library of nsfw reads

SEUNGMIN (dating, not official)

I.N (first relationship)

MINHO (boyfriend)

HYUNJIN (friends with benefits)

FELIX (friends)

BANGCHAN (friend)

CHANGBIN (boyfriend)

HAN (situationship)

Felix:

Seungmin:

IN:

Lee Know:

Changbin:

Hyunjin:

Your screen glows dim under the table you were dragged to by a new hire who talks too much and thinks that the two of you are friends. You aren't, but for now, you'll pretend. It's better than looking like you're alone while your ex-fiancée flaunts that blonde from accounting like she's a rare Rolex. 

Part of you hates him, another part of you wishes you didn't. Maybe then it wouldn't be so painful to see him at events like this. Not because you miss him, no. It’s because he’s an asshole.

Your colleague laughs at a joke someone else told and you take the opportunity to slip away. You swipe a glass of champagne off of a nearby tray and drink it too fast to be considered well mannered.

Then—because the universe loves a well timed fuck-you—that’s exactly when he shows up. Your ex.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, all smug in his navy tux, hand already on the waist of the bright-eyed blonde. Her dress is too tight and bright for a gala, you can tell she doesn’t care.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you answer coolly, fingers clutching your clutch tighter than necessary.

He shrugs. “Just thought it might be hard, ya know. Coming alone.” You don’t flinch. You smile. He’s twenty seconds away.

Your ex opens his mouth again—probably to drop some condescending bomb about how he’s “sure you’ll find someone someday”—when a hand touches the small of your back, large and warm. Splayed right over the slight curve in your spine.

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” a low, syrupy voice interrupts. “Parking was a nightmare.”

Your ex turns just in time to see ‘your man’ step into view, black suit like it was made just for him, tie knotted clean enough to tell that he’s done this before. 

“Kim Seungmin,” he says smoothly, nodding once at your ex, unbothered, eyes dark but gleaming like he’s already getting a kick out of this. “Director of Strategy at Asan Tech. You are?” 

The lie rolls off his tongue like he truly believes it. Hell, it was believable. Even though all he did was spell NASA backwards and slap tech at the end… your ex seems to buy it. You attribute it to the way Seungmin carries himself. There’s a velvet air to him. Something that says ‘I’m barely trying and I’m still better than you’. Something that makes you feel hot in places you shouldn’t, but still, you hold onto his arm a bit tighter.

Your ex stiffens, mouth twitching as he mutters his name. “She and I used to—”

“Ah,” Seungmin cuts in, tone dipped in amusement. “One of those tragic mistakes she doesn’t talk about.”

You almost choke.

Your ex bristles. The blonde is too busy gawking at your man to notice.

Seungmin leans in just a bit, hand resting naturally over yours where you hold him. “Shall we?” he murmurs in your ear, like you’re lovers who never stay at one stop for too long. Easily bored by those who are clearly not on your level. 

Once you’re away from the blast zone and seated at your assigned table, you lean in. “Director of Strategy?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Would’ve gone with CEO, but I didn’t want to emasculate him so hard he goes to HR in the morning. You’re welcome.”

You scoff. “You really think you're charming, don't you?” he’s too busy swiping a glass of champagne from a passing server to look your way. You take the opportunity to assess him properly—sharp jaw line, glowing skin, dark eyes that challenge you just right—then he looks back your way, sliding a glass over.

“Charming enough that you picked me,” he says, not missing a beat. “From just a picture too, so yes. I do.”

You roll your eyes and sip your champagne, but the way he watches you over the rim of his glass—lazy, amused, like you’re his entertainment for the evening, not a client—makes your chest feel tight.

Now dinner starts. 

The seating chart is a set up. Your ex and his blonde arm candy are across from you and Seungmin at the long table. The tablecloth is ivory, the centerpieces are gaudy, and the blonde is still chewing her gum. Too loud, too absent minded. Your ex is bragging about god knows what to some senior employee he’s clearly trying to kiss up to. He always was a sell out. 

Then there’s Seungmin— sitting with one arm draped across the back of your chair, legs spread just wide enough to toe the line between casual and cocky. He looks like he owns the place. He hasn’t looked at the menu. Hasn’t looked at the servers. Hasn’t even glanced at the table of executives eyeing you both with thinly veiled curiosity.

