder; quick, amused, like they’re having a separate conversation that you’re not apart of. you follow anyway, brushing it off. maybe you’re so drunk that you’re imagining things. 

by the time you reach the hallway upstairs, the noise from below is just a low hum, muffled through the walls. 

yuma stumbles slightly into the wall as he turns, laughing under his breath. “we survived.”

“barely,” you say as you stop behind him. 

nicholas steps past you both, opening his bedroom door, rather than yuma’s, without hesitation. “come in, or don’t.” 

it isn’t really an invitation but yuma already follows him in. it’s his bedroom after all. 

you hesitate for half a second too long. nicholas notices. of course he does.

“you coming in?” he asks, quieter now. his voice is softer, a subtle change in tone from when he spoke to yuma. 

your throat feels dry for no good reason. “yeah,” you mutter as you walk past the doorway. the door shuts behind you, and the sound of the party disappears completely.

the room is dim, messy like you would expect a frat guy’s room. clothes on a chair, a half-empty bottle on the desk, the faint smell of alcohol still in the air like it’s clinging to everything.

yuma flops onto the bed immediately, spreading out like he owns it. “this is a terrible idea,” he says with a huff.

“you followed me,” nicholas says.

“exactly,” yuma replies, grinning.

you’re still standing near the door. it feels different, like there’s tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. 

nicholas moves first, shutting the door properly this time. the click sounds too final in the quiet. he leans back against it for a second, eyes flicking to you, not lingering anywhere else.

just you.

“you’re still standing there,” he says, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. 

“yeah,” you reply, but it comes out softer than you mean it to.

yuma pats the space between him and nicholas on the bed. “sit down. you look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“i’m fine.”

“you’re swaying,” he corrects.

you don’t deny it because, well, you are. so you sit.

you’re sat between them again, like it’s become the only natural place for you to end up tonight. yuma sits up, the mattress dipping under his weight. 

yuma’s shoulder presses into yours without asking permission. nicholas sits a little straighter, but not farther away. your knee brushes his when you adjust.

no one moves it.

the room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. it’s tense, like the air is waiting for someone to break first.

yuma exhales slowly, watching you more than anything else in the room. “you’re doing that thing again.”

you look at him. “what thing?”

his smile is lazy, but his eyes aren’t. “thinking too hard.”

nicholas’s voice comes quieter. “you’ve been like that all night.”

you swallow. “i’m just sitting here,” you say.

“yeah,” yuma murmurs, leaning back on his hands, “that’s the problem.”

nicholas finally looks at you fully. not the room. not yuma. you.

your breath catches a little too late to hide it, but yuma notices anyway. he always does. and this time, when his hand lands behind you on the bed, it doesn’t feel like an accident anymore.

nicholas’ eyes flicker down to your lips, pink and glossy. you notice, of course you do. it’s obvious from the way your cheeks burn up. before you can process what’s happening, his lips crash onto yours.

yuma is still sat on your right, hand moving to your thigh. you tense up at first, lips still moving against nicholas’. 

nicholas pulls away reluctantly, a soft whine escaping your lips as he does. he chuckles, though he’s a little nervous deep inside. “is this okay?” he asks, trying to read you. the last thing he’d want is for you to be uncomfortable. 

you nod immediately; it’s almost embarrassing how bad you want this. yuma’s hand still massages your thigh, hands creeping closer to your heat. “you’re wet already,” he mumbles as his hand moves past your skirt, fingers brushing against the damp part of your panties. 

you just whimper in response, overwhelmed, your heart beating in your chest louder than the music downstairs. “s-shut up,” you stutter. 

to your left, nicholas chuckles again, the sound sending a jolt to your cunt. “you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” he asks, his voice smooth. 

your cheeks heat up yet again-you’re sure you’re as red as an apple. “no—“ you start, but he cuts you off. “don’t lie,” he says, less soft than before. 

you swallow thickly. you open your lips to speak, but yuma’s fingers push your soaked panties to the side to slide through your folds, causing you to moan. “you’re so wet,” he mumbles. without warning, two of his fingers plunge into your tight hole. your back arches, a loud whimper escaping your lips before nicholas muffles it with another kiss. 

