it started off with a friendship, one that was unbreakable. after that turned into something more, you didn’t know what to expect. stephen had always been the type to fuck around. every other day he was with someone new. that alone should’ve been your warning. but you never listened. it didn’t matter how much your friends tried to put shit in your head, he had you wrapped around his pinky. he knew how vulnerable you were. you’d known him for years, so why wouldn’t he? but still, you decided to fall the minute he pulled you under.

stephen: “i love you, i always have.”

that was all it took for your mind to go foggy. everything that should’ve scared you away just… disappeared. all the red flags turned pink in that moment. there was no lie when he said he loved you though. he really did. he would’ve done anything for you, except stay loyal. and god, you tried to convince yourself that was enough. the man was so openly sneaky, like he didn’t even care to hide it. he could never stay for more than a night; anytime he was around, you saw the lipstick stains, smelled the perfume, felt that familiar sting crawl up your chest. you weren’t oblivious, you were just desperate to believe him. it hurt, it always did. and he knew it. could you blame him though? you let him. you wanted him. you were used to it.

it got to a point where the pain started feeling routine, like you expected it. and one day, that realization alone made you sick. you couldn’t do it anymore. so what did you do? you broke up with him. he wasn’t happy about it, but deep down you knew he wasn’t worried. he knew you’d come back. you always did. you kept yourself in that cycle so long you forgot what peace even felt like. but the second he and your best friend got together behind your back, something in you snapped. man oh man; you were done. and for the first time in forever, you actually meant it. you caught them having sex in your bed. your bed. and the craziest part? you didn’t even cry. you just stood there, quiet. you’d dealt with so much that spazzing wasn’t even an option anymore. you just waited until they finished, looked at them like strangers, and that’s when you knew it was really over.

stephen: “so you’re really done? or are you just gonna come crawling back?”

you didn’t even flinch. no yelling, no tears, just silence. the kind that made him shift on his feet. he tried to laugh it off, like it was another one of your little breakups, but the way you looked at him? it was different this time. cold. distant. untouchable. you said nothing and walked past him. he didn’t chase you. not because he didn’t want to, but because for once, he couldn’t read you. and that scared him more than losing you ever did. you reached for your keys on the dresser. 

you: “nope. you both need to leave.”

you said quietly. he blinked, like he didn’t hear you right. 

stephen: “wait, what?” 

his voice cracked halfway between confusion and disbelief. he’d never seen you this calm before. you didn’t look at him again. the sound of your keys hitting your palm was the only answer he got before the door slammed behind you. for the next few days, you were gone. nowhere to be found, nowhere he could reach. your phone stayed off, your bed stayed cold, and for the first time, the silence wasn’t yours to bear. it was his. 

when you finally came home after a week, the sky was that kind of gray that matched the ache behind your eyes. you didn’t expect anyone to be there. you thought the world had moved on like you did. but there he was. stephen. sitting on the front steps like a ghost that refused to leave, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. the second he saw you, he stood up fast, like he’d been rehearsing it all week. you didn’t even look up at him. your bag was heavy, your body heavier. you just walked past, keys already in your hand.

stephen: “can we talk?”

his voice came out softer than you remembered, cracking halfway through. you didn’t stop. didn’t even turn around. 

you: “there’s nothing left to say, stephen.”

stephen: “please, just-”

you: “no, you don’t get to do that. not after what you did. go home.”

you cut him off, finally meeting his eyes.  he froze. his mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. you didn’t give him the chance anyway. the door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt like closure. for months, there was nothing. no texts. no calls. no accidental run-ins. you disappeared from his world completely.  and for once, you didn’t miss it. the first few weeks were rough. you’d wake up half expecting to see his name light up your phone. you’d catch yourself looking for him in places he used to take you. but the longer you went without him, the more your chest stopped feeling so damn tight.

you started working out again. got a new haircut. went out with your friends without feeling guilty about it. you even laughed; like really laughed. the kind that hurt your stomach and left you gasping for air. you felt lighter. you started to remember what it felt like to exist without constantly checking who he was texting, who he was with, or whether you were enough. stephen became a memory. not a wound. not a ghost. just... something that happened once.

until that night.

the club was packed. bass thumping, lights flashing against your skin, bodies moving like they had no care in the world. your new boyfriend had his arm around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist as you laughed into his shoulder. he was calm. safe. the kind of quiet love that didn’t make your heart race in panic, just steady warmth that settled under your skin. you didn’t see stephen right away. but he saw you. he’d been standing in the corner, drink in hand, same careless posture he always had, pretending he wasn’t looking for you. until suddenly, there you were.

until you felt it. that stare. that pulse in your chest that never really went away. you looked up and there he was. stephen. across the room, leaning against the wall, jaw tight, eyes locked on you like he was watching something that used to belong to him. you froze, heart tripping over itself before you caught it. you wanted to look away, to pretend he didn’t still have that kind of pull on you. but you couldn’t. he was magnetic. even now, even after everything.

his eyes dragged over you like a memory he couldn’t let go of. you could practically hear his thoughts in the way he looked at you; that guy won’t love you like i did. and the worst part? he wasn’t wrong. no one ever would. but that didn’t mean he deserved to. so you smiled anyway, the kind of smile that hurt to hold, leaned into your boyfriend’s touch, and kept dancing.

stephen didn’t move. just stood there watching, drink untouched, jaw tight enough to crack. he’d loved you like a storm. wild, consuming, impossible to forget. and now someone else was loving you in the calm that followed it. he’d broken you in ways no one else could. and you’d spend the rest of your life pretending that didn’t still mean something.

after that night, everything turned hazy. the weeks bled into months, all noise and movement. new faces, new places, same dull ache under it all. you weren’t really living, just passing time. the only thing that stuck was his name, stephen, floating somewhere in the back of your head no matter how far you tried to run from it.

then came the party.

a mutual friend’s birthday. one of those nights that felt like it could either save you or ruin you again. the house was full, lights low, music too loud to think. people you hadn’t seen in months, some you hoped you never would again.

you’d spent too long getting ready for something you told yourself didn’t matter. the dress was black, short, simple, but dangerous. it hugged every inch of your curves, legs exposed, boobs about to pop out the second you leaned forward kind of dangerous. you looked good, maybe too good for the kind of night you were walking into. when you arrived, it felt almost normal. laughter, drinks, flashes of cameras, the floor vibrating under your heels. and for a second, you forgot to care who might be there. until you saw him.

stephen.

he was by the kitchen counter, half-lit by a cheap LED strip, one hand wrapped around a red cup, the other shoved into his pocket. same smirk, same watch, same posture like he owned every room he stepped into. he looked good; annoyingly good. the kind of careless beautiful that made it hard to hate him the way you should’ve. you froze. not long, but long enough for him to notice. and just like that, everything you’d built to forget him started to crumble.

you hadn’t seen him move through the crowd, but suddenly he was there, standing a few feet away like he’d been orbiting you all night. the noise of the party stretched thin around you. bass shaking the walls, people shouting over music, laughter breaking against the ceiling. but somehow, it all felt distant. stephen looked the same and nothing like the boy you remembered. the hairs at the nape of his neck were longer now, his shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms. he carried himself like someone who’d had too many late nights and not enough sleep, the kind of tired that makes you mean. his eyes swept over you once, slow enough to make your stomach twist.

you forced yourself to stay still. not to fidget, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing what his presence did to you. he smirked. barely there, like muscle memory. 

stephen: “you look different.” 

he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. you shrugged. 

you: “so do you.”

for a second it almost felt normal, like small talk between old friends. but the tension underneath was thick, sharp, an electric hum that neither of you knew how to turn off. he shifted closer. you could smell the faint cologne you used to steal off his dresser — the same one that clung to your sheets for weeks after he left. he leaned in just enough for you to hear him over the music.

stephen: “so, who’s in love with you now?”

 he said, voice lower now, something rough in it, the words landed heavier than you expected. they weren’t teasing; they sounded like an accusation, like he’d been holding them in for months. you blinked once, slow. tried to keep your expression blank, but your throat went tight anyway. 

you: “does it matter?” 

you asked. his jaw flexed. 

stephen: “it shouldn’t, but it does.”

he said quietly, eyes not leaving yours. you looked away first, pretending to check your phone, pretending your pulse wasn’t loud in your ears. the silence between you buzzed. all those things you wanted to say but couldn’t without undoing every bit of distance you’d built.

someone called your name from across the room. you took the excuse, turning toward the sound before you could change your mind. as you walked away, you could still feel his gaze burning into your back, like a weight you thought you’d dropped but never really did. you left the party before midnight. or maybe it was later, the hours blurred together under strobe lights and cheap drinks, the kind of night that makes you feel both weightless and sick. your boyfriend had his arm around you the whole time, steady and warm, grounding you in a way that should’ve felt safe. it did. but not enough.

you didn’t see stephen again after that, not really. maybe you caught him once in the crowd, standing against the wall, a drink hanging loosely from his hand, eyes locked on you through the noise. it was hard to tell if he was angry or just…hurt. like he couldn’t decide which one would keep him standing. you got home that night and sat in your car for a long time, headlights off, the streetlights painting long shadows across your dashboard. you told yourself you didn’t care. that he could say whatever he wanted. it didn’t change the fact that you’d moved on.

but his voice lingered anyway, replaying like a broken record: who’s in love with you now?

you hated that it stuck. hated that it made you question things you thought were settled. the next few weeks felt like recovery in reverse. you smiled more, posted pictures, laughed at your boyfriend’s dumb jokes. but every now and then, something small would break through: a song on shuffle, a scent on someone’s jacket, a text you started to write and never sent. stephen stayed silent. no texts, no calls. but sometimes you’d catch his name on someone else’s tongue; mutual friends saying he was around, that he was doing fine, that he’d been talking about moving.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. and maybe it didn’t, not really. but late one night, after your boyfriend fell asleep beside you, you found yourself unlocking your phone, scrolling to his contact, hovering over the message box with no idea what you wanted to say. the cursor blinked back at you. your heart thudded once, loud. and then you started typing.

no greeting. no overthinking. just words pouring out, unfiltered. everything you never said, everything you swore you’d buried. a message too long to make sense of, half-confession, half-apology, bleeding between love and resentment. by the time you stopped, it was three in the morning. the text box was full, your chest hollow. you didn’t send it. not yet. you just stared at it, breathing slow, like the words themselves were enough to pull him closer again. 

-

he hadn’t seen you in weeks, but somehow it still felt like you were everywhere. in the perfume lingering on his jacket, in the taste of someone else’s lip gloss that wasn’t yours, in the silence right before dawn when he was too wired to sleep and too empty to move.

stephen was drunk. that kind of heavy, mean drunk that makes everything feel like it’s your fault. he was slouched on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, screen lighting up his face in the dark. no messages. nothing from you. nothing to look forward to. he laughed under his breath, bitter. figures. he told himself he didn’t care. he told himself a lot of things lately. but every time he scrolled past your name in his contacts, something inside him itched. like a nerve that wouldn’t stop firing. he started typing a message once. deleted it. started again. deleted that too.

stephen: “who’s in love with you now, i swear to God..” 

he muttered to himself.

stephen: “i swear to God, i am..”

he said it almost like it was a joke. but it didn’t sound funny. he pictured you with him; that guy. the new one. probably texting you good morning, kissing your forehead, saying all the right things stephen used to fake. maybe the guy didn’t even have to fake it. maybe that’s what made him mad. he set the phone down, rubbed his face, exhaled hard. he couldn’t even tell if he missed you, or just missed being the one who could ruin you and get away with it.

stephen: “you were supposed to be different,” 

he said to no one, voice low, slurred. 

stephen: “you were supposed t-…”

he stopped. in his head, you were still looking at him like you used to. like you saw through him and loved him anyway. it was unfair how real that memory still felt. his phone buzzed. his heart jumped. but it wasn’t you. just some friend asking if he was coming out tonight.

he didn’t reply.

he just sat there, staring at the message you’d never sent, the words he’d never get to read, and the silence that stretched between you like it was permanent now. somewhere, he thought maybe you were thinking about him too. but he knew better. he laughed again, softer this time. he whispered, eyes closing. 

stephen: “yeah, that’s what i get.”

the morning light was too loud. it cut through the blinds, painted across his face, hot and sharp, like punishment. his mouth was dry, his head pounding, and his phone was still next to him. dead battery, cracked screen, same empty message thread.

he groaned, dragged himself upright, elbows on his knees. the apartment was a mess. empty bottles, clothes he didn’t remember taking off, the smell of smoke and old perfume still hanging in the air. it wasn’t yours. it never was. for a while he just sat there. no music, no phone, no noise. just the hum of the fridge and the ache behind his eyes.

he hated mornings like this; the ones where he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself. you were gone. properly gone this time. not in the way you used to be, where a few texts or an apology would bring you back. this was different. it had been months. and you were happy or at least good at pretending to be.

he leaned back against the wall, rubbed his temples. you don’t need her, he told himself. you’ve been fine. but he wasn’t. he missed the way you used to say his name like it meant something. the sound of your laugh when you were mad but trying not to show it. even the fights. god, he missed those too. at least those meant you still cared.

he thought about calling you. just to hear your voice, maybe. no expectations, no plans, just…something. his thumb hovered over your contact again. the picture was old. blurry, taken at some party when you were half hiding behind your cup, smiling like you didn’t know he was watching. he swallowed. the memory felt too sharp, too alive. 

stephen: “guess i didn’t think it through, huh?” 

he muttered under his breath, voice rough from sleep and regret. for the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t just want you, he needed you. not the chaos, not the games. just you. but you’d stopped being reachable the second he let you walk away. and now he had to live with that. he plugged his phone in, stared at the black screen as it flickered back to life. still no messages. still no missed calls. it felt like the universe was mocking him.

-

you woke up late that morning. the kind of sunlight that slips through your curtains soft and gold, not harsh, just enough to remind you that the world kept moving even when you didn’t. the bed felt too big, but not lonely. your boyfriend had already left for work, his side still warm, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with laundry detergent and something safer than anything you’d ever had with stephen.

you lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, hair messy, phone heavy in your hand. there was no reason to check it, but you did anyway. old habit. no missed calls. no texts. nothing from him. you exhaled. it didn’t hurt the way it used to. for a second, though, you felt it. that weird, invisible pull. like somewhere out there, he was thinking about you. it wasn’t love, not really. it was just that leftover static that doesn’t fade, even when the fire’s been out for months.

you thought about the party. the way his voice sounded when he said ’who’s in love with you now’. like he already knew the answer, but still wanted to hear you say it. you never did. you got out of bed, hair falling in your face, and caught your reflection in the mirror. there was something new in your eyes. softer maybe, or just tired in a different way.

you weren’t angry anymore. not even bitter. you’d spent so long trying to prove you didn’t need him that one day, without realizing, you actually stopped needing him. you made coffee, scrolled through your camera roll, stopped on a random picture of you from a few months back. laughing, sunlight in your hair, no trace of him anywhere. it looked foreign and familiar all at once.

the cup warmed your hands. you smiled, small but real. maybe he was out there missing you. maybe he wasn’t. it didn’t change a thing. you put your phone face down, took a sip, and whispered into the quiet. not for him to hear, not even for yourself really, just because it felt like closing a door:

you: “no one.”

it’d been two days since you found out. the texts. the lies. the way he didn’t even bother to hide it. you didn’t cry right away. you just sat there, staring at his phone screen like the words weren’t real, like maybe you were just reading them wrong. but then it hit. slow at first, then all at once. that dull, choking pressure that made your throat ache and your chest burn. you’d done everything right this time. you’d been patient. loyal. soft in the ways stephen said you never could be. 

and still, it ended the same.

the next night, you ended up at a bar you hadn’t been to in forever. somewhere dim and loud enough that you didn’t have to think. your hair was messy, mascara smudged from earlier tears, a jacket thrown over whatever you’d managed to put on before leaving. you weren’t there to drink, not really. you just needed the noise, the distraction. something that didn’t sound like your own thoughts. you slid onto a stool near the corner, ordered something strong, and stared down at your glass. your phone sat face down next to it. you’d opened your notes earlier that day, scrolled past the one that was always there. the longest text message ever. the one meant for stephen.

you hadn’t added to it in months, but you read through it again anyway. the words blurred, old versions of yourself bleeding through each sentence. you’d meant every word once, and that scared you. you shut your phone off before you could think too hard about it. meanwhile, across the room. stephen sat at the bar, hunched forward, elbows on the counter. he looked rough. black hoodie, hair pushed back like he’d run his hands through it a thousand times. eyes ringed with that kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix.

he didn’t even like bars anymore, but he kept coming back here. maybe because it was easy to disappear, or maybe because some part of him hoped you’d show up. not that he’d admit that. he’d been trying to get better or whatever that meant. working, sleeping, pretending. but no matter what he did, you were always there. your laugh. your ghost. the weight of everything he’d done wrong pressing against the back of his mind until it felt like static. he was halfway through his second drink when he saw you.

for a second, he thought he was imagining it. you walking in like that, tired but still beautiful in that careless, real way that made his chest ache. your eyes looked different though. older. colder. he didn’t move. just watched as you sat, unaware of him, the glow of the bar lights catching the curve of your face, the faint shimmer of your lip gloss. he hated himself for it; the way his heart jumped. the way everything inside him still recognized you.

you didn’t notice him until maybe twenty minutes later. you turned slightly, eyes sweeping the room and that’s when they met his. you froze. for a second, neither of you moved. the noise of the bar faded, the chatter and music blurring into nothing. it was just him. same dark eyes, same quiet pull that made it hard to breathe. you looked away first, fingers tightening around your glass. he looked down too, pretending to check his phone, pretending not to care.

but then he stood up.

he didn’t know what he was doing. if he was supposed to apologize, or just say hi, or walk away like a sane person. but his body moved before his brain caught up. he stopped beside you, close enough to smell the faint scent of your perfume, the one he’d once memorized.

stephen: “hey..” 

he said softly. you didn’t look at him right away. you just stared at your drink, forcing your voice to sound steadier than you felt. 

you: “you shouldn’t be here.”

stephen: “neither should you,” 

he said, tone low, rough around the edges. you laughed once, no humor in it. 

you:  “yeah, well. guess we’re both doing great, huh?”

stephen: “guess so.”

he smiled; barely. you finally looked up. your eyes met his again, and this time you didn’t look away. he looked tired. like every sleepless night since you left had caught up to him all at once. for a while, neither of you said anything. it was almost peaceful. he broke the silence first. 

stephen: “you okay?”

you almost said no. almost told him everything. about the betrayal, the heartbreak, how empty you felt. but the words caught in your throat. instead, you shrugged. 

you: “i’ve been worse.”

stephen: “yeah. me too.”

he nodded slowly. and that was it. two people who once knew each other better than anyone else sitting side by side, both pretending not to be broken in the same exact way. you didn’t talk about the past. you didn’t talk about him or the text sitting unread in your notes. but the air between you felt thick, full of everything that had gone unsaid. after a while, he ordered another round. one for him, one for you. you didn’t refuse. neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew it. you were still each other’s comfort. and that was the most dangerous thing of all.

you didn’t know how long the two of you sat there. maybe minutes, maybe hours. the clock over the bar kept ticking, but time felt strange. stretched thin, like every second dragged itself out just to keep you sitting there with him. the bartender slid your drinks over without a word. you took a sip, the alcohol burning in a way that almost felt good, familiar. you hated that; how easy it still was to fall into rhythm beside him.

he was quiet at first, just tracing the rim of his glass with his thumb. he always used to do that when he was thinking too much. back when he’d lie next to you, staring at the ceiling, pretending he didn’t care about anything. you glanced at him, catching the way his jaw tensed before he finally spoke.

stephen: “so,” 

he said, voice rough. 

stephen: “you and that guy. over?”

you blinked, taken aback. 

you: “that’s what you wanna ask me?”

he shrugged, eyes on his drink. 

stephen: “just wondering.”

you: “yeah. it’s done.”

he nodded slowly. 

stephen: “he hurt you?”

you let out a dry laugh. 

you: “don’t act like you suddenly care.”

he looked at you then, really looked. eyes sharp, unreadable, like he was trying to find something buried in your expression. 

stephen: “you think i don’t?” 

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. you both knew better. he sighed, ran a hand through his hair. he shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself.

stephen: “i just- forget it.”