His eyes are only on you.

“You’re staring,” you mutter, sipping your water without meeting his gaze.

“You’re wearing that dress,” he replies like it’s something he’s used to. Something that routinely poisons his self control. “I’m just appreciating the craftsmanship.”

Your mouth twitches. “The fabric?”

“No.” He leans in, voice low and heat-laced. “The body in it.”

You nearly choke. Again.

He smirks, eyes never leaving your flushed expression.

Across the table, your ex keeps glancing over. His date is talking to someone else entirely and that senior exec he was trying to butter up keeps avoiding eye contact with him. You’ve knocked him off his game. And damn it feels good.

Seungmin’s fingers brush your knee under the table. Casual. Intentional. A distraction. You jolt just a little—surprised but not displeased. He still hasn’t looked away from you, even as he speaks loud enough for nearby ears to hear. “Thank you for bringing me tonight, baby.”

You blink, you wanna say that he had no choice, that he’s literally being paid by the minute but you smile instead “I hope that you’re enjoying yourself, honey.”

The smirk that he offers you is disarming, practiced and perfected. “Of course I am. It’s not every day I get to be the hottest man in the room with the most stunning woman on my arm. Free drinks are just a bonus.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling despite yourself. “You really practice lines like that in the mirror, don’t you?” your voice is a whisper, he watches your lips then leans in just close enough for his own to brush your cheek. 

“Only the ones that work.” Your cheeks heat, you clear your throat. How is he so good?

When the first course is served, Seungmin finally looks away. He glances at the plate like it personally offended him, then back at you. “That’s a leaf.”

“It’s arugula.”

“It’s offensive.”

You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. His expression is dead serious as he forks the salad like he’s the one filing a complaint with HR in the morning. The woman next to you—a junior VP with a Cartier bracelet and gossip glinting in her eyes—leans over.

“So,” she says with a saccharine smile. “You two are precious. How long have you been seeing each other?”

You freeze.

Seungmin, however, doesn’t even blink. “Six months,” he says smoothly, setting his fork down. “Met at a conference out of town. She was wearing red lipstick and giving dirty looks to the panelists. I knew I was doomed but I just had to know her name.”

You stare. Impressed.  

“Oh, wow,” the woman laughs, hand fluttering. “That’s so…romantic.”

“It wasn’t,” he deadpans. “She told me I was boring before I even introduced myself.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” you shoot back, playing along now. “He was quoting Plato to a bartender.”

“And you ordered vodka cranberry like a nineteen year old trying to blackout before curfew.”

“Excuse me for having taste.” The man beside Seungmin chuckles awkwardly, clearly unsure if you’re flirting or fighting. 

Seungmin reaches over and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Too gently. His fingers linger just a second too long. “Noona is even prettier when she’s mean.” he says casually before taking a sip of wine. You dig your nails into his thigh under the table, a silent sign to shut the hell up. His mouth twitches.

Asshole.

He’s a cocky, smooth, handsome asshole.

When you glance at him, your ex is glaring at you and the blonde is gawking at Seungmin once again. It even seems that a few other ladies at the table have joined her in appraising your man.

Mission successful. 

The rest of the night is performance art. He knows just how to lean in, just how to touch you without looking like he’s trying. When he laughs, it feels unrehearsed. When he calls you “baby” in front of a coworker, it sounds like he’s said it a thousand times before.

You don’t know how much of it is an act anymore. You don’t know which one of you is blurring the lines. You just know that nothing feels clear right now. 

You reach for your glass again. Just as you realize he’s watching you again, leaned back with heart eyes so convincing you forget the arrangement for a beat.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say.

“Like what?”

“Like this isn’t pretend.”

He hums. “Tell me what part’s pretend, and I’ll stop.”

You don’t have an answer.

So you take another sip. You let his hand rest on your thigh for the rest of the meal, thumb tracing light circles while he tells some made up story about a trip you two took to Aruba. And he just keeps looking at you.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

The night winds down with speeches and too many fake laughs. Your heels start to pinch. Your wine glass stays half-full, untouched now because if you drink anymore, you’ll say something reckless.