the room fills with the sound of your moans, and of yuma’s long fingers pumping in and out of your heat. “so wet already,” he murmurs as he watches you and nicholas. “needy little baby,” he continues. “dripping from just being alone with your two best friends, huh?”

you whimper pathetically against nicholas’ lips. yuma sighs with frustration. he wants your attention too. he curls his fingers inside of you sharply. “stop ignoring me,” he grits out. 

you reluctantly pull away from nicholas, moaning yet again from yuma’s actions. “i-i.. yes, fuck,” you barely manage to get out. you don’t even know what you’re saying at this point. 

yuma groans and pulls his fingers out without any warning. his other hand grips your jaw, pulling you closer to his face. “open,” he says, bringing his fingers covered in your juices up to your lips. and you do, lips parting immediately and wrapping around his fingers. he groans at the feeling of your wet, warm mouth. 

to your left nicholas is watching the scene unfold in front of him. like yuma, his pants are starting to tighten quickly. but he decides to be patient, he doesn’t want to scare you off. 

yuma stands up, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a soft pop sound coming from your lips. “up,” he says. you freeze, looking at nicholas. he just nods, signaling that it’s okay. you know they’d never do anything to hurt you. you stand up, nicholas’ hand on the small of your back. yuma looks over at the bed before his eyes meet yours again. “get on the bed, on your hands and knees,” he commands. 

your knees nearly buckle, your breath catching in your throat. but you obey, slowly moving to the side of nicholas’ twin sized bed, getting on your hands and knees. nicholas shifts, moving so he’s sitting where your head is. on the other hand, yuma walks up behind you. he pushes your skirt above your ass, groaning at the sight. while he’s there, he tugs your panties off, tossing them to an unknown area of nicholas’ room. 

“so eager,” he mutters as he sees you clench around nothing. you can hear him messing with his belt, the sound of the metal shooting to your pussy. he tugs it off, tugging his pants and boxers with it. you look behind you, and see his hand immediately wrap around his cock—it’s thick, not the longest but bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. you gulp, feeling your cheeks heat up again. 

nicholas notices your nervousness and he cups your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “it’s okay,” he mumbles as he watches you closely. 

“the safe word is red,” yuma says from behind you. your chest tightens, you’re not sure if it’s from excitement or nervousness, or a mix of both. but you just nod in response, a quiet “okay” slipping out. 

yuma’s hand gropes the flesh of your ass, his other hand bringing his cock to your entrance. he rubs the tip against your folds, groaning at the feeling. it’s so slick, so eager to take him. and it does. he pushes in smoothly, the wetness from your cunt making it easy for him to push inside. you let out a loud moan, sending a jolt to nicholas’ crotch. 

yuma takes his time sliding in, letting you adjust to his size. but he’s impatient, he always has been. he doesn’t wait for you to give him the go before he starts to pull out a bit, pushing in and out of your pussy at a painfully slow pace. all you can do is moan, hands gripping the sheets underneath you. 

the younger man looks to your right; nicholas palming himself over his jeans. nicholas groans quietly at the sight of you taking yuma’s cock.. yuma notices, smirking to himself as he watches the older man. they look at each other, speaking to each other with just their eyes as they always do. nicholas undoes his belt carefully, standing up to tug bis jeans and boxers down. you look up, mouth watering at the sight. ‘shit,’ you think to yourself. he’s huge, bigger than yuma. hes a bit thinner, but much longer. you swallow thickly, eyes looking up to his. he just looks down at you, hand moving up and down the base of his cock, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. 

yuma watches, his cock twitching inside of you at the sight. he feels you clench around him as you stare at nicholas’ cock. “you g’na put that pretty mouth to use and suck nico off?” yuma asks, grunting from how your pussy wraps around him so nicely. 

all you can do is let out a pathetic moan and nod, lips parting immediately as nicholas’ hand cups the underside of your chin. he grips his cock, rubbing the precum on his tip all over your lips. he groans, feeling your tongue dart out, lapping at his tip like a starved woman. he pushes in further, filling your warm, wet mouth with his length. his head is thrown back, cursing under his breath as he hisses. “shit, baby,” he mutters as your lips wrap around him. your moans are muffled by him filling your mouth, yuma’s hips still snapping against yours. your moans send a vibration to nicholas’ cock, his hand moving to your hair to grip it tightly. 

the room fills with the sound of both men moaning and grunting, both of their hips thrusting towards you. nicholas is more gentle, moving slowly but still thrusting his cock into your mouth as he watches you. yuma, on the other hand, is rough. his hands tightly grip your hips; you’ll definitely have marks in the morning. 

yuma’s pace starts to pick up, his movements becoming sloppier as he watches nicholas’ cock disappear into your mouth. nicholas looks over at him, his eyes meeting yuma’s. “don’t tell me this is turning you on,” he laughs, causing yuma’s grip on your hips to tighten.