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was heavy, but not in a bad way. just… familiar. like an old song you didn’t realize you still knew the words to. the light caught his face, tracing the faint scar near his eyebrow, the dark circles under his eyes. he looked older. worn. but still him.

you: “you look tired,” 

you said without thinking. he huffed out a laugh. 

stephen: “haven’t been sleeping much.”

you: “figured.”

he turned toward you, one arm resting on the back of your stool, closing the space just enough that you could feel his breath when he spoke.

stephen: “missed this,” 

he said quietly. you froze. 

you: “missed what?”

stephen: “this. you. all of it.” 

his voice cracked just slightly on the last word. you swallowed hard, looking down at your hands. 

you: “you shouldn’t say that.”

stephen: “why not?”

you: “because you don’t mean it.”

he smiled, small and sad. 

stephen: “you still don’t get it. i meant it the first time too.”

you didn’t have an answer for that. your chest felt tight, your throat thick. you wanted to say stop, but you didn’t. you wanted to tell him you hated him, but that wasn’t true either. so you said nothing. the two of you just sat there; two ghosts sharing the same body of silence. the music shifted, a slower song coming through the speakers. low, melodic. something about it hurt. he leaned forward, voice low enough that only you could hear. 

stephen: “you still think about me?”

you exhaled, steady but quiet. 

you: “every once in a while.”

he smiled, not satisfied but not surprised either. 

stephen: “me too.”

it wasn’t a confession. it wasn’t forgiveness. it was something else entirely; an acknowledgment. that no matter how much time passed, there’d always be a part of you that remembered exactly how it felt to be his. and for a moment, sitting there under the haze of bar lights and whiskey and everything you shouldn’t feel anymore. it almost felt like you were back where you started.

but you weren’t.

you were just two people trying to drink away the ghosts of who you used to be. you didn’t plan on leaving with him. you weren’t even sure who suggested it. maybe you did, maybe he did; but the bar had started to feel too small, too warm, too close. outside, the air was cold. sharp against your skin, sobering in a way the alcohol never could be. the street was half-empty, the sound of cars distant, the city lights bleeding orange across the wet pavement.

you walked side by side without saying much, both of you lost in that strange in-between. he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, head tilted down, breath fogging in front of him. you caught yourself glancing at him more than once, taking in the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way his hair fell into his eyes. he was wearing the same leather jacket you remembered. cracked at the edges, a little worn, like him. he noticed you staring. 

stephen:“what?”

you shook your head quickly.

you: “nothing.”

he smiled, quiet.

stephen: “still can’t lie to save your life.”

you: “you’re one to talk.”

he laughed under his breath. low, genuine, the kind that hit right in the center of your chest. it’d been so long since you’d heard it, you almost forgot how much you missed it. you stopped walking when you reached the corner, the neon light from a nearby store painting the both of you in soft red. he leaned against the wall, watching you.

you: “you really shouldn’t be out here,” 

you said, eyes fixed on the ground.

stephen: “why? scared i’ll ruin you again?”

you glanced up, met his gaze. 

you: “scared i’ll let you.”

he went quiet after that. not offended, just hit. a few seconds passed. a car drove by, headlights sweeping over you both, and when the world dimmed again, something between you shifted. he took a step closer. you didn’t move.

stephen: “you shouldn’t look at me like that.”

you: “like what?”

stephen: “like you still remember.”

you: “i do.”

he laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. 

stephen: “you always did know how to fuck with my head.”

you smiled a little. 

you: “guess you deserved it.”

the air was heavy, tight. his hand brushed against yours. not on purpose, but not entirely by accident either. the touch was fleeting, but it burned. he pulled back immediately, ran a hand over his face. 

stephen: “this is bad.” 

you: “yeah, it is.”

 you whispered. neither of you moved. you could feel his eyes on you, could feel your heartbeat syncing with the same rhythm it used to.  too fast, too reckless. you wanted to kiss him. he wanted to let you. but you didn’t. instead, he took a step back, exhaled slow, trying to ground himself.

stephen: “you still make it hard to walk away.”

you swallowed hard, forcing a shaky laugh. 

you: “then don’t.”

the words slipped out before you could catch them. his eyes flicked up, searching your face, trying to figure out if you meant it. you did. but you weren’t supposed to. he shook his head, smiling like it hurt.

stephen: “you don’t mean that.”

you: “it’s true.”

for a long time, you just stood there, breathing the same air, pretending the distance between you was enough to keep you safe. it wasn’t. but both of you kept trying anyway. the night had grown colder, the city lights bleeding into the dark around you both. you didn’t say anything as he walked you to a quiet alley just off the main street, the distant hum of traffic a muted backdrop.

he stopped, just far enough that it should have felt like a polite distance. it didn’t. it never had with him. the space between you was charged, alive, taut like a wire strung too tight. you looked up at him, eyes meeting, and everything you’d bottled up over the months pressed into that one gaze. a pull you didn’t want to feel but couldn’t resist. he shifted, and suddenly his hands were at your waist. light, tentative, as if he was testing the air, testing you, testing himself. you didn’t move. didn’t flinch. didn’t push him away.

stephen: “you’re cold.” 

he murmured, voice low, rough. a whisper meant only for you.

you: “i’m fine..” 

you said, even as your body betrayed you, leaning in just enough to feel his warmth. his hands moved a little, brushing over your sides, the faintest pressure, gentle like he was memorizing the curve of you again. your breath hitched. soft, barely audible. and he leaned in, slow, like the world was holding its breath with you.

and then it happened. his lips grazed yours, feather-light, a ghost of what it used to be. you froze at first, not sure if you were allowed to feel, allowed to remember, allowed to want. but he lingered. just a breath, just a taste, just the weight of him there. the world contracted to nothing but that small contact, that tiny spark of heat pressed into your chest. your hands lifted, almost instinctively, resting on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like a lifeline. he responded without hesitation, leaning closer, letting the kiss deepen just slightly.

it wasn’t a first kiss. it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t soft. it was hungry, careful, testing boundaries, brushing against nerves you hadn’t realized still tingled under his touch. he pulled back just a fraction, enough to catch your eyes, searching, questioning. 

stephen: “you okay?”

you swallowed, chest rising, voice husky. 

you: “yeah.”

he smiled. slow, crooked, that same one that used to make your knees weak and pressed forward again, this time harder, but still teasing, slow, drawing it out. your hands roamed slightly, brushing over his chest, feeling the tension there. his hands moved lower now, tracing the curve of your hips, the sides of your waist, careful not to cross lines you weren’t ready to cross, but not stopping the electric friction either.

you tilted your head, matching his movement, lips pressing into his again. teeth barely grazing, breath mingling, slow exhalations that left you dizzy. time seemed to stretch. seconds became minutes. minutes became an eternity. every touch, every sigh, every small movement was magnified. the brush of his hand on your back, the slide of your fingers through his hair, the heat radiating from each other, the way your bodies pressed closer without fully giving in.

he groaned softly against your lips, a low sound that vibrated through your chest. your own body answered, leaning in closer, tilting your head, allowing the space between you to vanish entirely. it wasn’t about a finish. it wasn’t about claiming or taking. it was about feeling again. letting yourself remember the heat, the closeness, the raw electricity that had always existed between you.

his hands cupped your face now, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones, pulling you in just slightly more. your lips parted without thought, letting him explore, letting yourself fall into the memory, letting yourself feel what you’d been denying. and there it was. that friction. that ache. that quiet knowledge that no matter how much time had passed, no one else could touch you like this.

the world outside the alley didn’t exist. the noise of the city, the memory of the betrayal, the months of absence. none of it mattered. there was only this. only him. only the slow, impossible, aching sensation of finally allowing yourself to feel again. you pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads resting together, both of you trembling slightly. his lips brushed yours once more. teasing, claiming, longing, and you knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.

you unlocked your apartment door with shaky hands, the key rattling in the lock like it was announcing your nerves. he lingered behind you in the hallway, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, yet just far enough to make your pulse spike. the moment the door closed, the city outside disappeared. no lights, no distant traffic, no noise. just the quiet hum of the apartment, the lingering scent of your perfume, the faint scent of him following you in. he leaned against the wall, one hand pressed lightly against the doorframe, watching you. you felt exposed and invincible all at once.

stephen: “you sure about this?” 

he murmured, voice low, rough, teasing, like he already knew the answer. you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to. the answer was in the way your body pressed forward instinctively, letting him close the last distance. he moved first, sliding his hands down your sides, gripping you lightly, testing, teasing. the brush of his fingers made your knees weaken, the heat spreading through you before you even realized it.

you pressed yourself into him, chest to chest, feeling every inch of him. the kiss was slow at first, teasing, exploratory. lips brushing, teeth grazing, breaths mingling. it wasn’t desperate; it was aware, each movement deliberate, each pause charged with the memory of everything you’d denied. your hands wandered, one running up the side of his neck, threading through his hair, the other exploring his chest, feeling the tension coiled under his hoodie. he groaned softly, low in his throat, and leaned into you harder, tilting your head, deepening the kiss.

the air in the apartment seemed to thicken. every small sound. the creak of the floorboards, the shallow intake of breath, the low hum of his voice against your lips; felt amplified. your heart hammered against your ribs, echoing his own rapid pulse .he pulled back slightly, just enough for both of you to breathe, foreheads resting together. his lips hovered over yours, just brushing against them, teasing.

stephen: “you have no idea what you do to me.” 

he whispered, voice rough and low, vibrating against your skin. you swallowed, lips parted. then shut his hands slid lower now, tracing the curve of your hips, brushing against the edge of your thighs, just enough to make you shiver. every touch was deliberate, teasing, dangerous. reminding you both of everything you’d been missing. you pressed back into him, moaning softly into the kiss, letting your hands roam further, feeling the heat beneath his hoodie, the tension in his chest, the subtle muscle movement under your fingertips.

he tilted your head again, lips pressing harder, teeth grazing, tongues brushing in slow, teasing circles. letting you both feel, remember, taste. the restraint you’d both held for months shattered in small increments, each kiss, each touch, a confirmation that this wasn’t going to be a gentle reunion. it was going to be all-consuming. he broke the kiss briefly, just enough to drag his lips along your jaw, down your neck, the feather-light friction making your skin tingle. you gasped, pressing closer, letting him feel how much you’d been holding back, how much you needed him too.

his hands roamed freely now, holding you closer, cupping your body, tilting you into him. the brush of his lips against your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck, set your skin on fire. every inch of contact made the months apart impossible to ignore. and through it all, the air in the apartment was heavy, electric. every breath, every gasp, every whispered word and moan suspended in the small space. your bodies moved together like a single entity, hands exploring, lips seeking, heat building, teasing, dragging out every sensation until it felt almost unbearable.

you weren’t thinking. you weren’t planning. there was nothing left but this. the touch, the taste, the feeling of finally letting go together. and even as your lips parted again, pulling back just slightly, eyes locked, breathing heavy, you both knew this was only the beginning. he pressed you against the doorframe, hips flush, chest against yours, and everything slowed down. every sound; your quickened breaths, the faint hum of the city outside, the soft scrape of his hoodie against your skin; became amplified, electric.

his lips found yours again, slower this time, softer at first, then insistent, teasing, exploring. teeth grazed, tongues brushed, breaths mingled. you tilted your head, letting him guide the rhythm, letting yourself get lost in the weight of him, the warmth, the memory of everything you’d held back. hands roamed without permission but with care; his cupping your face, sliding into your hair, tracing the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulders. your fingers tangled in his curls, pulled lightly at the nape of his neck, exploring, memorizing. every inch of contact made your pulse spike.

he kissed your jaw, your neck, brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. you moaned softly, shivering against him, chest rising and falling. he responded by tilting his head, dragging his lips across the shell of your ear, teasing, coaxing, letting the moment stretch impossibly long. your hands slid down his chest, over the ridges of muscle beneath his hoodie, feeling the tension in him, the heat pressing back against you. he groaned, low and rough, pressing closer, hips brushing yours, tilting you slightly against the doorframe.

every kiss became slower, heavier, more demanding. his tongue traced yours, exploring, tasting, claiming without words. you moaned again, soft, breathy, letting him feel how much you’d wanted this for months. he pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes dark, lips swollen, breath shaky. 

stephen: “fuck…i’ve wanted this.” 

he murmured, voice rough, barely above a whisper. you shivered, pressing closer. 

you: “so have i.” 

you admitted, voice trembling, chest tight, heat crawling up your spine. his hands slid lower now, cupping your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting his warmth engulf you. every press, every brush of skin was electric, teasing, the friction making your knees weak. you tangled your legs slightly with his, hips brushing, teasing, testing boundaries. every gasp, every moan, every breath dragged it out, pulled it thin, thick with tension.

he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, hands exploring, lips teasing, dragging out the sensation, letting you both remember, feel, crave. his lips trailed down your neck, over your shoulder, lips brushing against sensitive skin. not yet taking, just teasing, exploring, leaving fire in every place he touched.

you arched against him, letting him feel every shiver, every small movement, every gasp. it was intoxicating, drawn out, heavy, impossible to ignore. and still, he didn’t stop. he let the teasing last, let the sensation stretch, let you both exist in that moment. two bodies pressed together, tasting, touching, feeling, aching without crossing the line. every small movement, every sigh, every brush of lips and fingertips was electric. drawn out. teasing. relentless.

and through it all, you both knew. this was the beginning, and neither of you would be able to resist for much longer. the air between you felt heavier by the second, every heartbeat syncing until it was impossible to tell whose pulse you were feeling. his breath was warm against your skin, his thumb tracing absent circles along your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

you didn’t even realize you were moving until the back of your legs brushed the edge of the couch. he caught your eyes then: half-smile, half-plea; and for the first time all night neither of you looked away.

you: “we shouldn’t..” 

you whispered, though it came out softer than you meant, already unraveling in his hands. he nodded, but his gaze didn’t drop. 

stephen: “i know.”

still, neither of you stepped back. you exhaled, shaky, and the sound filled the quiet room. his fingers slipped from your waist to your hand, slow, careful, like he was asking a question without words. you answered by curling your fingers through his, guiding him closer, letting the silence speak for you.

the couch was only a few steps away. your knees brushed the fabric as you sat, breath catching as he followed, hovering close but not touching yet. the space between you was electric. an invitation, a warning, everything you’d both been avoiding. he leaned in again, voice barely above a whisper. 

stephen: “tell me to go if you want me to.”

you looked up at him, your lips parted, your pulse racing. 

you: “i dont want you to leave…”

and that was it; the quiet surrender. the choice neither of you could take back. you could’ve stayed there, tangled in that half-light, but something in the way he whispered your name made you move. you caught his hand, stood, and let him follow you down the short hall, neither of you saying it but both of you knowing what it meant. each step felt like surrender. by the time you reached the doorway, his breath was shaking. this wasn’t a ‘i missed you’. it was a ‘never stopped wanting you’.

the bedroom was dim except for the streetlight cutting a line across the floor. you barely had time to breathe before his hands found your face again, thumbs brushing your jaw like he couldn’t believe you were real. the kiss started slow, almost careful, but it didn’t stay that way. months of silence, months of pretending. it all came back at once. his mouth moved over yours like an argument, a confession, a plea. you answered with your hands in his hair, pulling him closer until every breath felt shared.

he walked you back step by step, never breaking the kiss. every time your heel touched the floor you felt the shift in gravity, the weight of it pulling you both deeper. when the back of your legs met the edge of the bed, it was like the world stilled. you felt the mattress behind you, the warmth of him in front of you, the press of his heartbeat against your chest. he stopped kissing you long enough to look at you, really look. eyes dark, pupils wide, chest rising fast.

stephen: “tell me to stop,” 

he whispered. you shook your head, breathless. 

you: “don’t.”

he exhaled, shaky, relief and want tangled in one sound. his hands slid to your sides, guiding you down until you felt the sheets against your palms, the air between you heavy with everything you hadn’t said. you tug his hoodie off first. he’s flushed pink down his chest, jaw tight, arms trembling a little as he helps you peel your shirt off next. you’re both quiet for a second. just breathing. just looking.

stephen: "damn, your not real."

your fingers run down the line of his throat. his collarbone. lower. you lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. his cheek. his jaw. then you sink your teeth into his neck, and he groans. a quiet, wrecked sound that settles between your legs and makes you ache.

stephen: "mm, it seems like someones still mad at me?"

you: "i’ll alway be mad at you."

stephen: "i know."

next thing you know you’re on your back, his body hovering over you. you kiss him again, harder this time. he tugs your jeans and panties off in one swift motion. now there’s nothing between you but heat, his jeans, guilt, and want. his hands trace every inch of your thighs. your waist. your stomach.

stephen: "fuck, you’re so soft."

he slides his fingers between your legs and groans at how wet you are.

stephen: "you missed me this much?"

you grab his wrist, breath catching.

you: "steph-"

your hips were already twisted up, desperate for contact. his eyes were dark, locked right on the spot. he dipped his head, focused, licking a slow, hot, wet stripe up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. the shocking sensation made you gasp, and your body arched right off the bed, pushing yourself into his face.

he braced one hand hard on your knee, a firm, possessive anchor, and the other hand found the junction of your legs. two fingers. slick, warm, and basically perfect, pressed against your entrance. he didn't rush it; he paused, letting you feel the promise of the pressure, letting you adjust to the new, insane heat. then, he made this low noise that got totally muffled by the couch cushion, and he shoved his index and middle fingers inside you.

the feeling was instant and overwhelming. a rush of super intense fullness that honestly just stole the air right out of your lungs. you cried out, a raw, helpless sound, and your hands shot out, gripping the nearest thing they could find: the thick muscle of his shoulder. he started to move, slow at first, like he was mapping out the hot, tight space he'd found. his thumb, though, didn't stay still. it pressed down, finding and rubbing the tiny, hard nub with a quick, insistent rhythm that was agonizingly good.

he drove his fingers deeper, finding the exact spot that made your toes curl and a helpless whimper catch in your throat. he was relentless, totally efficient, focused entirely on what you were feeling. the rhythm he set was building way too fast, too hard, and you felt the frantic, heat start to peak inside you.

stephen: “let it all out right here, right now.” 

your vision tunneled, the pressure tightening into one blinding knot of need. you couldn't speak, could only squirm against the perfectly targeted thrust of his fingers, your cry of pure, desperate release swallowed by the matterss as the climax tore through you. he didn't stop, continuing the friction until the last wave broke, then slowly pulling his fingers out, leaving you shuddering, soaked, and completely wrecked beneath his heavy gaze. he pulls his fingers out slow. you whimper. he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean.

stephen: “fuck baby, i need you.”

you: “you have me”

the words were out before you could catch them, a total surrender, and that was all the permission he needed. he surged forward, his body covering yours, the heat of his skin pressing down, trapping you. he didn't kiss you first. his hand found the back of your neck again, pulling your head up, and he took your mouth with a rough, immediate need that was all teeth and desperation. it wasn't a sweet kiss; it was a hungry, punishing demand for more. he pulled back only to growl, his voice thick and low.

stephen: “you’re mine now. you know you’ve always been.”

you couldn't even speak, his jeans were dropped in less than a few seconds. you had that desperate plea for him to just take you. he didn’t need to be asked twice though. he grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly, and then he was slamming into you, the force of the connection pushing the air right out of your lungs. it was raw, aggressive, and entirely consuming, filling every inch of the space he’d been craving.

he held your face between his hands, forcing your eyes up to meet his. his movements were brutal and fast, rocking the mattress with every powerful thrust. 

stephen: “you want this, don’t you? you want me deep as i can go. say it. say you’re mine, mama.”

you: “y-yours.”

this shit was the fuel. he roared, a guttural sound of pure pleasure, and the pace intensified, faster and harder than before. he was pushing you to the edge, refusing to let you look away, demanding that you feel every single, desperate stroke.

stephen: “look at me. watch yourself come apart for me. i waited too long for this, you know that? i waited for you to finally break. you’re so beautiful when you’re like this. dripping all over my cock. i need to know you won’t look at anyone else ever again.”

he hit your deepest spot again and again, and the second climax tore through you, a searing, bright wave that made your body pulsate around him. he followed instantly, his own body tightening, his eyes closing on a sharp exhale as he poured himself into you.

he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the sheets, arms locking around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. his breath came in ragged bursts, hot against your ear, the sound breaking in the quiet. then: softer, trembling. he lifted his head just enough to find your face, eyes raw and glassy.

stephen: “i love you. i don’t think i’ll ever stop. you’ve always been the only thing in this world i don’t want to keep ruining.”

you didn’t answer him. you just held on, letting the silence say everything words couldn’t. outside, the night was quiet again, and for once, neither of you tried to break it.