Finally, when the gala begins to thin out, you slip your arm into his and walk toward the parking lot. The night air is a welcome relief—crisp and clean compared to the stifling heat inside, or maybe it was just the warmth of his hand on your lower back for the past twenty minutes.

“Did I play the role well enough for you?” he asks, tone dry.

You toss him a glance. “Yup. You were just the right amount of asshole.” He smirks, small and lethal. You ignore the way it makes your chest flutter. “You nearly made me believe it.” 

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“And you looked like you do this every weekend.”

“I might,” he says, holding your gaze for just a second before letting his eyes slowly wander down, tracing curves that his fingers have ‘mindlessly’ grazed all night. “But I think tonight has been my favorite.”

There’s a pause. Too long.

You shift your weight, wrap your arms tighter around yourself.

“I’ll give you a five-star review,” you mutter, pretending not to feel how charged everything is. “Maybe even a tip. Maybe.”

His lips curve. “Don’t tip me unless I earn it.”

Your eyes flick down to his lips and the champagne from earlier starts speaking for you “Oh? So, is there a way you want to earn it?”

He steps closer, one hand reaching out to fix your necklace—slow, deliberate, far too intimate for a stranger.

“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping low. “The dinner was nice but that was just foreplay.” Your breath catches.

Seungmin reaches past you and pulls open your car door. The back door. You look behind you, then up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious?”

He doesn’t respond, only looks at you with dark eyes that say get in loud and clear. You don’t move, so he does, a small step forward to close the gap between you.

“You hired me,” he says calmly. “Let me finish the job.”

There’s something daring in his voice that makes your thighs clench without permission. You’ve seen his reviews, you knew this was on the table—hell, you’d hoped for it.

Seungmin watches you just as he has all night, Studying. Jaw clenching when his eyes flick to how your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You bat your lashes once, twice, then turn and slide into the seat.

The door shuts behind you. He walks around the other side of the car, no rush, and gets in next to you. Then, with the quiet click of the door lock and the parking lot streetlamps painting amber along the sharp cut of his jaw, he turns to you.

“You’re tense,” he says, reaching over to touch your knee, fingers brushing under the hem of your dress. “Let me help.”

Then he kisses you. Hard. Like this is the part of the job he looks forward to. Like he’s been counting down the seconds until he could ruin you and call it customer service.

Your head tilts back instinctively, one of his hands cradles the back of your neck. The other finds your waist, sliding down to the curve of your thigh. He hikes your dress up with the kind of expertise that says he fucks just as good as he looks. That alone makes you moan into him.

Fingers skim your core over your underwear and you suck in a breath. Seungmin breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. “Tell me how you like to be fucked.”

You swallow. “With your fingers first. Then your mouth. Then—”

He presses two fingers between your legs and your head falls back with a moan. Every thought is gone, every nerve sparks with the press of his fingers, long and precise. 

“Keep talk’n to me” he hums against your throat, slowing his ministrations just enough for you to think. You clear your throat, blink your eyes open and part your lips just enough to make the smallest sound. 

“Then—then fuck me. Let me ride. Use me after. I don’t care. Just make me come until I can’t see straight.” his finger hooks into the gusset of your panties, pulling them aside just enough for his thumb to find your clit.

“Good girl.” The way he says it wrecks you. Your hips jerk, chasing more, but Seungmin doesn’t give you a second to think. His fingers move with effortless precision, tracing the heat between your thighs like he’s memorizing every inch.

Slow. Measured. Cruel.

You’re already panting. “Let’s try for three, yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your jaw as one finger dips in and curls.

Your hips kick up again, uneven like the moan breaking from your chest. “Ya know, thought you’d be more of a fight.” he kisses the shell of your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “But you’re melting for me like you’ve been counting down the seconds.”

You grab his tie. “You’re on the clock.”

“Mm.” he slips in another finger, making you shudder. “Then you’d better come fast.”

You choke on a gasp, legs spreading wider as his fingers work you open. You watch him—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the most infuriating look of casual confidence on his face. It’s unfair. He’s not even breaking a sweat. You’re soaked, whining under your breath, trying not to collapse in the backseat of your own damn car. He pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth then moans—just a little, just enough to ruin you.