“s-shut the fuck up,” yuma grits out as he keeps dragging his dick in and out of your cunt. nicholas just chuckles, cradling your face as he continues his slow movements. 

“oh c’mon yu,” nicholas says, suppressing his moans as you hollow your cheeks around his cock. “you can be honest, you’ve thought about me fucking your mouth, too, huh? don’t worry, you’ll get your turn too.”

yuma whimpers in response, his hips snapping harshly against yours, causing you to take nicholas’ cock deeper in your throat. he doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol in his system or the feeling of your wet heat around him, but his cheeks flush and he’s a whimpering mess now. “shit--shit ah, ‘m cumming,” he moans at a high pitch, eyes squeezing shut as ropes of cum fill you up. you moan from the feeling, your orgasm following soon after. you moan around nicholas’ cock, your walls fluttering around yuma, accidentally overstimulating him a bit. you gasp, nicholas’ length slipping out of your mouth. he hisses, but let’s you come down from your high. he watches you, brushing the hair out of your face as he continues to stroke his cock. “take a break baby, hm?” he whispers to you as you look up at him, catching your breath. you just nod, laying on your stomach as you watch nicholas. 

he moves to the other side of the bed where yuma is, watching the younger one pull out of you with a groan. he grips yuma’s collar, pulling him in for a kiss. yuma moans against his lips, reciprocating it. it’s a hungry, messy kiss. you roll over onto your back, eyes darting up to them immediately. you feel a heat rush to your core, causing your thighs to squeeze together. they don’t notice yet, too lost in each other. nicholas pulls away and yuma whines lightly as if wanting a little more from the older man. nicholas can’t help but smirk as he pulls away from the kiss. “lay on your back,” he tells yuma, who scrambles to get on the bed immediately. he lays on his back and nicholas adjusts him, yuma’s head hanging off of the bed. “gonna put this mouth to good use,” he murmurs before he slaps his cock on his cheek. yuma’s plump lips part, nearly drooling as his eyes stare up at nicholas’ length.

yuma’s lips part automatically, allowing nicholas to shove his cock in his mouth. nicholas hisses quietly, feeling yuma’s lips wrap around him tightly. while they’re busy, you crawl over to yuma, watching him harden. your hand gently grabs his length, pumping it slowly, causing yuma to moan around nicholas. nicholas bucks his hips, groaning from the vibrations. he watches you, watching you tug your skirt off and move onto yuma’s lap, hovering over his cock. 

yuma whimpers around nicholas as he sucks him off, feeling you line his length up with your entrance. one hand is on his stomach to hold yourself up as you slowly sink down, adjusting to his size again. you bite your lip, suppressing your noises. nicholas watches closely, his dick twitching in yuma’s mouth. while you adjust, your hands both move to his stomach to hold yourself up. your head fell forward, gasping as you bottomed out. 

you felt yuma twitch inside of you as you clenched around him, overwhelmed from the feeling. he slipped in so easily from the mix of your cum from your earlier round. you started to ride yuma at a slow pace, grinding on his lap. the sounds coming from where your bodies met was erotic, so wet. the room filled with the sounds of the three of you moaning and your skin slapping.

yuma knew he wouldn’t last long, and nicholas was coming to his climax as well. he leaned forward, causing his dick to push further in yumas mouth. he slowly thrusted his cock into yuma’s mouth as he grabbed your face, kissing you hungrily. you moaned against each others lips, your pussy clenching more around yuma as nicholas’ tongue entered your mouth. you sucked on his tongue, your saliva mixing. 