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sungho: he’s lowkey into it. like you’re standing there all flustered, arms crossed, giving him attitude over something small, and he’s fighting back a grin the whole time. “you’re really mad about that?” he teases, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flip. when you roll your eyes and tell him yes, he steps closer, backing you into the counter. “then maybe you should punish me, huh?” and suddenly his hands are on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles while his eyes drag down to your lips. it’s not even an apology anymore. it’s him trying to distract you, whispering, “still mad?” right before his mouth brushes your neck.

riwoo: he gets flustered as hell. you’re glaring at him and he’s stammering out, “i- i didn’t mean to-” like a kicked puppy. he’ll follow you around the room, trying to explain himself, but the more annoyed you act, the redder he gets. “you look kinda hot when you’re mad, though,” he mumbles without thinking, and immediately regrets it when you shoot him a look. cue him panicking and then shyly offering to “make it up to you somehow,” his voice tiny and hopeful. if you keep ignoring him, he’ll end up wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and whispering, “please don’t be mad anymore, baby…”

jaehyun: you being mad over something small just amuses him. he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you rant like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all day. “you’re cute when you’re mad,” he says with a smirk that makes you want to throw something. he’ll drag out his apology on purpose, just to see how long you’ll stay pissed. when you huff and turn away, he’ll stand, come up behind you, and murmur, “didn’t mean to make my girl all worked up,” lips ghosting over your ear. his hands slide to your waist, grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. “maybe i should remind you how good i am at saying sorry.”

taesan: he gets so defensive at first, acting all cocky to hide that he feels bad. “you’re mad about that?” he laughs, but it’s nervous. when you ignore him, he gets quiet, hovering nearby like a guilty puppy. eventually he mutters a soft “okay, fine, i’m sorry,” and tugs you closer by your wrist. once you’re facing him, though, his tone shifts- softer, deeper. “don’t pout like that. it makes me wanna…” he trails off, letting his thumb brush over your lower lip. then he chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. “maybe i’ll kiss it better?” and before you can respond, he does. slow, teasing, dragging the apology out between every breath.

leehan: he tries to reason with you at first, all calm and logical, but when you’re still mad, his patience melts into something darker. “you’re really gonna give me that attitude over this?” he murmurs, stepping closer until you’re caged between him and the wall. his voice drops low, his gaze lingering on your mouth. “you know i can’t take you seriously when you’re pouting like that.” it’s not that he’s ignoring your anger. he’s just turned it into something else entirely, something charged. one hand cups your jaw, thumb tilting your chin up. “say it again. tell me why you’re mad.” and when you do, he just smiles. slow, dangerous and says, “mm. that’s cute.”

woonhak: he’s a mix of shy and bold. first he’s apologizing nonstop, trying to explain himself, but when you keep huffing and ignoring him, he changes tactics. suddenly he’s pulling you close by your wrist, eyes glinting a little mischievously. “you’re mad at me, huh?” he whispers, voice lower than usual. he leans in until your noses almost touch, grinning when you try to back away. “you don’t look that mad now.” he’d brush his lips over your cheek, just barely. not quite a kiss, but enough to make you pause. “forgive me?” he’d ask, all innocent, but his fingers are already tracing down your waist like he knows you’re not really mad anymore.

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yudai: you’d asked him for it with those wide, daring eyes, voice trembling like you weren’t sure if he’d laugh or pin you down and take you seriously. kei’s not the type to refuse you, not when you ask so sweetly, but there’s that little furrow between his brows as he rolls the condom down and strokes himself, coating his cock with extra lube just to be sure. he keeps murmuring, kei: ‘you’re sure about this, baby? you can stop me anytime.’ and you nod, thighs shaking, trying to act braver than you feel. the first push has you gasping, clenching around nothing before he’s even inside. his hand immediately cups your cheek, his lips brushing against your temple while he eases just the tip past your rim. it burns, your nails digging into his forearm, and kei’s breath hitches because fuck, you’re tight, but he doesn’t move further. kei: ‘breathe for me. i’ll wait. you’re so good, so perfect…’ he whispers, even though his jaw is locked tight from holding back. you think you can handle it, whispering for him to keep going, but the deeper he sinks the worse the sting gets, until your face twists and you choke out that you can’t. kei stops instantly. he’s out before you even realize it, tossing the condom aside and gathering you up against his chest. his cock is still painfully hard, flushed against his stomach, but he doesn’t care. he presses your head into his shoulder, hand rubbing circles into your lower back as he soothes you through the tears pricking your eyes. kei: ‘don’t apologize. you don’t have to do anything that hurts. i’ll never let you push yourself just to please me.’ he says it so firmly it leaves no room for shame, only warmth spreading through your chest despite the ache in your body. he kisses your hair, still rubbing your back, promising he’ll make you feel good in other ways once you’re ready. kei ends the night with your head pillowed on his chest, one hand holding yours, whispering soft japanese endearments until you drift off. proving with every touch that he wants your comfort more than his release.

fuma: you’d barely gotten the words out before fuma was already double-checking with you, brows pinched as if he had to make sure you weren’t just saying it to test him. fuma: ‘anal? baby… are you really sure? that’s a whole different level.’ he’s careful, almost annoyingly so, reaching for the bottle of lube and setting it down beside him like he’s preparing for surgery. the thing is, fuma loves the idea. your trust, the way you’re opening yourself to him, but he also knows how rough it can feel. he makes you lay across his chest while he works you open with his fingers first, one at a time, always kissing your forehead between each stretch. you squirm and whine, and he chuckles low in his throat, pressing his lips to your ear. fuma: ‘see? your body’s telling you it’s not easy. don’t fight it, let me take care of you.’ it feels manageable at first, just his fingertips, just the warmth of his breath grounding you, but then he lines himself up and the sharp sting has you crying out before he’s even halfway in. you whisper that it hurts, and that’s it. he pulls out immediately, pulling you into his lap with your legs curled over his thighs. his cock is leaking against your stomach, throbbing from being denied, but he doesn’t even glance at it. his whole focus is your trembling body and the crease in your brow. he smooths his thumb across your cheekbone, rocking you gently like you’re fragile porcelain. fuma: ‘hey, hey… don’t force yourself for me. i’d never want that. you hear me? never.’ he doesn’t let you sulk or apologize. instead, he wraps a blanket around you both, holding you close until the sting eases into a dull ache. he jokes softly, voice rough with affection, about how maybe you’ll try again someday. if you want, but tonight he just wants to make you cum in ways that don’t hurt. his mouth replaces everything else, tongue between your thighs while his hand stays laced with yours, keeping you grounded. fuma proves with every kiss and touch that your comfort is worth more to him than anything, even the tightest fuck he could imagine.

nicho: nicho’s eyes light up when you ask, that mischievous smirk curling over his lips like he’s been waiting for you to suggest something this dirty. nicho: ‘anal? fuck, you’re bolder than i thought.’ he teases, but the way his hand immediately slides down your thigh is gentler than his words. he’s excited. no doubt about it, but he still checks in, kissing you hard before reaching for the lube. he’s playful at first, fingers teasing your rim, watching the way you clench around nothing. he keeps up this steady stream of dirty talk, all confidence and heat, making you feel like you can take anything from him. nicho: ‘my pretty baby, letting me in where no one else has… do you know what that does to me?’ it’s intoxicating, the way he makes you feel wanted, but once he actually presses the tip of his cock inside, the reality sets in. the stretch burns sharp, your breath catching on a strangled sound you can’t hold back. he notices instantly. the smirk drops, replaced by a flash of panic as he pulls back, hands steadying your hips. nicho: ‘shit- did i hurt you? hey, look at me.’ when your eyes are glassy with pain, he doesn’t even try again. he eases out, cursing under his breath, then pulls you down onto his chest like he needs to feel you against him right away. his cock twitches against his stomach, still painfully hard, but his focus never wavers from you. he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over the damp corner of your eye. nicho: ‘don’t do that- don’t feel bad. you’re not disappointing me. i don’t care about that. i care about you.’ his voice softens, stripped of the cocky tone, and it makes your chest ache. he holds you close, letting you hide your face in his neck while he rubs your back. after a few minutes, he flips the mood back around like only nicho can. kissing your nose, laughing softly as he mutters, nicho: ‘guess your ass just isn’t ready for me yet. no rush, baby. i’ve got a hundred other ways to ruin you.’ and he proves it by going down on you until you’re moaning his name, making sure the last thing you remember about the night isn’t the pain, but the way he pulled you apart with his mouth, grinning against your skin.

euijoo: you bring it up in a whisper, half embarrassed, half daring, and ej still blinks at you like he’s making sure he heard right. ej: ‘you… want to try anal?’ his voice drops lower, tone careful, but his eyes are blazing. he’s always been patient with you, always the one to double and triple-check before pushing any boundary, so when you nod, his first move is to kiss you deeply. like he’s reminding you that this is about love, not just lust. he preps you longer than you expect, slick fingers stretching you slowly, his other hand holding yours the entire time. you squirm, body torn between pleasure and the strange burn of pressure, and he keeps murmuring soft encouragements. ej: ‘you’re doing so well… tell me if it’s too much, baby.’ it’s overwhelming but bearable, and when he finally lines himself up, your chest swells with nerves. the first push feels like fire, and you tense so hard that ej stills immediately. his forehead presses to yours, breath ragged, every muscle in his body straining not to move. ej: ‘don’t force it. we stop if it hurts- no questions, no arguments.’ you nod, trying to breathe through it, but the sting only sharpens the deeper he goes, until a broken whimper escapes you. he’s out in seconds, condom off, arms wrapping around you protectively. ej cradles you against his chest, rocking you slightly as he strokes your hair. his cock is still flushed and heavy against your thigh, but he ignores it, whispering against your temple like it doesn’t matter. ej: ‘nothing about this is worth your pain. i’d rather hold you all night than see you hurting.’ the firmness in his voice leaves no room for shame. he spends the next hour doing nothing but comforting you. massaging your hips, kissing your shoulders, running his hands over your skin until you relax again. only when you seem ready does he touch you differently, sliding his hand between your thighs and coaxing pleasure out of you with gentle, patient strokes. you come undone under his care, tears drying into soft sighs as he murmurs your name like a vow. ej proves in every moment that his restraint is stronger than any desire. that your comfort will always, always come first.

yuma: when you first mention it, yuma laughs a little under his breath. not mocking, just surprised, his eyes narrowing with that sly spark he always gets when you shock him. yuma: ‘you’re full of surprises, huh? you really want me there?’ his tone is teasing, but the way his hand settles warmly on your thigh grounds you, reminding you he’ll take it seriously if you mean it. when you nod, he kisses you hard, almost possessive, and mutters against your lips, yuma: ‘then i’ll make it good for you.’ he’s thorough with prep, more than you expected. slick fingers, patience, even stopping to add more lube than necessary. he keeps whispering little things, dirty encouragements tangled with genuine affection. yuma: ‘look at you, opening up for me… you’re perfect, baby.’ you’re flushed, already sensitive when he finally positions himself behind you, steadying your hips with his hands. the first stretch hits you like lightning. it burns sharp, and you bite down on the pillow beneath you, whimpering. yuma freezes instantly, pulling back slightly but not out, voice low and worried now. yuma: ‘hey, talk to me. does it hurt?’ you try to be brave, tell him to keep going, but when he pushes just a little deeper and your body seizes with pain, you gasp his name in panic. that’s all it takes, he’s out immediately, sitting back on his heels with a harsh exhale, dragging you into his lap to soothe you. he kisses your temple, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your thigh. his cock is still hard, pressed against your hip, but he doesn’t even look at it. yuma: ‘fuck the sex. you come first. always.’ his voice is fierce, protective, like he’s angry at himself for even trying. he holds you tighter, whispering apologies against your hair until your breathing evens out. later, when you’re calmer, he flips the mood with a grin, brushing his thumb over your lip. yuma: ‘guess that pretty ass of yours isn’t ready for me yet… but that’s okay. i’ve got plenty of other ways to make you scream.’ and he proves it, sliding down your body to eat you out until your legs are trembling, every flick of his tongue reminding you that yuma’s not the type to leave you hurting, he’s the type to remind you just how good it can feel when you let him.

jojo: the second the words leave your mouth, jojo’s whole expression shifts. wide eyes, ears turning pink, and that nervous laugh bubbling out of him. jojo: ‘uh… anal? you’re serious?’ he stammers, scratching the back of his neck like he doesn’t know whether to be turned on or terrified. but once you nod, his shyness folds into focus. he kisses you softly, lingering, before whispering, jojo: ‘then we’ll go slow. you’ll tell me everything you feel, yeah?’ he’s gentle to a fault. he spends forever prepping you, slick fingers stretching you gradually, almost too cautious, but you can feel the tension rolling off him. it’s not because he’s hesitant about himself, he’s hesitant because he doesn’t want to mess this up for you. when he finally lines up, his hands are trembling as they grip your thighs. he pushes just the tip in, and the burn immediately makes you cry out, clutching at the sheets. jojo freezes, panic flooding his face. jojo: ‘shit- did i hurt you? i’m sorry, i’m sorry-’ he starts rambling, already pulling out completely. your body is shaking, eyes watering, and he gathers you into his arms before you can even say stop. he holds you tight, rocking you gently as if you might break in his hands. his heart is hammering against your cheek, and he keeps whispering over and over, jojo: ‘don’t be sorry. you don’t need to do that for me. you never have to.’ even with his cock hard and flushed against his stomach, he doesn’t spare it a glance. instead, he wipes your tears with his thumb, his other hand rubbing your back in soothing strokes. he murmurs softly about how proud he is of you for even trying, how much it means that you trusted him enough to suggest it. his voice is thick with sincerity, nothing but love seeping through the edges of his nerves. after you calm down, he peppers kisses all over your face, trying to coax a smile back onto your lips. jojo: ‘you scared me, baby. but you’re okay now, right? i’ve got you.’ he makes sure you’re comfortable before shifting gears. settling between your thighs, eager to please you in a way that won’t hurt. jojo pours every ounce of his nervous energy into making you come undone, proving he’d rather drown in you this way than risk seeing you cry again.

harua: when you first bring it up, harua blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right. harua: ‘…you mean… there?’ his voice is soft, almost shy, and when you nod, he bites his lip, cheeks pink but eyes dark with curiosity. he’s quiet for a moment, thinking it over, then leans in to kiss you slow and deep, whispering against your mouth, harua: ‘only if you promise to tell me the second it’s too much.’ he’s delicate about prep, almost reverent. his fingers circle your rim with lube, slipping in gradually, and the concentration on his face is intense. he murmurs encouragements with every stretch, like he’s trying to anchor you. harua: ‘that’s it… you’re so good, baby. relax for me.’ it feels strange but not unbearable, and his tenderness makes you believe you can handle it. but when he finally presses the tip of his cock inside, the sting tears through you. you hiss, body tensing, and harua freezes instantly. his breath catches, and he pulls back slightly, eyes darting to your face. harua: ‘does it hurt? tell me- please.’ you try to nod through it, insisting you can manage, but the moment he eases in deeper, the sharp pain makes your eyes well up. he’s out before you even realize he moved. harua practically drops the condom as he rushes to cradle you against his chest, whispering apologies in a frantic stream. harua: ‘i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have pushed, i should’ve stopped sooner-’ his arms wrap tight around you, his hands stroking your back like he can soothe the ache away. his cock is still hard, pressed against your hip, but he doesn’t even shift for relief, he just keeps holding you like you’re the only thing that matters. when your tears finally ease, he kisses your damp cheeks, his voice soft and steady now. harua: ‘you don’t ever have to do something that hurts. i’ll make you feel good without it, i promise.’ and he does. he slides down your body, kissing every inch of skin until his mouth is between your thighs, making you shudder with pleasure until the only thing you remember is how loved you felt. harua ends the night with you curled in his arms, whispering sweet little things in japanese, proving that your comfort isn’t just his priority, it’s his instinct.

taki: the second you suggest it, taki’s eyes widen like he’s been caught off guard, but then that playful grin tugs at his lips. taki: ‘you’re serious? damn… you’re gonna drive me crazy.’ he tries to make it sound light, but the way his hands tighten on your waist betrays just how turned on he is by the idea. still, before anything, he leans in close, nipping your bottom lip and whispering, taki: ‘if it hurts, you tell me right away. promise?’ he’s eager but careful, prepping you with fingers first, lube dripping down his knuckles as he works you open. his usual cocky comments are softer now, though still laced with heat. taki: ‘so fucking tight… i can’t wait to be inside you.’ you’re breathless, flushed, nodding for him to keep going. when he finally positions himself, cock pressing against your rim, your heart pounds with both nerves and excitement. the first push is sharp. pain blooming hot in your body, and your gasp makes his smirk falter immediately. he stops, breathing heavy, his hand smoothing down your spine. taki: ‘too much?’ he asks, voice unusually cautious. you bite your lip, trying to push through, telling him to keep going. but the deeper he sinks, the worse it feels. burning, stretching, unbearable. a choked sob escapes before you can hold it back. he pulls out instantly. no hesitation, no frustration. just wide eyes and panic. he cups your face, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers. taki: ‘hey, no. stop apologizing- don’t you dare apologize. fuck, i shouldn’t have kept going.’ he’s flustered, his hard cock leaking between you, but he ignores it completely, wrapping you up in his arms like he needs you close to calm himself down too. he kisses your temple, your cheeks, murmuring against your skin until your body loosens again. his voice softens, almost breaking. taki: ‘i never wanna hurt you. not ever. you’re everything to me.’ once you’ve settled, he shifts gears, slipping down your body and latching onto your thighs. his mouth replaces the ache with pleasure, tongue relentless until your moans echo in the room. when you finally collapse against him, he holds you tight, whispering with a sheepish smile, taki: ‘guess we’ll stick to what makes you scream in a good way, yeah?’

maki: when you bring it up, maki’s whole face goes red. he blinks fast, fumbling for words, his voice pitching higher than usual. maki: ‘w-wait, you mean… you want me… there?’ he’s flustered, clearly inexperienced with the idea, but beneath the nerves, you can see the heat spark in his eyes. after a beat, he nods, swallowing hard. maki: ‘okay… but you have to promise to stop me if it’s bad. i don’t wanna hurt you.’ he’s extra cautious. like, almost too cautious. he spreads lube over his fingers and spends forever easing one, then two, then three into you, constantly glancing up at your face for signs of discomfort. maki: ‘is this okay? can i go a little more?’ he asks with every move, his hands trembling. his cock is straining against his stomach, flushed and eager, but he doesn’t rush. finally, when he lines himself up, he kisses you deep, whispering, maki: ‘just relax for me. i’ll be gentle.’ the second he pushes in, though, your body seizes at the sharp sting. your breath hitches, and your nails dig into his shoulders. maki’s eyes widen, he freezes immediately. maki: ‘shit- are you okay? did i hurt you?’ you try to be brave, telling him to keep going, but when the pain sharpens and tears prick at your eyes, the sight breaks him. he pulls out at once, tossing the condom aside and gathering you up against his chest. he’s flustered, tripping over his own words, voice tight with guilt. maki: ‘i’m so sorry, baby, i shouldn’t have- I didn’t think it’d hurt that much- fuck, i’m sorry.’ his cock is throbbing, neglected, but he doesn’t even glance down. instead, he cups your face with both hands, kissing your damp lashes and rocking you gently like he can soothe every ache away. he keeps you close until your breathing evens, whispering little reassurances against your ear. maki: ‘you don’t have to do that for me. ever. i’m happy just being with you.’ once you’re calmer, he shifts gears, cheeks still flushed, and murmurs shyly, maki: ‘can i… make it up to you?’ before sliding down to bury his face between your thighs. he eats you out with a kind of desperate determination, eager to replace the hurt with nothing but pleasure. by the end, you’re trembling in his arms, and maki’s whispering against your hair, maki: ‘next time, let’s just stick to what makes you smile, okay?’