Then he shifts, your back to the passenger door and one leg over his shoulder. His hands knock your thighs apart with ease, dress bunched around your waist, and—

Holy. Shit.

He eats like he’s starving. Moaning as soon as his tongue flattens against your cunt and grunting when you make the prettiest little keen he’s heard in a while. Your back arches off the seat, hands buried in his hair. His tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, dipping down just to drag another broken whimper out of your throat before focusing back on your clit. He spits onto you clit just as his fingers rejoin the mix, fucking you open while his tongue follows.

“Oh—fuck—Seungmin—”

He hums. You cry out. He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and your vision is white-hot at the edges. Until you’re coming into his mouth, hips grinding helplessly, and moaning too loudly for a backseat fuck.

He pulls back, chin glistening, smug as hell. “One.”

“One?”

“We agreed on three, remember?” he’s already unbuckling his belt. “Or has that pretty head already gone dumb for me?”

You don’t even have time to blink before he’s pushing his slacks down, cock thick and flushed. He grips your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing.

“Ride me,” he murmurs. “Like you said you would.” He rips open a condom between his teeth, rolling it on with one hand which would be a red flag for anyone who didn’t do this for a living.

You straddle him, breath catching as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip through your folds and letting you control how much you take. His weeping cock disappears into you slowly. The stretch is perfect, the length is ridiculous. Your moan when he bottoms out is downright obscene.

“Fuck, noona—” he groans, hands digging into your ass. “You’re tighter than expected.”

“So you expected something?” he huffs a laugh, then thrusts up hard.

Your head just barely hits the ceiling. “Jesus—!”

“Not here,” he says, smiling slow. “Just me.”

His hands smooth up your sides, guiding you while you ride him like you’ll never get the chance to again—because you might not. Dress pushed up, one heel digging into the leather seat and one lost on the floor, Seungmin buried deep and panting against your neck as you grind and bounce and take him.

His hands are everywhere—guiding, gripping, spanking once, then twice when you slow down. 

“Second one’s coming,” he warns.

You don’t believe him, until he brings his thumb to your clit and makes you see stars.

Two.

You’re barely coherent, slumped against his chest when he shifts your position just enough to fuck up into you with maddening precision.

“You asked for this, baby.” his voice is wrecked. The squelch of your cunt mixes with his heavy breathing. Your moans are muffled into his shoulder but he can hear you loud and clear over the sound of skin slapping.

“I paid for this.” you rasp, gasping when his lips find the sensitive spot of your neck.

“And I’m giving you your money’s worth.”

You claw at his shoulders, fingers digging in like holding on could steady what’s already spinning. “I’m gonna—”

“Good. Take it.” His pace grows sharper, more frantic. “Cum on my cock. So I can fill you up like a good fucking boyfriend would.”

You fall apart.

Three.

“That’s it—shit, gonna cum. Gonna fucking—fuck, noona” You’re shaking in his lap, panting against his neck, muscles limp and dress falling off one shoulder when he finally kisses you—deep, slow, dirty. 

He fucks you slow through his orgasm, tongue sliding over yours and low, rough groans vibrating through you. His muscles are tight, cock is throbbing. When he pulls back, you’re breathless.

And then he grins.

“Now,” he says, slicking his hair back with one hand, taking a deceivingly calm breath. "Don't forget to leave me a five-star review.”

You stare.

“You absolute menace.”

“Mm. But you’re glowing.”

You slap his chest, still twitching, and sigh. “Fine. But I’m not tipping.”

“You already did,” he says, smirking like he’s won something. “Three times.”

a/n: I was so nervous to post this! I hope you enjoyed the first one shot of my event! Thank you for reading ♡

Event Taglist: @bunnies-only @chrisbangsass @puccaaak @beal-o @jinniesgirl

you didn’t even knock anymore.

jisung had noticed it a while ago. somewhere between the third and fourth time you showed up past midnight, makeup smudged, already halfway through a complaint before the door was even fully open.

and tonight was no different.

the door shut behind you harder than it needed to. your bag slipped off your shoulder, landing somewhere near the couch. you didn’t even glance at it before you started.