you felt yuma’s hand smacking at your thigh, his moans getting louder. he was about to cum again, deep inside of you. his hips thrusted up against yours, fucking you from below. you whimpered around nicholas’ mouth, the older man pulling away reluctantly. before he could speak, yuma’s cum filled you up again, your tight walls milking him. he whimpered and moaned around nicholas as he emptied his cum into you. you felt the warmth filling you, causing you to moan. but, you hadn’t cum yet. 

nicholas noticed, still slowly moving his cock in and out of yuma’s mouth. “don’t stop riding him,” he instructed as he pulled out of the younger’s mouth. and who were you to disobey nicholas? you kept riding yuma, overstimulating the poor boy. his hands gripped your hips, trying to stop you but you kept riding. nicholas watched, stroking his dick at a fast pace as he watched. he knew you were close, as was he. 

yuma twitches under you, whining from the overwhelming feeling as you continue to chase your orgasm. you feel a knot form in your stomach, causing you to once again clench around him. “f–fuck hurry up!” he whimpers at you, fingers digging into the curve of your ass. 

“ngh–f-fuck, cumming,” you whined at a high pitch, feeling your orgasm about to crash. nicholas leaned forward again, jerking his heavy dick over yuma’s face as he crashed his lips against yours. your walls spasmed around yuma, whimpering and moaning against nicholas’ lips as you rode out your high. nicholas came as well, white ropes shooting onto yuma’s stomach and chest. he groaned against your lips, a string of saliva pulling as he pulled away. 

your body felt weak, nearly falling over. nicholas caught you, chuckling as he helped you pull off of yuma and lay on his bed. yuma panted quietly, as did you. he looked down at his chest and stomach, his cheeks turning red at the sight of nicholas’ cum on him. “really?” he groans, looking up at nicholas as he sits on the bed between you. 

nicholas laughs, “what? don’t act like you didn’t like it.” yuma grabs a pillow and chucks it at nicholas, causing you to giggle next to them. 

“fine fine, you big baby. i’ll get a rag,” he says as he stands up, heading to his bathroom. while he’s gone, you lean over, looking at yuma’s flushed face. curious, you move closer, lowering your head to lick the cum. you hum, the salty taste hitting your tastebuds. he whines softly, feeling his dick harden for a third time.

his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging at it gently. he didn’t want you to stop, but he didn’t know if he could handle more. you ignored his tugs, licking his skin clean. his lips parted to speak, but nicholas clearing his throat caught his and your attention. you looked up at him, a wet rag in his hand as he sighed. “i guess this is gonna be a long night,” he murmured. 

tags: @dreemxz

Lee Felix doesn’t smoke often, but his friend Jisung does—as religiously as he deals—which is exactly how Felix ended up incorporating Jisung’s product into his baking. It started innocently enough; cookies, brownies, blondies. Then he moved on to infused butters and oils, experimenting with anything he could create in his kitchen. Pretty soon, word spread about the quality of his edibles, and Felix found himself splitting Jisung’s profits fifty-fifty. Not that either of them needed the money—it was more of a hobby than anything else, a side hustle that kept things interesting.

You met Felix on an ordinary Tuesday that becomes decidedly less ordinary the moment you slide into the black Jeep Jisung had sent you a picture of. Except it’s not Jisung waiting for you. The driver’s seat is occupied by possibly the prettiest person you’ve ever seen in your life; long blonde hair cascading past his shoulders in waves so lustrous you briefly wonder if Jisung sent his girlfriend to do the drop. He’s wearing a black and white striped sweater that somehow makes him look even more angelic and when he turns to look at you, you’re struck by delicate features that belong on a runway or in a K-drama, not in a dealer’s car.

“You must be—” he starts and then he speaks, and you swear to God you feel your soul leave your body.

His voice is deep. Impossibly, unfairly deep—like molten lava poured over gravel, like whiskey and honey and sin. It doesn’t match that pretty face at all and the cognitive dissonance is so extreme that you just sit there, frozen, while he smiles knowingly and hands you a carefully packaged bag.

“First time meeting me?” There’s amusement in those dark eyes, like he’s used to this reaction.

You manage to nod, accept the package and somehow exit the vehicle without making a complete fool of yourself, though it’s a close thing. You’re sure—absolutely certain—that you felt a heartbeat between your legs that had nothing to do with your actual pulse.