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school was a popularity contest at this point. you’d barely been on campus for two weeks and already people were competing over who had the best dorm room or the best outfits this semester. you couldn’t even be upset about it though, because honestly… it’s exactly what you expected from a bunch of young adults. finally having the chance to wear anything besides a stiff uniform and decorate their rooms however they want without their parents hovering and nagging, it made sense they’d show off. but you? you didn’t care for it. it’s not like you didn’t have a dorm theme or outfits you thought looked good, nah. you just didn’t care to compete, not even when your own roomies joked that their rooms were better than yours. your space was covered in your favorite color, walls plastered with posters, your bed crowded with stuffed animals and too many blankets to count. cozy, a little homy vibe, that’s all that mattered. second year already, so why would you waste energy trying to impress? no need. you were content with how it all turned out.

you were a psychology major, the mind and people’s behaviors always fascinated you. you’d been that weird kid growing up, always wondering why people felt what they felt, even when you didn’t feel much at all. that numbness stuck with you, only growing heavier as the years passed. no matter how calm or “at peace” you tried to be, there was still that sharp ache buried in your soul from the past. the past that supposedly didn’t matter anymore. or at least the one you tried not to think about. the past you summed up as what naturally happens when you love people. psych told you that much (even if it didn’t really). so you kept yourself out of relationships, convincing yourself it was for your sanity. maybe part of it was, but the real truth? you were terrified. terrified of what love could do to you again. was everyone going to be cruel, was everyone secretly disgusted, was everyone just waiting to use you up for years and leave you clueless? maybe not. but you couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

you had to take an art class this semester, and you didn’t hate it. you figured maybe it would bring you some peace, and for these first two weeks it kinda did. everything was simple. you barely noticed anyone in the class, until today. walking to class as usual, headphones in, music drowning out the world. you weren’t in a rush, taking your sweet time… and that’s when he showed up too. you didn’t know him, but you knew he always got there before you. tall, dark hair, pale skin. his eyes sat low, airpods tucked in, and before you even realized it, your gaze lingered too long. you caught yourself staring, heat rising in your face, so you picked up your pace and ducked your head before he noticed. when you walked into class, the room was quiet. you slipped to the back, claiming the corner seat by the window. moments later, he walked in, sliding into a chair across the room, also in the back.

he never looked your way, not once. you knew because you were watching. you didn’t mean to stare, but he had that thing about him. mysterious, untouchable, the kind of handsome that felt wrong for you to even notice. it was bad. the lecture kicked off, and today’s assignment was introduced: sketch something you find beautiful. the professor explained you’d be walking around campus from time to time, snapping pictures of anything you thought was worth remembering. simple, almost too easy. but this project was the backbone of the semester, meant to leave you with a sketchbook full of whatever you thought was beautiful or interesting by the end. you liked the idea, really. it gave you freedom, space to create whatever you wanted without limits. with the class only once a week, it didn’t feel heavy, it felt like a hobby.

for the next couple weeks you felt something shift. not at first, not in a way you could point out, but it was there. he started to watch you more often. sometimes you’d catch him walking a little closer when you were both heading to class. sometimes you’d look up and his eyes were already on you, staring without any shame, like he didn’t care if you noticed. you finally learned his name one class when the professor called him up. taesan. the way it rolled off her tongue so effortlessly made you freeze for a second. taesan. it suited him. he’d watch the way your fingers moved across the page when you were sketching the photos you brought in, but you never noticed. not even when a small smile would tug at his lips while you worked.

one night, after class, he finally spoke to you. class ended around 6 and the sky was already dim, the sun dipping low enough to make everything look softer. you, him, and a couple others stayed behind to finish some sketches. by the time you started packing your things, most people were already gone. he lingered, moving slower, eyes flicking to you like he wanted you to notice. and you did. when he shot you a quick smile before walking out, it caught you off guard. so you rushed to catch up before he could leave the building.

you: “what was that about?”

he shrugged, not looking at you once, voice low and quiet in a way that made your chest ache.

t: “you looked at me, so i smiled.”

you: “but-”

t: “i know i was looking at you first. i did it on purpose.”

you: “w-why?”

t: “you’re easy to look at.”

your brows furrowed, confusion written across your face, but he didn’t waver.

you: “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he tilted his head slightly, eyes finally flicking down to meet yours as the two of you slowed to a stop in the hallway.

t: “you don’t get it, do you?”

you shook your head slowly, suddenly too aware of how close the two of you were. for the first time, his gaze really landed on you, heavy and deliberate, like he wanted you to understand something you weren’t ready to. he stopped walking completely, just standing there, staring down at you like the answer should’ve been obvious.

after that night things shifted again. not in a loud or obvious way, but in that quiet way you couldn’t pin down. taesan never said much, but you started to notice him more. he was always around. he’d be walking out of class when you did, sitting across from you in the studio, never really looking until you caught him, and then it was like his eyes burned into yours. you tried to talk to him sometimes. simple things. asking what music he liked, what kind of art he wanted to do, even dumb questions about professors. but he never gave you much. just short answers, a shrug, sometimes a half-smile that felt like it meant something more. you thought maybe he was just quiet, maybe he didn’t like to open up, but you still wanted to know.

what you didn’t know was that every time you sat by the window, every time you bent over your sketchbook, every time you laughed with someone else, he was watching. taesan filled pages with you. not in a way that was meant to be cruel or invasive, but in his own eyes, it was wrong. he’d snap pictures of you when you weren’t looking. nothing inappropriate, nothing crossing the line. but photos he thought captured something nobody else could see. the curve of your hand when you held a pencil. the crease in your forehead when you focused. your face when you weren’t thinking about anyone else but yourself. he sketched them all. pages and pages of you.

and the whole time, he stayed silent. because he could see it in you, the fear. you were terrified of falling too deep, of being loved too much. you hid it, but not well enough for him. so he said nothing. even when you leaned in a little closer during group work, even when you asked him about his family, even when you told him you thought he was interesting. he swallowed it down, convinced he didn’t deserve to say what he wanted to. convinced you’d run the second he did.

months passed and somehow, despite how quiet he was, the two of you became friends. best friends, even. you’d sit with him at lunch sometimes, drag him along to bookstores, send him songs you thought he’d like. he never opened up, never gave you the parts of himself you wanted to see, but you didn’t push. you just let him exist beside you, and that was enough. at least for you.

not for him. he never told you how it broke him to watch you choose everyone but him. the way you’d fall for someone else, let them hold your hand, let them in. he’d still be there, listening when you cried about them, sketching your face the night you showed up at his dorm with tears in your eyes. he’d never tell you how badly he wanted to hate them, how badly he wanted to scream that you were his, that he saw you in ways no one else ever could. instead, he stayed quiet. the good friend. the background. the creep.

you started dating someone halfway through the semester. nothing serious at first, just another guy from your dorm who made you laugh and bought you coffee. you told taesan about him one afternoon while you were both sketching in the studio, like it was nothing, like you thought taesan wouldn’t care. he didn’t say much, he never did, but that night he filled three new pages in his sketchbook of you. not of you smiling, not of you laughing, but of you looking away. your profile, your hand clutching your phone, the curve of your shoulder when you leaned forward. he stayed up late, pressing the pencil into the page so hard the lines nearly tore through.

he hated himself for it. hated how much he wanted to rip the name of that guy out of your mouth. he wasn’t supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to think about the way your lips looked when you said someone else’s name. but every time you went on another date, every time you sat beside him talking about the stupid little things your boyfriend did, taesan smiled like the perfect friend and then went back to his dorm and sketched you until his hand ached.

his sketchbook was full of you now. not a single page left untouched. he had you in every angle, every expression, every detail down to the way your hair framed your face when you weren’t even aware of it. if anyone saw it, they’d think he was insane. maybe he was. in his head, he was the creep, the background shadow, the one who wasn’t supposed to want you like this.

but still, he wanted.

you noticed something different in him after you started dating. not obvious, not anything anyone else would’ve seen, but you caught it. the way he stared longer, the way his eyes would drag over your face like he was memorizing it. one night, when you mentioned skipping class to go out with your boyfriend, his jaw tightened before he nodded.

you: “what? you don’t think i should go?”

he shook his head slowly, eyes flicking away.

t: “do whatever you want. you always do.”

you blinked at him, taken aback, but he was already back to sketching, pencil moving like you hadn’t said a thing.

later that night, when you were gone, he sketched you again. except this time it wasn’t from a photo. it was from memory. he drew you the way you looked sitting in his dorm that afternoon, the exact curve of your frown when he told you that. and then he drew another. and another. until the page was crowded with nothing but your face, staring back at him, judging him silently.

and he couldn’t stop.

you didn’t expect it to hurt the way it did. it was just some guy, some dumb dorm fling, but the second you found out he cheated, it gutted you. like proof that maybe everyone really was cruel. maybe you were right for being terrified of love all along. you didn’t even think about where to go, your body moved before your brain did, and suddenly you were knocking on taesan’s door with your heart in your throat.

he opened it and froze when he saw you. eyes red, hands shaking, the kind of wreck he’d sketched a hundred times in his head but never wanted to see for real. you pushed past him without waiting, collapsing onto the edge of his bed. he shut the door slowly, chest burning, because he already knew what happened. he didn’t have to ask.

you: “he cheated.”

your voice cracked, eyes wet, and for the first time in months taesan felt his jaw tighten so hard it hurt. he sat down across from you, hands fisting against his knees, because if he touched you right now he wouldn’t be able to stop.

t: “of course he did.”

you blinked up at him, startled, but he kept going, the words slipping like poison from a crack he couldn’t patch anymore.

t: “you think they see you the way i do? you think anyone else could? he never deserved you. none of them do.”

you stared at him, eyes wide, and that’s when it hit you.  how much he’d been holding back. the way he looked at you all semester, the way he stayed quiet, the way he never opened up no matter how close you got. you swallowed hard, whispering,

you: “taesan… what are you saying?”

his breathing was uneven, almost shaky, and he finally lifted his head to meet your eyes.

t: “i see you everywhere. you don’t even know how easy you are to draw. how many times i’ve sketched you, how many times i’ve…”

he stopped himself, dragging a hand down his face like he already regretted it, but it was too late. you moved closer without even thinking, searching his face like he was some puzzle you could finally solve.

you: “show me.”

your voice was barely there, but he heard it. his chest tightened, torn between slamming the sketchbook shut forever and finally letting you see. but when you touched his wrist, gently, like you weren’t scared of him at all, his resolve cracked.

he reached over, grabbed the worn sketchbook from his desk, and set it in your lap. you opened it slowly, pages spilling over with nothing but you. you standing in the studio. you laughing. you crying. you biting your lip in concentration. you asleep on the couch after a late night study session. all of you.

your throat went dry, fingers trembling as you turned another page.

you: “taesan…”

he couldn’t even look at you, his ears burning, jaw clenched.

t: “i told you. you’re easy to look at.”

the air between you shifted, heavy and charged. you should’ve been scared, maybe even angry, but instead there was this heat crawling under your skin, this ache in your chest that made you lean closer instead of pulling away. he finally glanced at you, eyes dark, hungry in a way you’d never seen before.

for the first time, you realized. he’d been holding back all this time. and now, he wasn’t anymore.

the silence in his room was suffocating. the sketchbook sat open in your lap, and you kept flipping through even though every page made your chest ache a little more. it wasn’t just drawings, it was pieces of you. details you didn’t even know anyone noticed. the little scar on your hand, the curve of your shoulder when you hunched over your notes, the exact way your bottom lip tugged when you were nervous. taesan noticed everything.

you felt his eyes burning into the side of your face as you kept staring at his work. he wasn’t ashamed, not really. but he wasn’t proud either. he just sat there, watching you take in his obsession like it was something fragile.

you: “you should’ve told me.”

your voice cracked at the end, soft but heavy. he shook his head slowly, staring down at his hands.

t: “you would’ve run. you always run.”

that stung. because he was right. you thought about every time you pulled away from people, every time you convinced yourself you didn’t need love. you wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but you couldn’t. so instead you whispered,

you: “and now?”

he looked up then, really looked at you. his gaze was sharp, unblinking, like he was peeling you open with his eyes alone. his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling heavier than before.

t: “now you’re here. crying over someone who didn’t deserve you. and all i can think about is how badly i want you to look at me the way you looked at him.”

your breath caught, stomach twisting. there it was. the raw truth he’d buried under silence all semester.

you: “taesan…”

he moved before you could finish, not touching you, just shifting closer. his knee brushed yours, the faintest contact, but it felt like fire. his voice dropped, quieter than ever.

t: “don’t say my name like that.”

you blinked at him, heart hammering.

you: “like what?”

he swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to your mouth for the briefest second before snapping back to your gaze.

t: “like it means something. like you’re gonna ruin me..”

the room tilted, air thick and hot, and you realized you were leaning in without even noticing. his hand twitched against his leg, like he was seconds away from reaching out, but he didn’t. not yet. he just stared, lips parted, breathing uneven, letting the weight of it hang between you.

it was unbearable. the way you wanted him to touch you. the way he was holding himself back like if he gave in, he’d never stop.

you didn’t even realize how close the two of you were until you felt his breath fan across your cheek. taesan wasn’t moving, not really, but his eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to memorize every inch. you could feel the heat coming off him, could practically hear how uneven his breathing was getting.

your fingers twitched against the sketchbook still in your lap, and before you thought better of it, you reached out. just barely, brushing your fingertips against the back of his hand. he froze instantly, sharp inhale, like you’d set him on fire.

he didn’t pull away.

you: “taesan…”

his name slipped out again, softer this time, almost pleading. his jaw tightened and he shook his head, eyes shutting for a second like he was trying to ground himself.

t: “don’t. don’t say it unless you mean it.”

you tilted your head, confused, whispering back.

you: “mean what?”

his eyes snapped open, locking onto yours, and for the first time there was no mask, no quiet. just hunger.

t: “mean that you want me.”

your chest tightened so hard it hurt. you parted your lips but nothing came out at first, only silence stretching until he finally let out a shaky laugh under his breath.

t: “see? i knew it. i’m a fucking cr-”

you cut him off without thinking, your hand sliding up and curling into his sleeve. not a kiss, not yet, but enough to make his eyes widen.

you: “don’t call yourself that. you’re not.”

he let out another sharp breath, his whole body leaning the smallest bit closer, his forehead almost brushing yours now.

t: “you don’t get it. i’ve been watching you for months. sketching you like you’re the only thing worth putting on paper. i shouldn’t even-”

he stopped himself, biting down on the words, but you could see how badly he wanted to spill them. how close he was to breaking.

you swallowed hard, your free hand sliding the sketchbook off your lap onto the floor. the sound of it closing made him flinch, and when you whispered again, it was barely audible.

you: “then stop holding back.”

his lips parted, breath catching, and for the first time he reached for you. hesitant, trembling fingers brushing your jaw. the touch was featherlight, almost scared, but it sent heat surging through you so fast you leaned into it before you could stop yourself.

he still didn’t kiss you. he just stared, thumb barely stroking your cheek, like he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

t: “i won’t stop.”

your pulse pounded in your ears, every nerve on fire. but, you nodded. its what you wanted.

you: “i don’t want you too.”

the second the words left your mouth, he broke.

his lips crashed against yours in a way that felt nothing like the quiet taesan you’d known all semester. it was raw, almost desperate, his hand sliding from your cheek down to the back of your neck, pulling you in like he was scared you’d vanish if he didn’t hold tight enough. you gasped into the kiss, your own hands clutching at his hoodie, and that was all it took for him to deepen it, tongue sliding against yours like he’d been starving.

his body shifted closer, knees pressing against yours, caging you in. every brush of his lips felt like he was pouring months of silence into you at once. every look, every sketch, every time he wanted to speak but didn’t. his free hand gripped your thigh, not rough but firm, fingers digging in like he couldn’t believe you were real under him.

t: “fuck-”

he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice wrecked.

t: “you don’t get it… i’ve wanted this- i’ve wanted you- since the first day. you sat there by that window and i couldn’t-”

you cut him off with another kiss, hands tugging at his hair this time, and the sound he made. low, guttural, like he’d been waiting his whole life for it. sent heat rushing straight through you.

your back hit the mattress before you even realized he’d pushed you down, the sketchbook forgotten on the floor. he hovered over you, hair falling into his face, eyes blown wide with something darker than just want. his hand trailed down your side, squeezing at your waist, your hips, gripping like he was memorizing every curve.

you: “taesan…”

your voice cracked and it only made him shiver, his lips pressing to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. sloppy kisses, teeth dragging just enough to leave faint marks.

t: “say it again.”

you: “tae.”

t: “no. my name. i want it. i need it.”

your breath hitched as his hand slipped under your shirt, fingertips brushing hot against your stomach, higher, higher, until you were trembling.

you: “taesan.”

he groaned into your skin, biting gently at your throat, hips pressing down against yours. you felt how hard he was already, straining through his sweats, and the sound you made had him cursing under his breath.

t: “you don’t even know what you do to me. every fucking night i’d go back and draw you because it was the only way i wouldn’t lose my mind. you’re- fuck- you’re all i see.”

your body arched under him, the heat building unbearable, and when his hand finally slid beneath your bra, thumb flicking over your nipple, you gasped so loud his lips swallowed it whole.

he kissed you harder, hungrier, grinding down against your thigh with a groan that made your head spin.

t: “tell me to stop and i will. but if you don’t-”

he broke off, eyes wild, lips swollen, breath ragged.

t: “-if you don’t, i’m not holding back anymore.”

he didn’t give you time to answer. the second your lips parted he was kissing you again, harder, dragging your shirt up and over your head like he’d been dying to do it since day one. his hands froze for a second, eyes raking over you like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him.

t: “fuck… you’re-”

he cut himself off, shaking his head like words weren’t enough, then bent down to press his mouth to your chest. hot, open kisses against your skin, teeth scraping over the swell of your breast before he shoved your bra up, desperate. the sound he made when his lips wrapped around your nipple was wrecked, almost pained, like he’d been starving.

you gasped, arching up into him, and he groaned so loud it vibrated through you. his hand gripped your other breast, squeezing, thumb circling the peak until you were trembling beneath him.

you: “t-taesan-”

t: “yeah… keep saying it. i need it.”

he pulled back just long enough to yank your bra completely off, tossing it to the floor. his mouth went back to your chest, messy kisses and bites down your stomach, leaving marks like he wanted to brand you. his hands slid to your waistband, pausing just a second, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

t: “can i-”

you nodded before he could even finish, and he let out a shaky breath, dragging your pants down, underwear with them. he froze again, eyes blown wide as he took you in bare for the first time.

t: “fuck. i’ve drawn you a hundred times but nothing- nothing compares.”

you flushed, thighs clamping together, but he pried them apart gently, settling between them like he belonged there. his fingers slid along your slick folds, and the low, broken sound that ripped from him nearly made you come undone on the spot.

t: “you’re so wet already… is this all for me?”

your breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulders as you nodded, and his lips curved in the faintest, almost disbelieving smile before he pushed two fingers inside you.

you cried out, hips jerking, and he groaned, forehead pressing to your stomach as he pumped into you slow and deep, curling just right.

t: “fuck- so tight. so perfect. i knew it. i knew no one else could-”

he cut himself off with a curse, pulling his fingers out only to shove them in again harder, watching the way your body clenched around him.

you: “t-taesan, please-”

t: “please what? tell me. tell me what you need, i’ll give you anything. anything.”

you whimpered, tugging at his hoodie, and he got it instantly, yanking it off in one rough motion. his sweatpants followed, and when his cock slapped against his stomach, thick and leaking, your mouth went dry.

he caught your expression and groaned, rubbing himself slowly over your soaked entrance.

t: “yeah… you feel that? i’m gonna ruin you. been waiting too long not to.”

the stretch when he pushed in was overwhelming, your walls fluttering around him instantly, and the curse that tore from his throat was almost a growl.

t: “fuck- so good. so fucking good. you’re mine now. you hear me?”

your head fell back, moaning loud enough you were sure the whole dorm could hear, but he didn’t care. he thrust into you hard, deep, setting a pace that made the bed creak under the force. his hand slid up to grip your throat lightly, forcing your eyes on him.

t: “look at me. look at me while i fuck you. i need- i need to see you.”

you obeyed, eyes locking on his, and the intensity there nearly undid you. dark, obsessive, like he’d never let you go now that he had you.

and in that moment, you didn’t want him to.

he fucked into you like he’d been starving, hips snapping against yours hard enough to knock the breath out of you. every thrust dragged a cry from your throat, and his hand stayed wrapped around your throat, not tight, just there, grounding, making sure your eyes stayed locked on his.

t: “that’s it. take me. fuck- been dying for this. you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you clawed at his shoulders, nails raking down his back, and he hissed, rutting into you even harder like the pain fueled him. sweat dripped down his temples, his hair falling into his eyes, but he didn’t care. he looked possessed.

his free hand slid down, thumb finding your clit and circling it fast, messy, without rhythm. you cried out, hips bucking against him, the sharp pleasure overwhelming.

you: “t-taesan, i-i”

t: “yes you can. fuck, you’re gonna. you’re gonna cum for me right now.”

his pace grew brutal, slamming into you so deep the head of his cock kissed your cervix over and over. his thumb worked your clit harder, relentless, and you broke with a sob, clenching around him so tight he nearly doubled over.

t: “yes- just like that. you’re squeezing me so good. i knew you’d be perfect.”

but he didn’t stop. even as you shuddered through your orgasm, body twitching, he kept going, chasing his own high, driving you into the mattress. his thumb never left your clit, drawing out your orgasm until it was too much, until you were shaking your head, whimpering.

you: “t-taesan, it’s t-too much-”

t: “no, baby. you can take it. you’re mine, remember? mine to ruin.”

he said it like a vow, like a prayer, like it was the only truth that had ever mattered. your body writhed under him, pleasure tipping into pain and back again as he forced another orgasm out of you.

you screamed this time, clutching him so tight your nails broke skin. his eyes fluttered shut, groaning like he was drunk on the feeling of you breaking beneath him.

t: “fuck- again. give me another one. don’t stop.”

your body was too sensitive, every thrust sparking lightning through your veins, but he didn’t let up. he angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside that made you cry out helplessly, legs shaking.

you: “tae-”

t: “you can. you will. i’m not stopping until i feel you cum all over me again.”

his voice was rough, desperate, but his eyes, his eyes were wild. hungry. he kissed you again, swallowing your cries as you fell apart a second time, walls milking him hard enough he cursed into your mouth.

he finally lost it then, hips stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled, groaning loud, forehead pressed to yours. but even as he came, he was still rutting into you, forcing every drop deeper, unwilling to pull out.

t: “fuck- so full of me. that’s how it’s supposed to be. only me.”

you were a wreck beneath him, body trembling, tears pricking your lashes from how intense it was. and he just looked down at you, hand brushing your cheek almost tenderly, even as his cock stayed buried inside.

t: “you don’t get it, do you? i’m never letting you go now.”