“i swear to god, i’m done this time. like, actually done. i can’t keep doing this-”

“did he forget something again?” jisung asked, sitting up from the couch.

you huffed, tapping your foot against the floor a couple times, hands moving as you talked. “he didn’t forget. he just… didn’t care enough to remember. which is worse, honestly.”

“yeah,” he hummed softly, like he already agreed before you even finished.

and that’s the thing. jisung always agreed with you.

by the time you were halfway through your story—something about dinner, a text that never came, an argument that escalated way too fast—jisung was already setting a glass of water down in front of you.

it was routine by now. you talk, he listens. and when needed, he fills in the silence without interrupting too much.

he settled back onto the couch, watching you with that calm, patient look only he had. head tilted slightly, eyes soft, like he was trying to piece together exactly what kind of hurt you were carrying tonight.

“and then he just- ugh, i don’t even know,” you finished, letting out a frustrated breath as you dropped onto the couch. “it’s like talking to a wall.”

jisung followed a second later, slower this time, sitting beside you. but not too close. not yet.

you sank into the couch, your head tipping slightly toward him. his hands found your arm without asking, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your sleeve before stilling. it was almost absent-minded. like he’d done it a hundred times.

because, well, he had.

you took a long sip of water, the kind you actually needed. jisung didn’t look away, like he wanted to make sure you at least did that much. only then did he relax a little, leaning back, his arm resting behind you. close, but still far enough to pass as nothing.

“you’re staring,” you murmured after a moment, not looking at him.

“you’re dramatic,” he shot back easily.

“i’m not-”

“you are,” and now there was a hint of a smile in his voice. “you always come here like it’s the end of the world.”

you huff, nudging his leg with yours. “because it feels like it.”

something uncomfortable slips out of jisung’s throat. he shifts a little closer, and his touch on your arm returns, more present this time. his fingers slide under the fabric.

“does it…?” he asks, quieter.

you hesitate. get a little lost in that light touch before answering.

“…for a moment,” you admit. “and then i come here,” like it’s obvious. “always here.”

something flickers across jisung’s face. brief, almost impossible to catch. he blinks a couple times, surprised. and that tiny reaction tightens something in your chest before he clears his throat.

“yeah,” he murmurs.

his hand moves again. this time more firmly, sliding from your arm to your waist. it pauses there, his breathing turning heavier.

he waits a few tentative seconds, like he’s giving you time to pull away. you don’t. so his hand settles, warm and steady, his thumb tracing slow, almost absent circles.

you don’t say anything. you just stay there.

for a second, jisung freezes mid-beat. then his hand tightens just slightly, pulling you a little closer before he looks for your eyes.

“you’re tense,” he says, voice lower.

“i know,” you sigh. this time, you can actually hear your own heartbeat.

“c’mere.”

it’s not really an order. it comes out soft, automatic. and still, you listen. like you always do.

you close the small gap, letting your shoulder press fully against his, resting your head on him. jisung adjusts without thinking, his arm sliding around you with more certainty this time.

neither of you speaks. the room feels smaller like this, warmer. the air thickens, hard to ignore.

jisung’s thumb keeps moving, slow and repetitive, tracing the same path over and over. his breathing changes first and then his pulse follows.

still, he doesn’t look away from you. he lingers on every detail: your lashes, the shine in your eyes… your lips. those lips he’s spent nights imagining tasting again.

hoping, just a little, that the other guy would mess up enough to leave him an opening.

even if it was just for one night.

but it wasn’t the closeness that finally broke something.

not his hand slowly sliding, finding its way down to your thighs. not the way your legs tensed, pressing together just slightly. not even the shift in the air, charged, different.

it was the way you turned your face toward him, looking up at him with that expression you had no idea unraveled him.

jisung had always been soft with you, but now… there was something else.

your breath stutters when his fingers brush the edge of your skirt. you don’t move away. it doesn’t even cross your mind.

his gaze drops to your lips, no attempt to hide it this time. it lingers long enough for you to notice before lifting back to your eyes. like he’s waiting. like he’s asking without saying it.

his free hand comes up to your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers stay there, brushing softly, while his eyes search yours.

“tell me to stop,” he says, barely above a whisper.

your heart skips. your lips part, but nothing comes out.

the way he’s touching you right now like it’s nothing, like he’s not pretending. you should stop this. you know you should.

this is the part where you laugh it off, break the tension, get up, say something light so you can pretend this never almost happened.

but… you don’t.

instead, your fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of his shirt, like you didn’t even think about it.

his breath catches.