Your text to Jisung that night isn’t even about the edibles.

You: who the FUCK was that You: your pretty friend with the voice You: does he have a girlfriend Hanji 🍃: lmaooo you met Felix Hanji 🍃: no gf Hanji 🍃: but good luck he’s picky You: the pretty one, right? blonde hair?

You have to be specific because you’ve met Jisung’s friends Chan and Changbin before and they’re both objectively hot but Felix is something else entirely.

Hanji 🍃: yeah, that’s him Hanji 🍃: why are you interested? You: why do you THINK?

After that, you start seeing Felix everywhere. At your favorite café, where he’s always ordering something complicated and sweet. At bars and clubs on nights out with your friends, where he’s inevitably surrounded by his own crew—you’ve learned their names by now, apart from Chan,Changbin and Jisung there’s Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin. They’re loud and chaotic and clearly close, the kind of friend group that makes other people want to be part of their orbit.

Nobody at those cafés or clubs would ever guess what Felix does in his free time. Nobody would believe that the boy with the sweet smile and the expensive sweaters is the one creating those edibles that has half the campus obsessed and they definitely wouldn’t believe what you eventually discover. That behind that baby-faced exterior is someone who fucks you silly on the regular, talking you through it in that devastating voice of his, telling you what a good girl you are while you fall apart beneath him.

But that comes later, first, there’s the slow burn.

Felix doesn’t usually do drops, that’s Jisung’s domain but ever since he met you, he’s been volunteering every single time an order comes through with your name attached. Jisung and the others tease him mercilessly about it.

“Just admit you like her,” Changbin says one night while they’re playing video games at Chan’s apartment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felix replies, not looking up from his phone, where he’s absolutely checking to see if you’ve texted.

“You literally never did drops before,” Hyunjin points out. “Now you’re doing them weekly.”

Felix just shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. If you end up with extra goodies in your orders—an additional brownie here, a free chocolate bar there—that’s nobody’s business but his.

The first time you really flirt with him—not just awkward stammering but actual, intentional flirting—he shows up to the drop with his hair in braided twists. A few pieces have escaped to frame his face, but the rest is pulled up in a bun that shows off an undercut you didn’t even know he had. It’s unfairly attractive and you tell him so.

“You look like you’re straight out of my favorite books,” you say, leaning against the Jeep’s door frame instead of immediately leaving like usual.

His eyebrows rise with interest. “Yeah? Which book?”

“A court of thorns and roses or The Mortal Instruments,haven’t decided,” you admit, then immediately feel your face heat because that sounds ridiculous out loud but Felix just grins, devastating and dangerous.

“Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Depends. Have you read either?”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s a promise in those two words that makes your stomach flip.

Later, you’ll learn that he downloaded all the books that very night. That he read ACOTAR in four days and that he has opinions about Rhysand and Cassian. He definitely thinks he could pull off that Jace Wayland character too.

After that, something shifts.

Felix starts showing up in rings, thick silver bands on his fingers that catch the light. You’re pretty sure he caught you staring at his hands once and now he’s doing it on purpose. He’ll drum his fingers on the steering wheel while you count out cash or run a hand through his hair in a way that draws your attention exactly where he wants it.

He uses his voice like a weapon, dropping it even lower when he says your name, dragging out syllables until you’re practically squirming in the passenger seat.

“Enjoy these,” he’ll say, handing over your order with a knowing smirk. “I made them extra strong.”

The flirting becomes a game. You show up in his favorite color—you’ve done reconnaissance—he wears that cologne that makes you want to lean closer. You laugh at his jokes a little too enthusiastically, he lets his fingers brush yours when exchanging packages, contact lingering just a second too long.

Jisung finally gives you Felix’s number after weeks of this mutual torture.

Hanji 🍃: im sick of being the middleman Hanji 🍃: just text him Hanji 🍃: [Contact: Felix ☀️]

You stare at the number for three days and don’t text him. It’s a power play, maybe, or self-preservation because texting him feels like admitting something, like crossing a line from customer-dealer into something far more complicated. Felix notices, of course he does and at the next drop, he calls you out on it.

“Han said he gave you my number,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.

“He did.”