he didn’t move for a while, just kept himself buried inside you, chest rising and falling against yours like he was trying to calm down. but the second you shifted under him, whimpering at how sensitive you were, his cock twitched and hardened again.

t: “fuck- already. can’t stop. not when i’m inside you like this.”

he dragged his hips back and pushed in slow, deliberate, until your back arched and a broken sob spilled from your lips. your body was still clenching from the last orgasm, too sensitive, too raw.

you: “t-taesan, wait- pl-”

t: “no, baby. no waiting. i’ve waited long enough.”

his hand smoothed over your thigh before pushing your leg up, folding you in half so he could get deeper. the new angle made you choke on a moan, your nails digging into his arms. he leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth like he could soothe you, but his hips were already moving, slow and heavy.

you tried to push at his chest weakly, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, his other sliding down to press on your lower belly where he was hitting.

t: “feel that? that’s me. i’m so deep inside you. fuck- no one else gets this. no one.”

tears slid from your eyes, a mix of overwhelming pleasure and frustration, but he kissed them away, murmuring against your skin.

t: “don’t cry, baby. you’re beautiful like this, but you don’t need to cry. i’ve got you. just let me.”

your body betrayed you, clenching around him again, dragging a groan from his chest. his thumb found your clit once more, and he rubbed circles without mercy, forcing your body to give him another orgasm even as you begged.

you: “i ca- tae, please, i can-”

t: “yes you can. fuck, you’re already there. cum for me. do it. show me you’re mine.”

your body broke, another violent orgasm ripping through you, and he fucked you through it, refusing to stop. your cries echoed against the walls, his name spilling from your lips over and over until it was the only thing you could say.

he lost himself again, hips snapping faster, more desperate, chasing his own high.

t: “gonna fill you again. so full you won’t even think about him. only me. only fucking me.”

his teeth grazed your throat as he came, spilling hot inside you, his groan low and wrecked against your ear. his hips twitched, rutting through it, making sure every drop stayed buried.

when he finally slowed, he stayed pressed to you, sweaty chest against yours, cock still inside you. he kissed you softly this time, lips lingering.

his lips dragged down your jaw, over your throat, biting hard enough to sting. the way he moved felt less like fucking now and more like painting. every bruise, every mark he left, deliberate, like strokes on canvas. you tried to breathe, tried to come back down from the last wave, but he wasn’t done.

t: “one more. fuck, just one more, baby. let me ruin you.”

your legs trembled as he pulled out only to flip you onto your stomach, pressing your face into the sheets. you barely had time to gasp before he slid back in, deeper, rougher, his hand splayed across your back to hold you still.

you: “ple-, really i ca-”

t: “yes you can. you’re taking me so good. you’re perfect. fuck- perfect.”

his thrusts were brutal, his need unhinged, chasing the memory of every time he’d sketched you in silence and ached to touch. he grabbed your hips and pulled you back into him, moaning when you clenched so hard around him that his rhythm faltered.

he came again with a strangled groan, pressing so deep it felt like he wanted to live inside you. his cum leaked around him, down your thighs, but he didn’t pull out right away. he fucked it back into you with slow, shaky thrusts until he physically couldn’t anymore.

your body went limp under him, spent, trembling, whimpers spilling from your lips. he finally stilled, breathing hard, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

for the first time all night, silence filled the room.

taesan pulled out slowly, carefully, almost apologetically. you flinched at the loss, and he froze, something soft flickering in his eyes.

t: “shit- sorry, baby. i’m sorry. i know it’s too much.”

he moved quick then, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing. you expected him to be rough still, but his hands were gentle, brushing sweat-soaked hair from your face, pressing kisses to your temple. he sat back against the headboard with you in his lap, rocking you slightly, grounding you.

t: “breathe. just breathe for me.”

he grabbed a blanket, tucking it around your shaking body, and kissed every place he’d marked, your throat, your jaw, your wrists.

t: “you’re okay. i’ve got you. i’ll always have you.”

when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, he wasn’t staring like before. he was watching you carefully, worried, thumb stroking over your knuckles.

t: “i know i’m… too much. but i’ll take care of you. always.”

you leaned into him, exhausted, and for once, he let silence stretch between you without filling it with obsession or hunger. he just held you, arms tight around your waist, pressing soft, endless kisses into your hair.

you woke slowly, the room hazy with dawn light, skin still warm from where his arms had been wrapped around you all night. taesan hadn’t moved much. when you blinked awake, he was still there, pressed against your back, his chest rising and falling steady, his breath ghosting across the curve of your shoulder. his hold on you was protective, almost desperate, like if he loosened it even a little, you’d slip away.

for a moment you just lay there, listening to the soft rhythm of him sleeping, the faint hum in his throat every time he exhaled. his hand was splayed across your stomach, thumb twitching slightly even in sleep, like he needed to keep touching you to be sure you were real.

when you shifted to turn toward him, his lashes fluttered, and he cracked one eye open, voice rasped from sleep.

t: “hey… you’re awake.”

you nodded, and he gave you this tiny, sleepy smile, the kind that didn’t look practiced or careful like before, just… raw. human.

you: “did you sleep at all?”

he huffed softly, nose brushing your temple as he pulled you closer.

t: “wasn’t sure if i should. didn’t wanna miss a second of you like this.”

you rolled your eyes but felt the heat rise in your chest anyway. his hand skimmed up your arm, tracing invisible lines like he was sketching even now, memorizing every part of you all over again.

t: “you’re warm, warmer than i thought you’d be.”

he murmured, almost to himself. you snorted quietly. 

you: “that’s the weirdest compliment i’ve ever gotten.”

but he just smiled again, a real one this time, and kissed your hair, slow and lingering.

the silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. it was soft, comfortable. the kind of quiet that made you want to stay in it forever. he didn’t rush you out of bed, didn’t demand anything. he just held you, tracing lazy patterns down your back, grounding you against him.

when you finally sat up, his hand followed instinctively, sliding to rest at your waist.

t: “don’t go yet.”

the way he said it was so small, so unlike the boy who’d kissed you raw the night before, you almost broke. you lay back down without answering, pressing your forehead to his chest, and felt him exhale shakily, relief pouring out of him like he’d been holding it in all night.

he wrapped both arms around you again, burying his face in your hair.

t: “just… stay.”

and you did.

꒰ঌ taglist! @ykvdani @hehebeanis @smiles4hyuck @rex-ie @taehyuns-biceps @roe-sinning @fairyvxss

Race weekends are what he lives for. He thrives with the spotlight shining bright on him. He’s at his favorite track this weekend. He says in every interview it’s his favorite because of the layout, but you know it’s because it’s the track he got his first win, and the first track that you attended a race to watch him.

Back then you weren’t sporting your wedding ring that you wear now. Those were the days when he was a rookie driver and you were both freshly twenty and secretly married. Back then when anyone asked you any questions about your relationship, you informed them you were just his long term girlfriend. At that point you had been together since you were fifteen. Both so young, naive and hopeful. The first two years of your marriage were kept private, not even your families knew.

Sometimes you wonder if you would have kept your marriage private whether things would have been different.

As time went on everything just felt so different. Race weekends now don’t consist of you dodging interviews or photos. Now you sport a diamond ring that costs more than you could ever imagine making in a year. With an all access paddock pass around your neck, you don’t blink as photos are taken of you.

Standing in the Ferrari garage, you watch from a screen as your husband is in Q3 of qualifying.

A camera is practically in your face as your husband’s hot lap has the fastest first two sectors.

Fidgeting with the large diamond on your finger, you try your hardest to stay calm and collected. Soonyoung is flying through the third sector. His time is still purple as you look out of the garage into the grey cloudy sky of the Montreal track. You say to yourself softly just loud enough for you to hear, “come on Soonyoung.” He's the final car to finish Q3. He’s only truly racing against himself and his own teammate Seungcheol.

He blew past the finish line, securing pole position and just barely beating out his own teammate.

The car pulls to his spot and immediately he jumps out of the car, pumping his fist. Pulling your headphones off, you walk off towards where he is celebrating.

Standing there with the top half of his racing suit pushed down to his waist, his bleached blonde hair is a mess, matted with sweat.

The moment he’s off the car, people are already shoving microphones into his face. Soonyoung is the picture perfect face of the sport this season. He’s so charming and funny. The world loves rooting for him and watching him succeed. He’s a media darling, and reports love being able to interview him.

The second his interview wraps up, he rushes over to you. Pulling you into his arms, he rocks you side to side for a moment. He releases you long enough to press his lips to yours for a searing kiss. Moments like this used to be your everything. Why does this moment now feel hollow?

His forehead rests on yours. His hand rests on your cheek. “This feels amazing.” He is not talking about kissing you. He’s talking about the thrill of racing. Racing is his first true love. Nothing will ever make him as happy as winning a race, or getting pole position for his favorite track.

Pulling back, you give him the best smile you can muster up. Reaching up, you push his bleach blonde hair away from his forehead. “You did great.” Even when you’re sad, you’re still incredibly proud of what he has achieved.

He can tell by your tone you’re pretending to be happy. “Speedy—” he’s called you this since he first met you. He rarely refers to you by your name. As a teenager, he made a joke about you speeding into his heart, and he’s never let it go.

“Go be a superstar. I’ll be at the hotel.” You try to step back from him. He grabs your hand before you can move.

“Let’s stay in tonight. Tomorrow is a big race, let’s just relax together.”

“You’re going to have dinner with your team. I’ll be in the room if you need me.”

Things haven’t always felt this strained in your marriage. Back then you used to go out with him to celebrate. That last year, things have been tough. Things feel different. He’s so wrapped up in racing and having one of the best seasons of his life, he doesn’t realize he’s pushing you away more and more each day without even trying to. Last season he came in second for the drivers championship and that’s when things started to change. Racing suddenly became his number one focus.

Soonyoung has this bright idea that it’s time to start a family. He had this idea a year ago. Maybe it’s his baby fever after seeing his teammate Seungcheol become a father. You've never had strong feelings one way or another about having children, but the way Soonyoung lights up when he mentions having a baby changed your mind. To be honest, you want to be a mother, and a part of you wonders if having a baby can help fix things. It would be nice to have a child you could love and spend time with when you’re lonely. The idea of having a child with Soonyoung has been something you’ve wanted since you were a teen. You’ve been actively “trying” for a year with no luck. Soonyoung even has an app on his phone to track your cycle and ovulation. You’re well aware you’re ovulating, but you don’t want to push him. You would much rather have your space tonight. While he’s out at dinner with his team, you’re soaking in a bubble bath, drinking a glass of wine. You’ll probably be sound asleep by the time he comes back.

Around ten the door opens and your husband walks in. You can’t quite decipher the look on his face.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me you were ovulating?” You didn’t tell him because you didn’t want to have this conversation. Your goal was to be asleep before he even got home. This weekend you’re probably being extra sensitive, but maybe you’re just at your breaking point.

“Soonyoung it’s a race weekend. The last thing you should be thinking about is if I’m ovulating.”

He stops in his tracks. Tilting his head to the side, he gives you a confused look. “I thought we were trying for a baby?” The amount of unprotected sex you’ve been having over the last year would definitely qualify as trying to conceive.

“We are. I thought you would want to focus on your race. It’s your favorite track after all.”

“Well imagine if we made a baby the weekend of my favorite track?” He immediately perks up. Of course he loves the idea of knocking you up at a fancy hotel down the street from his favorite race track.

You wish things were different, you want nothing more than to have your marriage back the way it used to be.

“Okay.” Maybe one day you’ll be a priority again. “Come here.”

Things with Soonyoung feel the most normal when you’re both stripped bare and together in the most intimate way possible.

Soonyoung and you are each other's first for everything. You still remember your first time together as clumsy love sick fools trying to navigate each other's bodies. The sweet memory of your first kiss by the field at school. The way you both were well acquainted with the back seat of Soonyoung car. You mastered the art of riding him in the backseat of his car, far away from the prying eyes of parents.

You're both stripped bare as he sits on his knees between your spread legs. One hand rests on your mound, his thumb toying with your puffy clit.

“I’m going to knock you up—“ he groans.

His hips rock into yours at a quick pace. After all these years Soonyoung knows all the things that make your body tick. Resting one of your legs over his arm, he picks up the pace.

The blissed out look on his face as he stares down at you is intoxicating. You aren’t sure you have ever met a man as beautiful as your husband. Your fingers tangle in the sheets below you. The coil in your stomach tightens as you get closer and closer to finding your release.

“I’m going to fill you—“ he moans.

All the muscles in your body tense before you find your release. Your walls contract around him. He moans your name like a prayer before he fills you to the brim with his milky release.

His chest rises and falls as he stares down at you. “I love you,” he mumbles.

“I love you too,” those four words are never a lie, even though you’re hurt, you still love your husband with your whole heart and soul.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The nervousness you feel while watching him race will never disappear. He was two laps shy of winning the Montreal Grand Prix for the second time. You fidget with your wedding ring, just like you do every time you’re nervous. Your eyes focused on the screen. Jeonghan the McClaren driver is hot on his trail. Jeonghan has managed to make this race difficult for both the Ferraris. Yoon Jeonghan qualified in third, and it took him ten laps to get past Seungcheol. From lap ten on, Soonyoung has been fighting. Any time he gets the McClaren out of DRS range, somehow Jeonghan fights his way back. On the final two laps he’s been within the DRS range the whole time. Both Soonyoung and Jeonghan have put in a hell of a drive. It would be absurd if one of them didn’t get driver of the day.

Soonyoung is going to have to put up a hell of a fight in the big straight away. The McClaren is by far the fastest on the straightaways. Jeonghan is so close to him and is trying everything to get around Soonyoung, but he’s putting up a hell of a fight.

They're onto the final lap. Soonyoung just has to hold off Jeonghan for this last lap. The whole lap, Jeonghan has stayed within the DRS range.

Every single straightaway has you feeling tense and nervous. Your stomach is in knots. “Come on Soonyoung you got this.” You whisper just loud enough for you to hear.

There is a feeling of instant relief as your husband crosses the finish line. Seungcheol's wife comes over and gives you a hug. Ferrari finished first and third podiums. The rest of the team says congratulations. This is a huge race for the team. This helps maintain not only Soonyoung’s lead for the drivers’ championship, but Ferrari’s lead in the constructors’ championship.

You follow his team to the victory area. You watch as Soonyoung hops out of his car. Standing on top, he pumps his fist in the air. This is truly all he’s ever wanted in life. From the moment you met him as a teenager, you knew this was his dream. You spent many evenings in his teenage bedroom watching old clips of Formula One races. You spent many of your weekends as a teen watching his karting races. You’re happy for Soonyoung, you truly are. You just can’t help but feel sad.

Standing with the rest of his team at the barricade, you watch him throw himself into his awaiting teammates. The cheers are so loud you can barely hear yourself think. Soonyoung rushes over to you. He takes your face in his hands before crashing his lips into yours.

Pulling away his smile starts to fade, as he stares into your lifeless eyes. “Good job Soonie.” The cameras are already focused on you and your husband. From Soonyoung’s first season in F1, the media has been obsessed with your relationship. It turns out teenage sweethearts who have been together forever is something the media and fans love. Sure there are countless women who pine after your husband, but everyone online tends to be very supportive of your marriage.

There isn’t a single race where you don’t have a camera in your face. Very early on, you got used to all the cameras always being focused on you and your husband’s marriage.

“Speedy— I won for us.”

“You won for you, and that’s okay,” you whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

“Baby—”

“Go celebrate.” Leaning forward, you press your lips to his for a gentle kiss. “I’m proud of you.”

“I love you,” he holds your face in his hands. The camera is too close for your liking now. “I love you so much. Please never forget that I love you.” His voice is shaky; he’s trying his hardest to hold back his tears.

“I love you too. Good job Soonie,” you press a gentle kiss on his lips.

The feeling of watching him stand there on the podium never gets old. His national anthem is playing. He’s singing along to himself with the biggest smile on his face. This moment right here, has always been his dream.

The podium comes to a close, and Soonyoung is off taking a quick shower to wash away the sticky champagne. You’re standing in the paddock mindlessly scrolling through your phone watching highlights of your husband's victory.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Kwon.” The team principal Joshua Hong, comes towards you.

“Thank you.” Closing your phone you stick it into the pocket of your jeans. Soonyoung, walking into the garage, catches your attention.

“Your husband is having the season of a lifetime.” Those aren’t unusual words for you to hear. Everyone is constantly reminding you about how well your husband is doing.

“I’m proud of him.” You watch as Soonyoung is talking to his engineer Jihoon. Even though things are strained, that doesn’t mean you aren’t incredibly proud of what he’s accomplished this year.

The moment he finishes talking to Jihoon, he sprints towards you. He pulls you into a tight hug, rocking your body side to side.

“I’m going to leave you two lovebirds to celebrate,” he says. If only he knew how strained things are. “Good job today Soonyoung.” Joshua gives him a pat on the back.

“I love you.” He peppers your face with too many kisses to count.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

“Let’s head to the hotel. I need a nice hot shower.”

“Didn’t you just take one?” His hair is still wet from said shower.

“I want to take a shower with my wife and then celebrate my favorite way I know how.”

“And how is that?” you raise your eyebrow at him.

“We order room service and then I fuck you so good that we both pass out.” He raises his eyebrows at you suggestively.

After a race you think he would be tired, but it’s normally the opposite. He’s so hyped up on adrenaline that you normally tend to have sex after a race. It’s either sex celebrating a good race, or he’s fucking away his frustration.

After taking a shower together, he has you on your hands and knees in the middle of the large king-size bed. Your back is arched, and your chest is practically pressed to the bed. His hands grip your hips, snapping his hips into yours over and over again. With each slap of his hips against your butt, a soft moan leaves your lips. Your fingers grip the extremely high thread count sheets below you. At this angle, he’s brushing your G-spot with each thrust. Your whole body feels warm and fuzzy, getting closer and closer to your high.

Soonyoung loves when you moan for him. You’ve never been very vocal in bed, but that doesn’t mean you’re silent. He’s always been good at pulling whimpers and moans from you.

The moment your walls start contracting as your high washes over you, he starts rambling on and on about how he’s going to knock you up. His newfound breeding kink isn’t something you'd complain about. There is something intoxicating about him rambling on about knocking you up and wanting to fill you to the brim.

The aftermath of your romp in bed leaves Soonyoung finally tired. After eating the room service he ordered, you’re lying in bed watching him sleep. You’re both naked, lying under the covers together.

When you met Soonyoung as a teenager, you never intended to fall in love. What started out as an innocent crush, turned into so much more. One day Soonyoung was just the cute boy who spent most of his after-school afternoons practicing karting, and the next he was the boy you were hopelessly in love with. Even as you get closer to thirty, you still feel like the same teenage girl who fell in love with him.

Things are hard, and you miss how things used to be, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still so in love with him. You can’t imagine living without him. You just want things to go back to how they were.

Soonyoung’s eyes slowly open. He looks so soft. He gives you a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I make you sad.” He's a smart man; he knows he’s been messing up, left and right this season. He just keeps telling himself, as soon as this year is over, he’ll be a champion and everything will go back to normal.

“Soonyoung, go back to sleep.” He reaches for your hand. He laces his fingers with yours. He brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on top of your hand. “We shouldn’t talk about this right now. We’re both tired and I’m ovulating. I’m extra emotional right now.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Let’s get some sleep. We have an early morning flight.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s late when you finally arrive back home. Nothing sounds better than a hot shower and a good night of sleep. The flight from Montreal to South Korea was long. Soonyoung shuts the front door and kicks off his shoes.

“I need a hot shower.” You don’t bother grabbing your suitcase; you just leave it in the living room. Walking into the bathroom, you listen for the sound of your husband. He comes in behind you. Showers have been open invites since you started living together at nineteen.

Stripping away your clothes, you watch Soonyoung walk over and turn on the water. He doesn’t strip his own clothes off. He just watches as you step into the shower. Stepping under the hot water, you can feel his eyes burning into you.

He just stands there, watching you, unable to move. You’re standing under the warm water. You look absolutely beautiful. There is this weird tension between you. Even if he wants to pretend everything is normal, he knows at some point something is going to break.

“Did you want to join me?” you snap him out of his thoughts.

“Please—“

Stripping away his clothes, he slid the glass door open. This shower has always been his favorite feature of your shared home. Four people could comfortably shower in here. Especially with the overhead waterfall faucet.

Grabbing your favorite mango-scent shampoo, you start to massage it into your hair. Whenever Soonyoung smells mangoes, he always thinks of you. Back in high, school you were obsessed with this mango-scent body butter. He used to use his small paychecks from the restaurant he worked at to buy it for you every time you finished the container.

He steps closer to you. “Let me wash your hair, baby.” Turning your back to him, he massages the fruity scent into your hair.

There is a screaming silence and only the sound of the water and he massages your hair.

“Speedy, I’m sorry.” He knows this is a blanket statement. He knows he has too many things to apologize for.