“But you haven’t used it.”

“Nope.”

A pause. Then that devastating smile. “Scared?”

“Of you? Please.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

You don’t have a good answer for that, so you deflect. “Maybe I like the mystery. The anticipation.”

“The anticipation,” he repeats slowly, and the way his voice wraps around those syllables should be illegal. “Interesting strategy.”

“Is it working?”

He laughs, low and rich and entirely unfair. “What do you think?”

It’s another two weeks before things finally, finally come to a head. You run into him at a club—not a planned drop, not a business transaction, just pure coincidence. You’re with your friends, he’s with his and there’s definitely enough alcohol in your system to make you brave.

You approach him at the bar.

“Felix.”

He turns, recognizes you immediately, and his whole face lights up in a way that makes your heart stutter. “Hey.”

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Could say the same.” He’s drinking something amber-colored and there’s a slight flush to his cheeks that makes him look even more unfairly pretty. “Having fun?”

“I am now.”

It’s a terrible line but it works. Felix’s eyes darken with interest and he shifts closer—close enough that you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re flirting with me,” he observes.

“I’ve been flirting with you for weeks.”

“I know.” His smile is absolutely wicked. “I’ve been waiting for you to do something about it.”

“Like what?”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Like text me. Like ask me out. Like stop playing games and admit you want this.”

Your breath catches. “Want what?”

“Me.” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes and the confidence there—the absolute certainty—is intoxicating. “You want me.”

He’s not wrong.

“Maybe,” you breathe, and his laugh vibrates through your chest.

“Liar.”

And then he kisses you—or you kiss him, honestly, it’s hard to tell who moves first—and it’s everything you imagined and nothing like you expected. He tastes like whiskey and something sweet, and he kisses like he’s trying to prove a point, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard.

“So,” Felix murmurs, thumb tracing your lower lip. “About that text…”

You pull out your phone with him looking, open a new message to his number, and type: Hi

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t check it, just grins. “Hi yourself.”

“Take me home,” you say and it’s not a question.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The drive to his apartment is charged with tension. Felix keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles that make it very hard to think straight. Every time you hit a red light, he looks over at you with dark eyes and that small, knowing smile that promises everything.

His apartment is nicer than you expected; clean, modern, smelling faintly of whatever he’d been baking earlier. You barely get a chance to take it in before he’s on you, backing you against the door the moment it closes, mouth hot and insistent against yours.

“Been thinking about this,” he murmurs against your lips, hands sliding under your shirt. “Since the first time you got in my car.”

“Liar,” you gasp as his mouth moves to your neck. “You didn’t even know me.”

“Didn’t need to.” His teeth graze your pulse point and you actually whimper. “Knew I wanted you.”

He walks you backward toward his bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in your wake. By the time the back of your knees hit his bed, you’re down to your underwear and he’s shirtless, and the sight of him—all lean muscle and golden skin—makes your mouth go dry.

“You okay?” he asks, and there’s genuine concern beneath the desire in his eyes.

“More than okay,” you assure him, reaching up to pull him down to you.

What follows is honestly transcendent. Felix is attentive and thorough, learning exactly what makes you fall apart and then exploiting that knowledge ruthlessly. And that voice, God, that voice.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs as you arch beneath him, his fingers working between your legs expertly. “Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You can’t help but obey, your sounds getting progressively louder as he builds you higher and higher.

“Look at you,” he continues, voice dropping even lower. “Taking my fingers so well. Gonna take something else for me soon?”

You nod frantically, beyond words at this point.

“Use your words. Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Lix, I need—”

“I know what you need.” He withdraws his fingers and you actually sob at the loss but then he’s positioning himself and slowly, torturously slowly, pushing inside. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and you grip his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“Breathe,” he instructs, voice strained. “Just breathe, baby. You’re doing so good for me. Taking me so well.”

He sets a rhythm that has you seeing stars, and he doesn’t stop talking—praising you, telling you how incredible you feel, how perfect you are, asking what you need and then giving it to you before you can even answer.

“There you go,” he says when you finally shatter, clenching around him. “That’s my good girl. So beautiful when you come for me.”

The possessive tone in his voice combined with the praise sends aftershocks through you, and he follows shortly after with a broken groan that you file away in your memory to revisit later. After, he takes care of you; gentle and sweet, cleaning you up and pulling you against his chest. His fingers trace idle patterns on your skin.

“Stay,” he says quietly. It’s not really a question, but you answer anyway. “Okay.”

It becomes a regular thing. Not every night, but often enough that you start keeping a toothbrush at his place. Often enough that his friends start giving him knowing looks when you show up. Often enough that when you place an order through Jisung, Felix shows up with a separate bag.

“What’s this?” you ask, taking the unmarked package.

“Yours,” he says simply. “Made you your own batch.”

You blink at him. “Felix, I haven’t paid you for—”

“I know.” He cuts you off with a kiss. “You’re not going to.”

“But—”

“Not up for debate.”

Later, when Jisung finds out, he corners Felix at Chan’s apartment.

“Dude, you made her a separate batch? And you’re not charging her?”

“So?”

“So? So that’s girlfriend privileges, boyfriend behavior, Felix.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Does she know that?” Changbin chimes in from the couch. “Because you two are together, like, all the time.”

“We’re just hooking up,” Felix insists, but even he can hear how weak it sounds.

“Sure,” Hyunjin says, not looking up from his phone. “That’s why you read an entire fantasy series because she mentioned it once. Very casual.”

Felix flips him off but doesn’t deny it.

The thing is, he’s right, you’re not dating. You’ve never had the conversation, never put labels on whatever this is. You just…exist in each other’s spaces. He comes to your place; you go to his. You meet up at parties and leave together. Your friends know him, his friends know you.

Everyone assumes you’re together. You’re not.

You’re also not seeing anyone else, and neither is he but that’s semantics. It works, this arrangement. It’s easy and comfortable and the intimacy is incredible. Felix knows your body like he’s studied it—knows that you like when he pins your wrists, when he uses that voice, when he takes his time working you up until you’re begging.

“Please,” you whimper one night, writhing beneath him as he edges you for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Please what?” His voice is velvet and sin. “Use your words, sunny.”

“Please let me come. I’ve been so good, haven’t I?”

“You have,” he agrees, thumb circling but not quite hitting where you need it. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. Think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes, please, Lix, I need—”

“I know, baby, I know.” And then he finally, finally gives it to you, and you come so hard you see white.

After, while you’re both catching your breath, he pulls you against his chest and presses a kiss to your temple. It’s intimate in a way that feels different from the sex—softer, more tender.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs into your hair.

You want to ask what this is, what you are to each other, but you don’t. The words stick in your throat, too heavy and too frightening.

So you just burrow closer and let it be.

Five Months In

The problem starts at a club on a Saturday night.

You’re there with your friends, Felix is there with his, and everything is normal until you come back from the bathroom and see a girl practically draped over him at the bar. She’s gorgeous—model-tall with perfect hair and a dress that should be illegal and she’s touching his arm, leaning close to say something that makes him laugh.

Your stomach drops.

You have no right to be jealous, you’re not together. You’ve never established exclusivity. For all you know, he’s been seeing other people this whole time; he hasn’t. You know he hasn’t because you’re together almost every night but logic has no place in the jealous spiral you’re currently experiencing.

One of your friends, Mina, follows your gaze and winces. “Oh, babe…”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice brittle. “We’re not dating.”

“You’re basically dating.”

“Basically, isn’t the same as actually.” You turn away, ordering a shot you don’t want and downing it anyway. Then another and another.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” your other friend suggests gently.

“And say what? ‘Hey, I know we never discussed being exclusive, but I’m irrationally jealous of that girl you’re talking to’? That’s insane.”

“It’s not insane if you have feelings for him.”

You don’t want to examine that too closely, so you do what any rational person would do, you head to the dance floor to forget about it. You lose yourself in the music, letting the bass drown out your thoughts. You’re several songs deep when someone comes up behind you, hands settling on your waist.

“Hey,” a voice says—not Felix’s voice, but nice enough. “You’re a great dancer.”

You turn to find a guy with sharp features and a playful smile. He’s attractive—not Felix-level attractive, but who is?—and more importantly, he’s interested in you and not draped over some other girl.

“Thanks,” you say, matching his energy. “You’re not bad yourself.”