“I know you are.” It’s taking everything in you to hold back your tears.

“I have a double header and then I have a break. Maybe we could go somewhere together.”

As much as you desperately want to go on a trip and work on your marriage, you don’t want to get your hopes up. This year has just been so hard, and no matter how much he promises he’ll spend time with you, you’ve learned all too well he’s not the best at keeping his promises anymore.

“Okay.” You step away to rinse your hair.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Between races, you have a total of three days you’re home. Soonyoung has barely been home the entire time. Every moment, he seems so focused on his next race. He’s either in the gym or at the facility doing a racing simulation. You’re lucky if he’s home in time for dinner. The isolation in your home is slowly starting to eat away at you. You miss spending proper time with your husband.

It’s the morning you’re supposed to leave for the next race. You made the decision yesterday when you woke up alone in bed: you weren’t traveling for this race. You needed time away from your husband and time away from this house. You need some much-needed time at your parents’ house.

His bags are packed, and if this was a normal race weekend, yours would be too. He drags his bag to the front door, and is confused about why you’re still in your pajamas.

“Speedy, we have to leave soon.” He knits his brows, confused on why you don’t have your suitcase with you.

“Soonyoung, I’m not going.” You’ve thought long and hard about your decision to not go to this race.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t go and have a camera in my face all weekend and just pretend to be happy. I think I should go stay with my parents for a little while.”

“What do you mean?” he steps towards you.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Are you leaving me?” he sounds broken. He’s hit with the sobering realization you might want to end things.

“I’m not asking for a divorce, but I need space. I can’t go to your race and pretend everything is fine when clearly we’re not okay.” Everything feels like it’s falling apart. How are you supposed to act like you're happy?

“You’re not even going to try?” he pushed his fingers through his hair.

“You don’t get to ask that. You haven’t been trying for a year.” The audacity he has to act like he’s been actually trying.

“That’s not fair. These last two seasons have been huge for me. This is huge for us. I finally have a chance to be the world champion, like we have always dreamed of.” He is not wrong. Being a world champion started out as his dream, but it became yours as well. The thought of him achieving this goal makes you want to cry.

“I know these seasons have been huge. I have been trying so damn hard to be supportive. But I want my husband back.”

“Speedy, I haven't gone anywhere,” he takes another step towards you.

“But you have—“ There is no point in trying to hold back your tears.

“I’m trying—“ His voice is shaky.

“Not hard enough. All you care about is racing and that’s fine, but I need some time to myself.” You never wanted things to get to this point. When things started going south, you hoped that they would just sort themself out, but they never did.

“Please tell me it’s not over for us?” He doesn’t bother holding back his tears. You’ve seen him cry before, but this feels different.

“It’s not over for us, but I’m asking you to please try harder for us. Fight for us, Soonyoung.”

“Speedy—” He rarely calls you your actual name. It feels weird he’s still calling you this even though you’re both hurting.

“You go and do your race, and I’m going to stay with my parents. When you come home, you focus on saving what we have built for almost fifteen years together.” Why does this feel like the hardest decision you’ve made in the longest time?

“You’re really not going to go with me to this race weekend?”

“No, Soonyoung, I’m not.” Reaching up, you push away your salty tears that are falling.

“Just promise you aren’t going to pack up and leave me while I’m gone. I can’t go away not knowing if this is over.” He never imagined you would ever reach a point where he’s afraid of fully losing you.

“It’s not over. We just need to fix things. We need to fight for each other.”

He leans forward with his forehead resting against yours. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away. You’ve been with him since you were fifteen, and you’ve never felt this sort of tension with him before. His hand shakes as he reaches out for you. Resting his hand on your cheek, he drags his thumb across your skin, wiping away your tears.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I know you do.”

“Please don’t do that. Please tell me you still love me.” He pulls away from you quickly. You’ve never said that to him instead of saying, I love you back.

“Soonyoung, I love you so much.”

“I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix us.” His tears continue to slide down his cheeks.

That’s the first time he’s left for a race weekend without you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Calling your mother to come pick you up wasn’t something you ever thought you would have to do. The moment Soonyoung walked out the door, you packed a duffle bag and waited for your mom. The whole ride to your parents’ house was silent. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell your mom what was going on. Everything was falling apart and you were on the verge of breaking down. The only information you gave her was you were going through a rough patch. The only question you answered was confirming your husband hadn’t cheated on you. Never has there been a moment in your marriage where you’ve needed space from your husband.

After arriving at the house, you finally broke down while your mother held you. A sense of shame washes over you as you explain to your mother about what is going on with your marriage. Your parents love Soonyoung and they never had any idea that something was wrong.

When everything finally calms down, you head upstairs to your old room. There is something odd about being back in your teenage bedroom. It still looks like the way it did when you left home for college.

You’ve had so many good memories here, but why does it hurt being back?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

God, this weekend fucking sucks. Soonyoung can’t catch a break. He should have known the moment he left, when you didn’t come with him, this wasn’t going to be his weekend. Qualifying was a nightmare, to say the least. It started out with him almost not making it into Q2, and once he was in Q3, things just kept going wrong. Seungcheol’s car was having no issues, but Soonyoung couldn’t get enough speed to get out of P8. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this frustrated racing.

After the team debrief, Soonyoung stood around staring at the track. He hasn’t felt this defeated in a while. There is no way he can focus on racing when all he can think about is you.

“Your head doesn’t seem to be in the race this week,” Seungcheol comes up behind him and pats him on the back.

“I’m struggling this weekend,” Soonyoung lets out a heavy sigh.

“What’s going on?” Seungcheol has always been the voice of reason on the grid for him. Even when they weren’t teammates, Seungcheol and Soonyoung were friends. They’ve known each other since they were teenagers and would compete in carting races.

“Just personal stuff,” he pushes his fingers through his blonde hair.

“Where is your wife?” Seungcheol couldn’t help but be curious. As long as he’s been friends and now teammates, you’ve been there for every race. You’ve only missed one weekend when you had a terrible case of the flu.

“She decided to stay home.”

“Are you guys good?” There is no point in lying to Seungcheol. If anyone is going to understand what is going on, it’s him.

“No—” a heavy sigh passes Soonyoung’s lips. “I’m not treating her good enough. I’m too focused on racing and she needs me.”

“Dude you’ve been with her for almost fifteen years. I remember when I realized you two tied the knot and didn’t tell anyone. How are you messing things up now?”

“I don’t know. These last two seasons have been going so well. I just have been focused so much on racing. Hell we’re even trying for a baby. I’ve been telling myself I’m giving that my all, but I’m not.”

“What do you mean?” Soonyoung finally looks away from the track that’s been taunting him.

“Well, I haven’t been able to knock her up yet. I have a tracker on my phone for her cycle and stuff, but if I was a good husband I would have gone to the doctors already to see if I’m the problem.”

“How long have you been trying?”

“Right after you had Chae.” Seungcheol becoming a father wasn’t planned. His daughter ended up being a blessing in disguise. Before Seungcheol and his now-wife got married, after they were long-term friends with benefits. According to Seungcheol, he was in love with her for years before he accidentally knocked her up.

“So over a year?”

Silently Soonyoung nods his head. “Yeah.”

“Dude, it will happen, especially if you take it seriously. Maybe you should go to the doctor after this race just for a check-up.” Seungcheol pats him on the back again.

“The second this race is done I’m flying home to my wife to fix things.”

The moment he got on the plane to leave, he already wanted to turn around. He absolutely hates being away from you, especially after how he left things.

“You know you can still be a champion and focus on your wife?”

“I know I need to learn to balance things better.” He knew after this race, he needed to change things.

“Plenty of the other guys who have been champions can juggle both. Seokmin has a wife and daughter, and he won last year.” Soonyoung spent all of last season chasing Seokmin, trying his hardest to be world champion. Seokmin was just too good in that Ashton Martin. He’s friendly with Seokmin off the track, and knows he has a happy little family.

“You’re right.”

“Soonyoung, I know things seem tough right now, but I know you can fix things with your marriage. Your wife loves you and would do anything for you. You have to prove to her that she’s your priority.”

The race went just as well as qualifying. Soonyoung felt like he was going absolutely insane because he couldn’t get past eighth place. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get past the Ashton Martin’s who were stacked in front of him. The only good thing about that terrible race was that Seungcheol got second behind Yoon Jeonghan and his incredibly fast McClaren.

There is a sense of dread taking over Soonyoung the moment he arrives home. Opening the door to your shared home he hates knowing you aren’t here. He's going to walk inside and you won’t be there waiting for him. Stepping inside, he sets his suitcase down by the front door and starts looking for you. There is a little part of him that hopes you’re here. You’re nowhere to be seen in the kitchen or living room.

The drive to your parents’ house feels excruciatingly long. They just live thirty minutes away, but it was possibly the longest half hour of his life. Arriving at your parents’ house he feels like an idiot. How did he let this happen? Standing outside, he feels like a nervous teen asking a parent's permission to see their daughter. Knocking on the door of his in-laws house he patiently waits. Normally, he would just walk in, but that suddenly doesn’t feel right.

The door opens and there stands your mother looking disappointed. “Kwon Soonyoung, why did my daughter call me to pick her up when she should have been in Austria for your race?”

“I messed up. I’m trying to fix things though.”

She opens the door fully and he steps inside. “Soonyoung I have known you since you were fifteen and I know you’re not a stupid boy. You’ve never disappointed my daughter. What is going on?”

“We’re going through a rough patch. I have been so focused on racing. I’m going to fix things. I’m here to fix things.”

“She’s in her old room.” Your mother steps aside. “Soonyoung I love you like you’re my own son, I’m asking you to please fix things with my daughter. You’ve been her everything since you came into her life. Please don’t break her heart.”

“I will mom.”

He walks up the stairs to your old room he’s all too familiar with.

Walking into your old room he finds you sitting by the window with your laptop. The sight of you makes him smile. He missed you so much while he was away. “Baby I’m home.”

Looking up, you give him a sad smile as you close your laptop, “Hi Soonie,” you set your laptop on the little table by your chair. “I saw you had a tough race.” Even though you weren’t with him you watched and kept up with his race weekend. After the mess that was qualifying, you contemplated hopping on a flight to go to his race.

“It sucked, but it’s fine.” He walks over and sits in your bed near you.

As a teenager, he mastered the art of sneaking into your bedroom well after midnight. He told you he loved you for the first time in this same room. The walls are still that familiar peachy pink color. As a child, you were obsessed with the color pink, and after weeks of begging, your father caved and finally painted your room. To this day, whenever Soonyoung sees this shade of peachy pink, he always thinks of you.

Silently, you just stare at each other for a long moment. “I missed you,” he finally speaks.

“I missed you too.”

He stares at you for a long moment. He’s loved you for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t know why he keeps messing things up between you. He doesn’t want things to be strained. He wants things to go back to normal. He’s well aware he’s the only one who can truly fix things.

“How do I fix things?” he feels like he’s on the brink of cracking.

“Soonyoung, you have to actually try. During the race season, it doesn’t feel like I have a husband. It wasn’t always like this.”

“I need to be more present. I also want to prove myself to you.” Standing up, you stare at him and see the sadness behind his eyes. “Spend the week with me. Just the two of us like we used to.” He rises and stands front of you. Reaching up, you rest your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want to think about racing, I don’t want to think about anything other than just us.”

“Okay,” he leans into your hand.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Once you’re back home and you’ve both gotten situated, Soonyoung orders Thai food from your favorite take out spot. Sitting on the living room floor in front of the coffee table you’re both eating while a movie plays in the background. This is something you used to always do when you were newly married.

“I love you,” you say catching his attention.

“I love you too.”

After cleaning up dinner you’re ready for bed. It’s been a long emotional day to say the least.

Laying on your side curled up under the covers, your husband is lying in front of you. He reaches out and starts playing with your hand that is resting between you.

“Speedy?” He runs his thumb across your diamond ring.

“Yeah baby?”

“I’ve been selfish, and I realize I let my own desire to have a baby get in the way of everything. I didn’t think about what you wanted. Do you actually want to have a baby?” He stops fidgeting with your hand. “If you don’t want to have a baby, we don’t have to. All I truly need in the world is you. I know I have been dumb and I haven’t been a good husband, but please give me a chance to be better.” He’s not lying, you truly are the one thing in life that truly matters to him. He wanted a baby, but you didn't want kids. All he needs is you.

“Soonyoung— I want to have a baby. Maybe we should go to a doctor to get a second opinion.” There have been nasty little thoughts eating away at you for a while now. What if something is wrong with you? What if you can’t actually have kids?

“That’s a good idea,” he laced his fingers with yours.

“I know you can fix this. I’ve known you since we were naive teenagers. I don’t think anyone knows you as well as I do.” It’s true, he knows no one will ever know him like you do.

“Speedy, I love you so much.” He scoots closer to you. He brings your hand towards his lips. He places a gentle kiss on top of your hand.

“I love you too. We’ve gone through a lot of ups and downs together. We can grow from this.”

Soonyoung has always been true to his word when it comes to you. The next two days were spent locked up in your penthouse together. On day three he asked if you would go on a little trip together for five days. Without even a second thought you packed a suitcase and left with your husband. To your surprise he took you to the place you spent your Speedymoon together. Back when you were twenty and Soonyoung was making decent money with racing but nothing compared to what he’s making now. Back then he spent more on your honeymoon than he should have. This little beach town means the world to you.

“This place looks familiar.” He’s holding your hand practically dragging you down the hallway of a fancy resort that’s on the water.

“Well I thought it would be nice if we had the same room we had our first time here.”

Your honeymoon you spent here was practically magical. You were both absolutely head over heels in love. You spent many hours locked in your hotel room. There is a good chance Soonyoung took you on practically every surface in the room.

Walking inside you’re hit with the sweet nostalgia of summer nights you spent here. The door clicks shut behind you. Soonyoung sets the suitcase down and walks towards you.

“The last time we were here I think we were naked more than anything.” You tease him. Stepping closer, you reach up and brush away his blonde hair that’s stuck to his forehead.

“I think my dick was sore after our honeymoon. You were literally insatiable. Every time I turned around you were jumping me.” He’s not wrong, during your honeymoon you couldn’t get enough of him. ”I don’t think we have ever had that much sex in our lives. I thought we were crazy when we moved in together at nineteen. During our honeymoon we made that look tame.”

“I don’t think I have that kind of stamina anymore.” Walking over you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I think that’s a lie. You’ve definitely worn me out more than once recently.” He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah, speedy?”

“Can I be a priority again?” Leaning over, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t.” Resting his hand on your thigh, he said, “while we’re here, let's not think about racing. Let’s just enjoy each other's company.”

“I would like that.”

“How about tomorrow we go swimming and spend the day at the pool.” Spending the day watching your husband walk around wet and shirtless sounds like a glorious plan.

“Sure, but what is the plan for tonight?”

“We can go get dinner and then we can test out that giant shower we have here. If I remember correctly it has a shower bench, you were a big fan of.”

“Are you asking me to ride you in the shower?”

He stands up and holds out his hand. Grabbing your hand he helps you stand up. He pinches your chin between two fingers. “Maybe I’m the insatiable one, because I can’t get enough of you.”

Your dinner is at an expensive sushi restaurant that Soonyoung was excited to try. Your husband is pulling out all the stops to woo you. You have a private chef in a solo dining area. This is hands down the best sushi you’ve ever had.

Dressed in an expensive tight fitting dress you’re dressed to the nines for dinner. Soonyoung is wearing dress pants and a grey button up. He rolled the sleeves up and didn’t button the top three buttons.

After eating you took a slow walk hand in hand back to your villa. Your walk together was interrupted a couple times by kind fans that wanted to say hi to Soonyoung. You never mind when fans stop to talk to him. He always lights up the moment he realizes someone is excited to meet him. Standing back, your fingers are still laced with his as he speaks to the fans. After snapping a quick photo for some fans you head back towards your villa.

The moment you entered the room, Soonyoung shut and locked the door quickly. His eyes were lust-filled as he stared at you.

“The whole time we were out I just kept thinking about how good you look in that dress.”

“If you like the dress I bet you like what’s underneath even more.” When packing for this trip you packed the sexiest lingerie you owned. He doesn’t know it but underneath you’re dressed in a sheer bra and matching thong.

“Fuck—”

“Did you want to take a shower now?” You start removing your heels.

“Absolutely not. I want to slowly undress you and see what’s underneath this.”

“Something tells me your panty-kink might kick back in.” In the early days of your marriage he was practically obsessed with fucking you while you still wore your panties. Even to this day he often will tell you to keep your panties on and pull them to the side.

He rips off his shirt as he groans. “Please take your dress off— slowly.”

Turning around you pull your hair away, exposing the zipper that runs along your spine. Soonyoung steps towards you. Ever so slowly he drags the zipper down. He steps closer to you and presses three open-mouth kisses along your spine. Closing your eyes you take in his closeness.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Turning around you slowly push your dress down your body. You’re left standing there in front of him dressed in a sheer white lingerie set that does absolutely nothing to conceal your body.

Biting his bottom lip he stares at you with lust blown eyes. “Fuck—“

“I saw this in the store and thought of you.”

He makes quick work of removing his shirt. Standing there you take the time to admire his beautiful body.

“Lie down on the bed and spread your legs.” Without a word you do as he requested. Laying there fully on display you pull your thong to the side. Slowly running your finger through your wet folds. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he strips away the rest of his clothes.

His eyes are filled with lust and a mix of adoration. He sits on his knees between your thighs. Grabbing your hand he brings your slick coated fingers to his mouth. He holds eye contact as he sucks your fingers clean.

“Should I eat you out until you beg for me?”

“Please—“

He moves so he’s laying on his stomach. He starts kissing your inner thigh before he presses a wet kiss to the top of your mound.

“Soonyoung don’t tease me.”

He lets out a soft laugh before he starts lapping at your sensitive clit. His fingers slide into your core. He’s practically making out with your pussy. He sucks on your clit while you tangle your fingers in his blonde hair.

“Soonie—“ Your whole body feels like a live wire. The coil in your stomach is tightening. He doesn’t let up. He pulls away and stares at you while he rubs your clit with two fingers.

“Can you cum for me?” He asked before kissing your clit again.

Pulling on his hair you hold him against you. The dam brakes and your high hits you like a ton of bricks. Your walls contract around his fingers that are still thrusting in and out of you slowly.

Pulling away he’s sporting a cocky smile. “God you’re so hot.” He wipes your release away from his mouth. You practically felt out of breath laying there watching him. You feel like you ran a marathon.

“Speedy, can you take more?”

“Please—“ you practically whine.

He sits on his knees between your thighs. His hand rests on your mound. He brushes your sensitive clit through your panties. Your eyes stay locked on him, watching him intently.

Hooking his fingers into your thong he pulls them to the side. At this point the panty kink turns you on. “Soonyoung I need you inside me.”

“Speedy, you're always so needy.” He takes his length in his hand and taps your pussy. Without saying another word he slowly thrusts into you. He bottoms out and pauses. His hand is still resting on the top of your mound. His thumb is doing circles slowly.

Taking a deep breath you try your hardest to stay calm. His pace is slow but deep. He’s touching the spot inside of you that practically has you seeing stars. Your fingers grip the sheets beneath you.

A slur of moans and whimpers pass your lips.

“Soon—“ you can’t even fully say his name.

“Are you close?” He asked, picking up his pace.

“Yes—“

“Fall apart for me baby.”

Your second orgasm hits you harder than the first. Squeezing your eyes shut, you moan his name like a prayer. Your walls contract around him as he chases his own release.

“You’re so tight,” he moans hooking your leg over his arm for leverage.

You can’t even form words, you just stare at him. You reach for his hand desperately wanting him close. Without even having to say anything he understands what you need. He moves so he is hovering over you, resting on his knees. His body is basically on top of yours as he rolls his hips into you over and over again.

Your fingers practically claw at his back holding him close to you. Your lips crash together for a messy kiss. He’s pushing you toward a third orgasm quickly.

Each of his thrusts are starting to get more and more sloppy. One final high hits you hard, and you instantly moan into his mouth. Your walls contracting around him trigger his own high.

“Baby—” he moans against your lips as he fills you to the brim.

The whole room felt warm. Closing your eyes you gently rub his back as your high washed over you. He slowly pulls out before laying on the bed next to you. His sticky release is slowly dripping out of you.

“I need a minute.” He lets out a sigh.

After coming down from his high, he takes his time to gently clean up the mess he had made of you. He even made sure you drank enough water. He was very concerned that you would be dehydrated after having four orgasms. Instead of arguing with him you drank the bottle of water and thanked him.

Laying in bed, your head rests on his chest. Slowly he draws aimless circles on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“What if we can’t have a baby?” This dirty little thought has been eating away at you for the last year. Originally when you agreed to start trying to have a baby you thought that you would be pregnant right away. You didn’t expect there to be any issues.

There is a long beat of silence as Soonyoung fully thinks about the possibility that the two of you might not be able to conceive. “If we can’t naturally, there are so many different ways we can have a baby. We can try IVF, we can adopt. I want a baby, don’t get me wrong. I honestly just need you though. Like if having a baby isn’t in the cards for us that’s okay. All I truly need in my life is you.” Your eyes well up with tears at his sweet words. How much you want a baby, you, more than anything, just want Soonyoung.

Your vacation together was perfect. It reminded you how much you both truly love each other. This trip felt like a blessing, and it truly helped save your marriage. For the first time in a year you finally feel as if you and Soonyoung are on the same page.

After arriving home things continued to be great. Soonyoung has been true to his word. You are once again a priority for him. It’s race week and instead of being gone nonstop leading up to the race Soonyoung has been very present. He goes to team meetings and immediately comes home.

You’ve had dinner every night together, and you aren’t left alone wondering when your husband will come home. He’s learning that he can truly juggle racing, and being a good husband.

Instead of going to the gym to work out he’s been working out in the living room. Sitting at the dining room table, you’re watching the mouth watering sight of your shirtless husband dressed in small workout shorts working out. If he wasn’t trying to get in one last workout before leaving tomorrow you would have already jumped him by now.

You can’t keep your mind straight watching him sweat doing sit ups. Deciding to clear your head you head off to your room to pack for the race in Japan.

Sitting your suitcase on the floor, you start packing away your essentials before grabbing some outfits to wear.

Soonyoung walks into the bedroom and smiles at the sight of you sitting on the floor folding your laundry.

“Speedy, what should we do for dinner?” He walks over and sits on the bed.

“I’m not picky.” You’re just focused on finishing packing.

“How about we order take out and watch a movie?” When you first moved in together at nineteen, your dates often consisted of ordering take out and hanging out at home. You’ve always loved just being able to spend time together.

A few hours later you’re practically laying on Soonyoung on the couch as a movie plays on the tv in the living room. On the coffee table is a sea of take out from your favorite Thai food place.

Your head is resting on his chest as he rubs your back watching the movie. Neither of you feel stressed thinking about the race weekend. You’re both just enjoying being together. You finally feel as if you’re both back on the same page.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Three Months Later

The final race of the season has you more anxious than normal. That might have something to do with the fact that Soonyoung is still fighting for the world championship. Yoon Jeonghan and that insanely fast Mclaren are still putting up a fight. This race will truly decide everything.

This entire trip Soonyoung has been on edge. You’ve been telling him to focus on the race. You’ve been trying your hardest to hide that you’re an absolute nervous wreck. He doesn’t need to know that because the night before leaving you took a pregnancy test. Anxiously you sat on the bathroom floor waiting to see if you were pregnant like you thought you were.

Originally you wanted to tell your husband that you’re indeed pregnant, but you decided you knew you wanted him to focus on his final race, and the drivers championship. If he knew you were pregnant there was no way he would be able to fully focus.

Qualifying just finished and Soonyoung is going to be starting in P2 with Jeonghan in front of him. This isn’t the best outcome, but you know he can still win this. Standing in the garage you watch as he’s doing press. He’s trying his hardest to appear confident, but you know all too well he’s nervous.

He walks over to you giving you his signature smile. He leans down to give you a kiss. Pulling away you rest your hand on his cheek.

“Don’t be stressed about P2. You’re quicker off the line than Jeonghan. You can get to the first corner before him.”

He gives you a smile and lets out a silent laugh. “Look at you, speedy, you’re just not my pretty wife. You actually understand the sport.” You pinch his cheek earning a giggle. “Hey.”

“Don’t act like I haven’t always understood this sport, Kwon Soonyoung.” You step away from him shaking your head. “I think we should get some food and then relax before your big race tomorrow.”

He reaches for your hand, pulling you back towards him. He wraps his arms around you holding you close. Wrapping your arms around his neck you look up at him and can’t help but smile.

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease.

“You love that I’m dramatic.” He leans down, resting his nose against yours.

“I just love you.”

The entire night Soonyoung tries to stay calm and you do things that will help keep the nervous feeling away. Sitting in the huge bathroom tub that is located in your suite, you lean against your husband. He’s been silently playing with your fingers for the last five minutes.

“You’re going to do amazing tomorrow.”

He squeezes your hand for a moment. “What if I can’t win?”

“I just know you’re going to win. You always do great at the races in Abu Dhabi.”

He wants to believe you so badly. He’s so scared he’s going to let you down. He put you through hell for most of the season. What if that was all for nothing?

“What if I don’t though?”

“If you don't, that's okay. You can win next year then. No matter what happens just know we have each other.”

Instead of going out to a team dinner Soonyoung requested staying in and ordering room service. Sitting at the small table by the window that overlooks the bright lights of the city. Soonyoung can’t hide how nervous he is. Last year he got close to winning, but he wasn’t this close. Last season he lost the world championship five races before the end of the season. The fact that this all comes down to the last race of the season makes everything more nerve-wracking.

He picks at his salad blankly staring at it. He wishes he could shut off his brain and not think about tomorrow.

“Soonie?” He looks up at you with a blank stare. “I know you’re stressed about tomorrow. I just want you to know, no matter what I’m proud of you.”

He blinks slowly a couple times. “I feel if I can’t do it tomorrow I’ll never win it all.”

“That’s not true. I think you’re going to win tomorrow, but if for some reason you don’t win you can do it next season.” Reaching across the table you grab his hand. “Just know no matter what I’m always going to be your number one fan.”

“I love you so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good husband this year.” He runs his fingers across your knuckles.

“We got through it. You really have proved to me that I'm still a priority.” He truly proved to you that he wants to be the best man for you.

“Can we take a shower and cuddle?”

“Absolutely.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

From the moment the race started you’ve felt sick with nerves. Standing in the Ferrari garage you’re wearing headphones staring at a screen nervously. Seungcheol's wife is next to you. Their daughter stayed at the hotel with her grandparents. His wife is doing a great job at keeping you calm.

You can feel the cameras staring at you. Straight off the line, Soonyoung had a better start and beat Jeonghan to the first corner. The race is neck and neck. It’s all going to come down to which team has the better strategy.

When it comes time for Soonyoung to box, your eyes immediately turn to the pit lane where his car pulls up. You watch him carefully as everything feels as if it’s moving in slow motion. You desperately wish you could walk over there and tell him he’s doing amazing. Everything is suddenly so loud and he’s gone within seconds.

With each passing lap Yoon Jeonghan is staying close behind Soonyoung. In all the straightaways, he’s always in DRS range. On lap forty-two, they started going back and forth, passing each other.

Your eyes are watering watching as your husband puts up the fight of his life to win this race. On lap forty-eight, Soonyoung is finally able to pull away.

Holding your breath you pray that a safety car or something else won’t get in the way of his victory.

Lap fifty-eight starts and Soonyoung is two seconds ahead of Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s wife holds your hand helping to keep you grounded. Biting your bottom lip you watch as Soonyoung flies through the lap. Making the final turn towards the finish line, you’re hit with the reality that he’s finally going to be world champion like he’s always dreamed of.

The world feels as if it stands still as he passes the finish line. Jeonghan follows behind in second and Seungcheol in third.

The garage erupts into cheers. The team takes off sprinting out the garage. Standing there holding Honey’s hand, you can’t believe this is real. She leads you off to where Soonyoung is parking his car.

Hopping on top of the red Ferrari, he lets out a scream, pumping his arms in the air. Jumping off his car, he hands off his helmet before sprinting over to his team. He leaps over the barrier as they lift him in the air, cheering in Italian.

The moment his feet touch the floor he rushes over to you. His fingers tangle in your hair pulling you close. His lips crash against yours for a searing kiss. Pulling away he rests his nose against yours.

“I fucking did it, speedy.” His voice is shaky as he’s trying his hardest not to cry.

“I’m so proud of you.” You can’t stop crying as the flood gates have opened.

Pulling away he reaches up and wipes away your tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, superstar.”

He’s pulled away to do an interview before the cooldown room and the podium. His team principal comes over and congratulates you and shortly after a sea of other crew from Ferrari and other drivers congratulate you as well.

The final podium of the season hasn’t done anything to stop your tears. He looks so proud listening to his national anthem. Standing there watching him celebrate with his team is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. You hope one day your baby will get to see their father standing up there being a champion again.

Running down after the podium ceremony he grabs your hand and practically drags you off to the paddock where Ferrari is already spraying champagne celebrating.

The crew starts attacking him with champagne. He releases your hand as he’s pulled away. This is truly a moment you’ll never forget. Standing by the wall Seungcheol comes over to give you a hug.

“Congratulations Mrs Kwon.”

“This feels like a dream. Everything just feels so perfect.” You lean back against the wall watching as Soonyoung’s head engineer Jihoon is pulled into the champagne rainstorm.

“Soonyoung deserves this win. He’s a hell of a driver.”

“Cheol thanks for being there for him when we were going through a rough patch.” After your vacation together Soonyoung told you about Seungcheol’s pep talk he gave him.

“No problem. I’m glad you guys are good now.”

“We’re great, we have everything we have ever wanted.” Without even thinking you rest your hand on your stomach. You’re just in shock that you’re actually pregnant after trying for so long.

Seungcheol looks down at your stomach, and back up at you. “Are you?” He doesn’t say anything more, he just glances back down at your stomach.

“He doesn’t know yet. I’m going to tell him tonight.”

Without saying anything he pulls you in for another hug. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes start to water instantly. You’re maybe eight weeks pregnant and you’re already an emotional mess.

Soonyoung comes over to you, ,renched from head to toe in bubbly champagne. He wraps his arms around you pulling you close to him.

“Speedy, would you like a glass of champagne?”

“I’m okay. I’m going to drink some water.”

Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours for a quick kiss. “Just water?”

“I shouldn’t have any champagne, it will make me sick.” Soonyoung isn’t an idiot. He can tell right away something is up.

He moves in closer hoping no one will hear your conversation. “Speedy, are you pregnant?”

Without thinking you rest your hand on your stomach. Your eyes start to water and as you blurt out, “yes.”

“Oh my god.” He practically launches himself at you. Wrapping his arms around you, he spins you around. “Are you sure?” He sets you back down.

“I took three tests the night before we left, and every single one was positive.”

“This feels like one of the best days of my life. Up there with being able to marry you.” He can’t even hold back his own tears.

Reaching up, you push away the tears that keep sliding down his cheeks. “You’re the World Champion and you’re going to be a father.”

Leaning forward, he crashes his lips into yours. He’s not quite sure what he ever did in life to deserve you. All he knows is that meeting you back in high school was the best thing that could ever happen to him.

kei: you really thought you could get away with rolling your eyes at him. arms crossed, mouth set in a pout, challenging him from the bed like you weren’t about to get wrecked. he’s standing over you calmly, sleeves rolled, eyes dark and unimpressed. k: "say that again." you: "make me." wrong move. he drags you by the ankle, flipping you with one hand like you weigh nothing, face down and bare ass up before you can squeal. the slap is loud. sharp. but the silence after is even louder. k: "you think being a brat’s cute?" he lands another one. slower. deliberate. k: "all that attitude... and no stamina to back it up?" your legs are already shaking, not from pain, from need. because he doesn’t fuck around. not with discipline. not with you. he forces your face into the pillow and holds you there with one palm on your nape, the other traveling slow between your legs, deliberately ignoring how wet you are. k: "you’re gonna apologize. and then you’re gonna behave." you: "fuck you." he laughs low. two fingers inside you, no warning, curling wicked and deep. k: "oh, baby. you will." and when he makes you beg later, eyes glassy, thighs trembling, breath caught on a sobbed-out "daddy, please", he just hums and wipes his fingers on your tongue. k: "next time, think twice before mouthing off."

fuma: he doesn't raise his voice. he doesn't have to. all it takes is that slow blink, the way he tilts his head and smiles like you're the dumbest thing he's ever seen. f: "you done?" you: "not even close." he sighs, stands up from the couch like he’s not about to put you flat on your back for the next hour. you barely blink before he’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, shirt bunched under your tits, and his knee keeping your legs wide open. f: "every time you act up, you just end up like this. soaked and stupid." you wriggle, still mouthing off, still pretending like you’re not throbbing. he kisses you once hard, mean. then pulls back with a grip on your jaw. f: "open your mouth." you: "no." so he slaps your thigh. once. twice. and then presses two fingers into your cunt so suddenly you gasp. that’s when he slips them up and into your mouth, wet and messy. f: "there we go. see? easier when you listen." you’re panting by now, eyes watering from the stretch, legs twitching when he starts thrusting them in tandem. in and out of both holes like it’s nothing. brat? what brat? you're nothing but a whimpering mess under him now. f: "don’t tap out yet, baby. you wanted to act like a handful, now take it."

nicho: you slam the door on him mid-argument. and instead of yelling back, he waits. ten minutes. fifteen. lets you stew in your attitude while he plans exactly how he’s going to deal with you. when he finally enters the room, he doesn’t say anything at first. he just locks the door and cracks his knuckles. n: "you done throwing your little tantrum?" you: "go fuck yourself." he grins like you handed him the win. before you know it, he’s got you bent over the vanity, skirt pushed up, no panties, because of course you wanted this. he spreads you open with one hand and taps your swollen clit with two fingers. n: "this how brats act? walk around all wet with attitude they can’t handle?" you try to twist away, but he grabs your throat and presses your back to his chest, lips dragging over your ear. n: "nah, keep your eyes open. watch yourself fall apart." he fingers you hard and fast, using the mirror like it’s his favorite toy, smirking every time your pout falls into an open-mouthed moan. n: "look at that. wasn’t talking so much now, huh?" you whimper, thighs shaking, begging to come. n: "ask nicer." you: "p-please, nicho-" n: "louder." he doesn’t stop until your reflection’s ruined, makeup smeared, voice hoarse. and even then. n: "next time you slam that door? you better be ready to crawl back out."

euijoo: you kept pushing his buttons all night. whining about nothing, interrupting him mid-sentence, grinding in his lap and then walking away like you don’t want to be handled. but he waits. lets you dig your own grave with every bratty little move. the second you talk back one more time? he shuts the door behind you. locks it. e: "strip." you: "make me." he doesn’t speak again. just grabs you by the chin, stares straight through you. the silence is suffocating. worse than yelling. he takes his time undressing you himself, eyes never leaving yours, piece by piece until you're standing there trembling. e: "i asked once." he bends you over his lap on the edge of the bed, one hand between your legs, the other gripping your hair. your thighs are slick already. you’re too far gone to keep pretending. e: "brats like you need structure." he slaps your ass once. slow. precise. e: "and consequences." he spanks you until your legs start to shake, whispering calmly in your ear the entire time. e: "next time you mouth off, you’ll be tied up for hours. you don’t get to control the scene. i do." when he finally fucks you, it’s punishing. deep, slow strokes with his hand on your throat. e: "learn your place, sweetheart." you do. real fucking fast.

yuma: you try to get cute at dinner. tease him under the table, whisper something filthy in his ear, then giggle when he shifts in his seat. but you forget who you’re dealing with. because by the time you're home, he’s already dragging you by the wrist into the bedroom. y: "what, you thought i wouldn’t handle you tonight?" you: "i was just playing-" he laughs. once. mean. then tosses you on the bed and strips you down in record time, not even bothering with foreplay. he pins you with his body, chest to chest, his breath brushing your lips. y: "you wanna act like a brat? i’ll treat you like one." his hand finds your throat, pressing gently to remind you who’s in charge. he starts grinding against you, slow and deliberate, not letting you lift your hips or chase friction. y: "you don’t get anything until you behave." you whine, squirming under him. you: "please, y-yuma-" y: "nope. not good enough." he flips you over and spanks you until you're panting, ass red, soaked just from the discipline. then he pushes your face into the mattress and finally gives you what you want but only because he decides to. y: "next time you pull that shit in public?" he slaps your ass again. y: "i’ll make you come with my fingers under the fucking table." you believe him.

jojo: you pout when he tells you no. bat your lashes, talk back, toss your phone across the bed like you’re not bratting on purpose. he just looks at you. all patient, kind smile, but his eyes tell a different story. jo: "you done testing me?" you: "depends. you gonna do something about it?" he sighs. not annoyed, disappointed. that’s worse. next thing you know, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, patting his lap. jo: "come here." you: "not a fucking chance-" so he grabs you. hauls you over his knee like you’re light as a feather, hands gentle on your waist but firm when they land on your ass. the first spank makes you jolt. the next three make you whimper. jo: "you think being a brat’s cute? that it makes you irresistible?" he rubs slow circles over your skin, then slaps again. harder. jo: "it makes you needy. desperate. exactly how i want you." you’re crying into his thigh before he even slides his fingers between your legs and when he does, it’s worse. because he knows your body, knows just how to make you break without ever losing that soft voice. jo: "you’ll apologize properly when i’m done." and when you finally sob out an apology, broken and breathless, he kisses your temple like you’re the sweetest thing alive. jo: "see? my good girl’s still in there." you’ll never brat again. (until tomorrow.)

harua: you love testing him. little jabs, sarcastic comments, ignoring his texts just long enough to get under his skin. and he lets you, for a while. watches with that unreadable expression, head tilted like he’s studying something fragile he’s about to break. h: "you’re acting out." you: "you gonna cry about it?" he doesn’t blink. doesn’t speak. just grabs you by the jaw, forces you to look at him while he pushes you back against the wall, body flush to yours, breathing calm. h: "take off your clothes." you roll your eyes, and that’s the last bratty thing you get to do. he shoves your shirt up, yanks your pants down, spins you around and bends you over without breaking a sweat. h: "you don’t get to disrespect me and walk away wet." his hand finds your ass, then your throat, then your thighs. alternating between praise and punishment until you’re trembling. he edges you with two fingers and his mouth right against your ear, whispering things that make you clench around nothing. h: "you wanna come? beg for it." you: "haru, please-" h: "louder." he doesn’t give in until you’re sobbing his name, fully broken, soaked and overstimulated from nothing but his hands and voice. h: "next time? behave. or don’t. i’ll win either way." you never stood a chance.

taki: you think you’re clever, pushing his buttons. tossing a snarky comment while he’s focused, tugging at his hoodie like a brat, mouthing off just enough to get a reaction. he just laughs. high and sweet, but that glint in his eyes? dangerous. t: "you’re being annoying again." you: "and you love it." he hums, nodding slowly, then suddenly grabs you by the waistband and drags you onto his lap. face to face. grip tight. t: "nah, i love ruining you." before you can sass back, he’s got your hands pinned and his mouth on your throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark. and then he flips you, quick and clean. pressing you into the mattress with his weight. t: "brats like you don’t get to be in control." you: "who says i’m not?" he pulls your panties down in one motion, fingers sliding through your soaked folds like it proves his point. t: "this says otherwise." he keeps you on edge, teasing your clit with fast circles, pulling away every time you get close. you’re crying into the pillow before he gives you even half of what you want. t: "what’s wrong, baby? can’t handle being put in your place?" you try to nod, whimpering, begging now. but he’s smirking above you like it’s a game he’s already won. t: "next time, try a little respect. or not. i kinda like you like this."

maki: you mouth off without thinking. roll your eyes. say something smart when he tells you to behave. he doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t argue. just leans in with that pretty little smile, brushing his fingers down your cheek like he’s so patient. m: "you really wanna test me tonight?" you: "maybe i do." that’s all he needs. within seconds, he’s got you laid out across the couch, wrists pinned above your head with one hand, the other slowly tugging your panties off like he’s unwrapping a gift. m: "you brat so pretty. like you want to get punished." he spends the next ten minutes teasing. fingertips dragging over your soaked slit, tongue ghosting your nipples, everything except what you need. when you buck your hips up in frustration? m: "nuh-uh. bad girls don’t get to chase." he pins your hips down hard and stares while you squirm, flushed and whining, legs twitching from overstimulation without release. he brings you to the edge twice, pulling away every time with a hum. m: "still wanna be a brat?" you: "p-please-" m: "then earn it." he finally fucks you slow and deep, whispering praise while you beg for forgiveness, your bratty streak long gone. you’re nothing but sweet gasps and trembling thighs now. m: "see? so much better when you’re good." you’re wrecked by the time he kisses your forehead.

Warnings: Explicit Member x Member content, AFAB reader, no smut but still adult in nature, mentions of dysphoria, mentions of religious repression, heavy angst, more chapter specific warnings

Rating: 18+

A/N: Banners done by @kwanisms!!

A/N 2: The biggest reason why I chose for this series to not have smut is the theme itself, discovering your queerness and realizing love doesn't inherently have to be sexual, I wanted to show intimacy as a choice, not as a carnal desire. Still, as a smut writer, I felt the need to also emphasize that just because I chose not to include smut as an integral part of the story, it doesn't mean in any way that I am demonizing or demoralizing sexual intimacy. Which is why I still have one optional chapter planned.