His name is Wooyoung, you learn, and he’s funny and charming and keeps making you laugh. When he pulls you closer, you let him. When he suggests getting some air, you very much intend to say yes and maybe go home with him and forget all about pretty boys with deep voices and no-strings-attached arrangements.

You’re just starting to say yes when a hand wraps around your wrist.

“Sorry,” Felix’s voice cuts through the music and even though he’s addressing Wooyoung, his eyes are locked on you. “I need to borrow her.”

“Dude, we’re kind of in the middle of—” Wooyoung starts but Felix isn’t listening. He’s already pulling you away, threading through the crowd with single-minded determination. You stumble after him, anger starting to override the alcohol in your system.

“Felix, what the hell—”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking until you’re outside, the cool night air a shock after the heat of the club. He leads you all the way to the back of the parking lot where his Jeep is parked, away from everyone else. Only then does he let go of your wrist.

You wrench your arm away. “What the fuck was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” His voice is level, but there’s something dangerous underneath. “Who was that guy?”

“Are you serious right now?” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re jealous?”

“Yes,” he says bluntly. “I’m jealous. You were going to leave with him.”

“So what if I was?” The words come out sharper than you intended, fueled by hurt and too much alcohol and three months of refusing to define whatever this is. “We’re not together, right? You can talk to whoever you want. That girl at the bar seemed really interested.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Is that what this is about? Yeji?”

“I don’t know her name—”

“She’s Changbin’s cousin. She just moved here and wanted recommendations for apartments.”

Oh.

“You’re an idiot,” he continues, stepping closer. “You know that?”

“I’m an idiot? Who stands that close and touches on you to ask for apartment recs? Plus you’re the one who dragged me out of a club—”

“Because I couldn’t stand watching some guy put his hands all over you.” He’s right in front of you now, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “Because the thought of you going home with anyone else makes me want to break things.”

Your heart is pounding. “Felix,”

“I don’t want this to be casual anymore,” he says, and the vulnerability in his voice cracks something open in your chest. “I don’t want you seeing other people. I don’t want to be just hooking up.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying” He cups your face in both hands, those rings cool against your heated skin. “I want you to be my girlfriend. I’ve wanted that for a while now, but I was too chickenshit to say anything because I thought maybe you liked things the way they were.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You really are an idiot.”

And then you’re kissing him, or he’s kissing you, and it’s different from every other kiss because this one comes with the promise of more. Of labels and commitment and feelings you’ve both been too scared to name. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard.

“So?” he asks, forehead pressed against yours. “Put me out of my misery. What do you say?”

“I say you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you murmur and his laugh warms you from the inside out.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you idiot. Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His smile is blinding, boyish and sweet and so genuinely happy that you can’t help but smile back.

“Good,” he says, and kisses you again. “Because I really would have fought that guy.”

“Wooyoung didn’t deserve that. He was just dancing.”

“Don’t care. You’re mine now.”

The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the good kind.

“Yours,” you agree and the word feels right in a way nothing else has.

He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the Jeep, his body bracketing yours as he kisses you thoroughly. His hands slide under your skirt, relearning territory they already know by heart but somehow feels different now, more significant.

“We should go back inside,” you say without conviction as his mouth moves to your neck. “Our friends will wonder where we went.”

“Let them wonder.” He bites down hard and you gasp. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“We’re in a parking lot, Felix.”

“Mmm.” He doesn’t stop his exploration. “We could be in the Jeep. Backseat’s pretty spacious.”

You should say no. You should be responsible and go back to your friends and celebrate this new development in a mature, adult way.

Instead, you hear yourself say, “Get your keys.”

His laugh is pure delight as he pulls them from his pocket.

Later—much later—when you’re both thoroughly disheveled and satisfied, he leans his forehead against yours again.

“For the record,” he says, voice rough, “it’s always been you. Since that first day. There’s never been anyone else.”

“Good,” you say, stealing another kiss. “Because I’m not sharing.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine.” And when you finally do make it back inside, hand in hand, the knowing looks from both your friend groups are entirely worth it.

Because he’s yours now—officially, publicly, completely.

And pretty boy Lee Felix, who nobody would ever suspect is a dealer, who fucks you silly on the regular and talks you through it in that devastating voice of his?