Playlist // Chapters:

Soft Porn - Puma Blue // Joshua x Jeonghan (Prologue)

Want Me - Puma Blue // Jeonghan x Reader

Opiate - Puma Blue // Joshua x Reader

Super Soft - Puma Blue // Joshua x Jeonghan

Lust - Puma Blue // Joshua x Reader x Jeonghan

All I Need - Puma Blue // Joshua x Reader x Jeonghan (Smut)

Prologue

Air Strike Zero marked the beginning of the War.

The Empire had not been prepared for the sudden and absolute devastation caused by the aerial attacks. The ground shook, and explosives rained from the sky. People died in the streets. Crops were destroyed and buildings collapsed. 

When the deafening sounds finally stopped, three days later, all that remained was blood and rubble.

The Empire was under attack. The democratic government had collapsed. The borders had been breached, and most of the population was dead. In one devastating blow, everything about the world had changed. 

Then the military took over. 

The announcements came soon after the dead had been buried, and all hope seemed to be lost. The survivors lived in constant terror of further attacks. Who were these invaders and what did they want? Nobody seemed to know anything. 

Finally Major-General Yang, the commander of the Empire’s armed forces, spoke up. The government has failed us, Major-General Yang explained, and we are at war. 

It was the military’s turn to protect the citizens of the Empire. Martial law was declared, and civil rights were suspended. Food would be rationed. All able-bodied young men were required to report to Military Base 2 and 3 to help protect the borders and control the internal strife. Curfews would be enforced. People found stealing, absconding or breaking the law in any form were to be shot dead on sight. 

Unity. Order. Peace.

The Empire was reborn as a military state.

This is War.

featuring...

Choi Seungcheol as the Rebel

Lee Jihoon as the Soldier

Kwon Soonyoung as the Sacrifice

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapters:

The Soldier I

The Sacrifice I (coming in the first week of August)

The Rebel I (coming soon)

Recommended Listening:

seungcheol

☆ always "accidentally" leaves his clothes at your place (and loves when you wear them or return them and they smell like you)

☆ puts his arm around your waist whenever he can. he loves how you both look in photos with his arm around you

☆ lets you put kkuma's pins in his hair and poses next to her ("arent we cute? we look alike, right?")

☆ takes you out to eat at fancy restaurants just to see you all dressed up. he likes the way everyone in the room turns to stare at you as you walk in. you look gorgeous, and hes so smug about being your boyfriend its almost annoying.

☆ loves matching couple jewelry, especially rings. will always buy them and give them to you saying "look, these are so cute! we can match!!"

☆ buys you literally everything you look at (hes definitely a big gift giver) and wont take them back even if you leave them in a box at his doorstep.

☆ the type to pull up anywhere at any time with just one text from you just so you dont have to drive. even if youre not a passenger princess, youll turn into one while dating him

☆ possessive; definitely demands that your lock screen is a photo of him kissing you to ward off other guys. hes even asked you to start wearing his cologne so that they know youre taken

☆ loves to pout at you until you give in and give him what he wants (usually, a kiss)

☆ you basically cure his insomnia. he always tightens his grip on you when you try to get out of bed in the morning and makes you late to work ("babe, if you leave i won't be able to sleep. just stay for five more minutes..")

jeonghan

☆ loves to tease you and see your reaction, but reads you well and knows when to stop

☆ a bit mean, but in the most endearing way possible. the type of start play fights in front of your friends and suddenly burst out laughing when they get all concerned

☆ lets you hold on to him for as long as you need to, especially in situations where he knows youre uncomfortable

☆ whisks you away from crowded areas to be alone with you and hug you

☆ keeps a candid polaroid of you in his wallet

☆ sets your lock screen as an extreme close-up of his eyes that jumpscares you the next morning

☆ a bit shy about showing affection in front of others, but eventually gets used to it and becomes more bold as time goes on

☆ knows exactly how to press your buttons and does so all the time, only to relieve the tension between the two of you with a boop on the nose or a kiss that makes you laugh

☆ enjoys spending time with you at home more than outside, but does take you on spontaneous shopping sprees when he gets a burst of energy (you leave the mall after an hour of looking around because he's tired)

☆ listens to you and comforts you when youre having problems, but is able to gently tell you when its your fault without making you upset (its a gift!)

joshua

☆ always thinks of you whenever hes out shopping and ends up buying you gifts that remind him of you

☆ loves to surprise you and see your reaction with back hugs and kisses

☆ remembers your dietary preferences/restrictions and puts in extra effort to buy foods that fit them

☆ pulls up with two drinks instead of one without even needing to ask you

☆ hand-makes you something related to his newest hobby (a bracelet, perfume, etc.)

☆ loves to watch you talk about things youre passionate about. he loves the way your eyes light up and (although he cant understand a single thing about your tangent) tries his best to keep up with you

☆ always up for a challenge, specifically ones that end in him receiving kisses ("really? alright, bet.")

☆ loves to play with your hair and helps you style it whenever he can

☆ listens to you when youre upset and just allows you to rant it all out while rubbing your back and holding you close

☆ makes the cheesiest acrostic poems for you and laughs when you cringe at him

jun

☆ loves hearing your laugh (and he'll do anything to keep hearing it)

☆ goes out of his way to do weird things to make you crack a smile and distract you if youre sad/uncomfortable

☆ likes it when you run your hands through his hair. he lays his head on your lap and lets you massage him

☆ takes photos of you whenever you make a weird face in your sleep and looks at them when hes bored (they give him something to smile about when hes away from you)

☆ hugs you from behind and lays his head on your shoulder whenever he needs comfort

☆ up for anything! a late night drive to get the most unhealthy burgers in existence? sure! dressing up in stupidly large mustard and ketchup costumes for halloween? absolutely! waking up at the asscrack of dawn to prank minghao with silly string? hes already on his way!

☆ tries his best to stay up with you for as long as possible, but finds you so comfortable that he ends up falling asleep with his head on your lap

☆ hangs out with your friends and lets you hang out with his, too. definitely the cause of a friend group overlap/merger

☆ gives the worst advice as a joke before he gives you his actual advice just to see your dumbfounded face

☆ gives in to the kitty agenda and lets you jokingly paint whiskers on him with your eyeliner. the selfie he takes afterwards is saved as your lock and home screen.

hoshi

☆ makes you horanghae for a photo and sets it as his home and lock screen

☆ helps you paint your nails on your non-dominant hand, but ends up leaving a mess. he pays for a manicure afterwards to make it up to you

☆ tries to teach you how to dance and is genuinely encouraging. he doesnt laugh or make you feel bad when you make a mistake, instead just helping you through the movements until you can dance a simple routine with him

☆ is always bragging about you to his friends and is super proud of you and all your achievements ("guys.. my girlfriend is literally the smartest, prettiest, most loving person ever.. how did i even manage to pull her?")

☆ always supports you on your endeavors! he makes constant deep-dives into your hobbies and interests so he can enjoy them with you and talk about them with you

☆ is super affectionate when hes drunk (hes been latched on to you and peppering kisses on your face for the past hour and he has no plans of stopping for the rest of the night)

☆ seems to get into the most odd situations that you bail him out of, but hes thankful every time

☆ hes a big hit with your friends and family. they all love him and he prides himself in that

☆ gets way too excited while spending time with you and ends up spilling the drink hes sipping on (he cleans it up while you laugh at him)

☆ takes you with him everywhere he goes. his friends are accustomed to the two of you being a package deal

wonwoo

☆ normally wouldnt go out of his way to do anything, but commits to any silly bit you have in mind with full passion and force (even if it makes him blush like an idiot afterwards)

☆ likes to have you in the room/next to him when he plays video games (the type to say "gg gf buff" after he wins his ranked games)

☆ he silently cares for you; he puts his hand over sharp corners so that you wont get hurt if you bump into them, he walks on the outside of the sidewalk so that you wont get hurt by the cars, he always puts out your work shoes so that you can just slip them on during the morning rush

☆ hes always watching after you and keeping an eye on your surroundings. he wraps his arm around your waist and is extra affectionate when he sees a creep staring at you

☆ the type to let you hog the blanket on cold nights without much pullback. he resorts to cuddling closer to you to stay warm

☆ reassures you that even though he doesnt show it as boldly as others do, he loves you and plans to stay with you forever

☆ goes grocery shopping with you after his afternoon nap. his hair looks like a bird's nest, but he doesnt mind and follows you around the market fondly, making sure to hold your hand as he walks

☆ loves it when you need help getting things off the high shelf. he loves to tease you about it and likes your frustrated expression

☆ he wears his glasses more often because you like them on him

☆ when he wakes up every morning, his arm is numb from you laying on it for the night. still, he doesnt move a muscle until you stir

woozi

☆ even with one of the busiest schedules on earth, he still makes time for you. for the time he cant see you, he leaves you small, thoughtful gifts

☆ he has a small part of his studio decorated and furnished just for you

☆ he always lets you listen in on what hes making, and asks for your opinions. he really takes what you say to heart and even makes the members re-record some parts just so he can see how your suggestion fits in to the song

☆ he takes you to the gym. regardless of whether or not youre actually working out with him, he likes having you there with him to cheer him on. it pushes him and makes him hit a new PB every time!

☆ even though he doesnt show much affection physically, he shows it through his music. he has countless songs saved in his drafts with lyrics about you, about how perfect you are, and about how youre constantly running amok in his mind and heart

☆ writes lots of his solo songs for you, and even records drafts of them, but can never manage to sing them to you without blushing like a madman and having his voice crack from the nerves

☆ he honestly thinks youre the most wonderful person hes ever met. he loves you completely and has no doubts in his mind about his feelings. you complete him.

☆ his apartment, previous cold and empty, is full of life thanks to your decorating skills and the scent of your lingering perfume

☆ he loves it when you wear lipstick and kiss him. when he looks in the mirror, he can see the hues of your pretty red lipstick all over his face and neck

☆ the type to make you look at him by grabbing your chin and turning your head. he likes your flustered reaction and kisses you to help you regain your composure

minghao

☆ takes you out on artsy dates (museum hopping, painting, decoden, brunch at a boujee cafe, etc.)

☆ takes candid photos of you every chance he gets. he uses them as reference for his art later and as a small pick-up when hes feeling down

☆ he understands the need for individuality in a relationship. although he loves you and you feel the same about him, he makes it clear that the two of you dont complete each other, but instead compliment each other

☆ hes not as openly affectionate around others, but he makes sure you know that hes there by rubbing your knuckles, walking close enough so that your shoulders brush, and leaving a small kiss on your head after each hug

☆ loves to dress you up! he thinks you look great in anything, but he especially likes how the clothes he picks out look on you. youre like his personal fashion model and he loves it

☆ hes super sweet to your family. he shows a lot of respect towards them and they take him in as if he was their long-lost child.

☆ he is brutally honest. he tells you exactly what he thinks and offers suggestions on how to fix things. although he still comforts and reassures you, he also tells you the truth and helps you accept reality

☆ he loves to make you tea! you two even have designated tea time where you both wind down and just talk about life for a bit

☆ the type to ask what youd like for breakfast at night and wake you up with the heavenly smell of his cooking

☆ while walking home from your favorite cafe with freshly-baked pastries, he stops by a local flower shop. when he gets home, he prepares the bouquet in a pretty vase and leaves them on the counter. they remind him of you, and he cant help but smile at the surprised look on your face when you wake up to see the flowers blooming in your kitchen

mingyu

☆ loves the way you look in his clothes. his favorite look on you is when youre in your pajama shorts and one of his big white tees

☆ super clumsy (but its endearing!!). he always finds ways to drop your things, but the sad puppy eyes and string of apologies leaving his lips make you forgive him every time

☆ he. loves. kissing. at the beginning of your relationship, he spent nearly half the time he had with you with his mouth latched onto yours. your friends said he looked at you like he wanted to eat you. he mellows out as time goes on, but the passion from the honeymoon stage of your relationship still lingers

☆ hes not afraid to show everyone that youre his girlfriend.. all the time.. anywhere.. he always shows his affection for you as if no one else was around

☆ the type to bury his face into your neck and hug you from behind all night (he wont let go until you “say the magic word, ‘please’”)

☆ hates that he loves it when you tease him. you think hes so cute when he gets flustered or upset, and although he tells you to knock if off and whines for you to stop messing with him, he secretly loves it.

☆ always shoots you a good morning text! if hes really feeling it, he’ll even send a selfie of him in bed, barefaced, with his hair all poofy and messed up from rolling around in bed

☆ hes a big softie normally, but an even bigger softie for you. he’ll bend over backwards to make you happy, and he never wants you to stop smiling

☆ a bit of a himbo, but it only makes him cuter. he always says dumb stuff that makes you laugh or trips over himself trying to impress you.

☆ gets the warmest, fuzziest, most mind-boggling feeling whenever he thinks of you. his friends always tease him about it (“you look like a real life heart eyes emoji. can you stop thinking about her and focus?”)

seokmin

☆ the most ‘boyfriend’ boyfriend to ever exist. he asks his friends to take photos of him when hes away. he sends them to you and captions them “look! its like we’re on a date <3”

☆ laughs the loudest when youre around. he finds you hilarious and loves your sense of humor

☆ gets drunk and sends you these long, drawn-out text messages where he expresses his love for you and how he wants to marry you. he gets super embarrassed when you tease him about them them the morning after

☆ he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him. every time you meet his gaze, his eyes are full of adoration, and a bright smile accompanies them.

☆ loves to pick up things that he knows you like while hes out shopping. he fills his cart with your favorite meal kits, frozen desserts, and even texts you photos of things asking if youd like him to buy them

☆ loves to surprise you with his strength. sometimes you forget just how buff he is due to his loose-fitting, boxy shirts. he loves picking you up randomly and laughs when you yelp in surprise and smack his arm while telling him to put you down

☆ shares everything with you! his clothes, his food, he even clears out one of his dresser drawers for you

☆ always sets up these really elaborate comedic bits with you. he knew he wanted to marry you from the moment you first played along

☆ he loves your hands. hes always messing with them, holding them, massaging them. he just loves your hands so much and especially loves seeing them when your fingers are entwined with his

☆ when he introduces you to his family, they all latch onto you immediately and basically adopt you. they adore you, and hes so happy that they approve of you he accidentally writes your last name as his instead of your own

seungkwan

☆ hes your best friend, and thats what makes your relationship so great. he knows you like the back of his hand, and you return that sentiment equally

☆ when he officially introduces you as his girlfriend to his family, his mom makes a comment about how he wouldnt stop talking about you for months. she adores you (sometimes, seungkwan even thinks that she loves you more than him)

☆ hes great at comforting you and empathizing with what youre going through. he hates seeing you cry, but knows that its needed. he holds you for as long as you need him to and listens to your problems just like you do for him

☆ hes extremely protective of you. not in the sense that he goes overboard and makes it weird, but in the sense that he doesnt want you to get hurt and he’ll confront anyone who he knows has bad intentions towards you

☆ he doesnt put up with your crappy friends’ bullshit. he sees right through them and makes an effort to tell you immediately how he perceives them, but he doesnt force you to follow his advice

☆ on his days off, he wakes you up with kisses and breakfast in bed. when you move to eat, you realize that hes already cut everything into bite-sized portions for you

☆ he peels the rind off of the tangerines his mom sent him before placing them on your plate

☆ although he loves you and wants to stay with you forever, he has no plans set up for the future. he simply wants to stay by your side for as long as he can, and hes willing to do whatever youd like to do in the future with your relationship

☆ he loves it when you call him “kwannie”, he thinks its adorable and feels his cheeks heat up each time

☆ he takes you out on the most romantic picnic dates and always stresses on planning ahead. he brings extras of everything and checks the weather app feverishly to make sure your dates dont get ruined by a drop of rain

vernon

☆ he cracks jokes at you with a straight face and it breaks you every time. he smiles afterwards and stares at you with love in his eyes

☆ he uses cheesy pick-up lines on you even though youre already dating. he loves how you cringe and get all shy, especially when he does it in front of your friends

☆ the two of you spend hours laying in bed and just talking. you talk about anything and everything, and you both end up sleeping as the sun rises

☆ you love his face, and he knows it. hes handsome. he always stares at you and likes watching you fumble whatever is in your hands or trip over yourself like a teenage girl every time he does

☆ he loves at-home dates. hes always wanted to cook a romantic meal for you, but he settles for ordering takeout since he cant figure out the meal kit in your freezer

☆ hes a bit of a blanket hog. the two of you giggle and thrash around the bed on most nights while fighting for the blanket

☆ the type to not question you much when you tell him to do something. if you told him to drink a mysterious liquid, he would. he trusts you completely

☆ you provide each other a sense of safety. you feel safe in his arms and he feels safe in yours. emotionally and physically you both allow each other to sleep soundly.

☆ he buys pairs of beanies whenever he finds cute ones so that he can match with you

☆ he loves to think about the stupidest hypotheticals with you and daydream about alternate realities (he bets that he’d still be yours in all of them)

chan

☆ hes your biggest fan. he loves hyping you up and reassuring you that youre more than enough, that youre beautiful and that hes so glad youre his girlfriend

☆ when he confessed to you, his exact words were “can i be your boyfriend?” instead of “will you be my girlfriend?” because he thought it was too cliché

☆ he loves it when you watch him dance. it makes him go 10x harder than he normally would. after practice is over, he drags you onto the dance floor and pulls you in for a hug, laughing as you whine about how sweaty he is

☆ his eyes are shining when he introduces you to his grandma. the two of you spend the evening talking with her and sipping on hot teas while she makes the tastiest stew youve ever had

☆ his favorite nights are those spent with you. lights off, on the couch with you on top of him and feeling you pressed close against him while the newest episode of your favorite kdrama illuminates the room. (he honestly cant remember what its about, and neither can you, because you both end up kissing and cuddling through multiple episodes)

☆ youre his partner in crime. you spend a lot of time plotting ways to tease his hyungs and end up agreeing to a lot of wild antics that end with the two of you being chased down by a pouty seungcheol

☆ he gets extremely silly around you. for some reason, having you around boosts his confidence, and he cracks more jokes and is way more extroverted in your presence

☆ the first time he heard you crying in bed, he turned you to face him and asked you what was wrong. he held you close, his face inches away from yours, and told you that everything would be okay. you fell asleep in his arms, with his hands running through your hair and the sound of his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep

☆ he put his photocard in the back of your phone case as a joke. every time he sees it, his cheeks get hot, but he cant quite tell if the blush is from embarassment or endearment (“you still havent taken that out yet? …no! its not a problem at all!!”)

☆ he lets you style him, even letting you do his hair and makeup. he says you do a better job than the makeup artists at work. he puts on a show for you afterwards, putting on his model face and letting you host a mini photo shoot for him

wonwoo: you’re laughing your asses off, helping each other undress as you try not to slip down the hall. rain was not in the forecast, and you’re convinced the downpour enjoyed ruining your picnic. you’re shivering, covered in goosebumps while he turns on the faucet, perched on the tub’s edge. his gaze finds you for a moment before a smile lifts his lips. he’s so in love with you. “what?” but he just shakes his head and holds out his hand. “can’t let my girl catch a cold. temperature’s perfect now.”

jihoon: one of your favorite things to do is start an epsom salt bath for him. the act began years ago, and you remember the way he said ‘you’re pretty good at this girlfriend thing’ despite your nonexistent experience. the lack of experience didn’t matter, though. you’d been so ready for this: to care for someone openly, deeply and know it’s received. hell, you hear it, feel it, become consumed by it—by the sharing, the growing, the way you show up for each other because you want to. an epsom salt bath always gets you a kiss and words of gratitude, but it also gives you his relaxing: the way it looks to witness him just being. his stillness. you remind him to be still

seokmin: he asked you to marry him for the first time beneath the stream, but he asked you again three days later, so you could share a more… traditional story. but the memory is still with you, and you’ll always remember that morning fondly. he didn’t get down on a knee, or retrieve a ring from an empty shampoo bottle, but his eyes held sincerity. the love radiated through his skin and found you in a deep embrace. honestly, you couldn’t have dreamed of anything better, anything more heartfelt

mingyu: you heard cursing through the door one morning and couldn’t help but peek in to make sure he was ok. the poor guy had gotten enough soap in his eyes to turn them red. it only made sense to strip down and join him to help. “do you want me to hold your eyes open?” yelps when you barely pull his hair, guiding his head back “since when does that bother you?”

minghao: you always take baths on sunday nights, and he sits beside the tub and shares his tea with you. sometimes you cry, so he’ll massage your shoulders and remind you he’s listening, that you can unpack your mind and watch the worries slip down the drain once the water’s cold

seungkwan: he sits with his back against the wall while you shave your legs. he finds the routine of changing into your old team’s speedo adorable, and he can’t deny it: he enjoys watching you. you never feel pressured to shave, but you prefer the feeling of smooth legs, and there’s a shared intimacy you look forward to when it comes to shaving days. sometimes- ok, every time, he applies lotion for you once you’re done

hansol: it’s become the most random way to connect and reset like you probably go over the grocery list or remind him about the repair guy coming that afternoon. his schedule for the week is shared, and you decide on a plan for date night in a couple days