“you’re not gonna stop me…?” he asks carefully.

there’s disbelief in his voice. like he doesn’t know what to do with this. like having you this close is too much. like it’s not real.

you shake your head, just barely.

that’s all he needs.

jisung smiles a little, eyes narrowing slightly. his messy hair, his glasses slipping down just a bit… everything about him still soft.

too soft for what he’s about to do.

then he leans in. close enough that there’s no space left between you. your breathing mixes, warm, uneven. his thumb brushes your cheek again, slower now. more aware.

his eyes drop to your lips again. and this time, he doesn’t even try to hide it.

the distance disappears in something so light it barely counts. a brush first, just shared breath, like you’re both testing if this is still safe.

the kiss is too soft for everything that’s been building between you.

jisung hesitates against your lips, barely pressing, like he’s still waiting for you to pull away. like at any second you’ll stop this and he’ll have to pretend it never happened.

but when your fingers tighten in his shirt, sliding up to his shoulders, when your breath catches right against his mouth… something in him gives up.

the kiss shifts. not all at once, not rough, but firmer. his lips move with more intention now, like he’s finally letting himself feel instead of holding back.

his hand drops from your cheek to your neck, holding you more securely, pulling you just close enough that there’s no space left. that everything feels full, inevitable.

and your body answers before you can think. you lean into him, closing whatever distance was left. and that’s what finally breaks him.

jisung exhales against your mouth, a low, restrained sound, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he should’ve.

his movements aren’t shy anymore.

still soft, still him, but now there’s hunger. a need he’s not even trying to hide. his fingers press a little tighter into your skin, like he needs to hold onto you, like he’s scared you might disappear.

your name slips out between kisses, barely more than a broken whisper. there’s something about the way he says it that makes everything sharper. more inevitable.

almost without realizing it, he eases you back against the couch. there’s no force, just care, but the moment your back hits the fabric, something shifts.

the kiss deepens.

your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging gently every time he gets more lost in you, every time he presses just a little too much.

his hands start moving with less control. down, up. gripping your thighs like he’s trying to hold back and failing. one slips under your blouse, and the air breaks when his fingers find your skin.

his breathing turns uneven against your ear as he brushes your stomach, moves higher, touches you with a need he can’t hide anymore.

a soft sound escapes you when his fingers slide over your center, still covered by fabric. it’s slow, but enough. you look up and find his eyes bright, lips parted, flushed.

“is this okay?” he murmurs, voice rougher than usual.

you nod without thinking, holding onto him tighter.

his movements grow steadier, more confident. the heat in your stomach builds, pools, harder to ignore. his breaths against your skin, the quiet sounds he can’t hold back. it only makes it worse.

his lips trail down to your neck. soft kisses at first, then wetter, more insistent.

you can feel his impatience in the way he barely bites your skin, in the way he exhales against you like it’s getting harder to stay controlled.

“sungie, slow down…” your head tips back, voice barely a breath.

he pulls back just enough to look at you and smiles. something undone in it.

his hand comes back to your cheek, brushing it with a kind of devotion that clashes with the way his thumb starts moving over you, even through the already damp fabric.

“sorry, it’s just-” he swallows, kissing you again, slower this time. “you look so… good like this… here… with me. let me make you feel good, please.”

your lips part, ready to answer, but the air leaves you in a broken sound when he moves the fabric aside, when there’s nothing between his fingers and you anymore.

his reaction is instant. his mouth opens slightly, surprised, his fingers moving more carefully now, exploring. like he wants to memorize every response.

“you’re already so wet, baby…” he whispers, and there’s a quiet kind of pride in his voice.

he kisses you again, then moves lower, slower this time. you catch the way he smiles a little as he watches your face shift with every bit of pleasure he pulls from you.

his lips trail down: neck, chest, stomach, until he reaches the edge of your skirt. he catches it between his teeth, glancing up at you, waiting.

“sungie…” your voice trembles.

“can i…?” he murmurs, stopping completely. his eyes don’t leave yours. “is this what you want, jagi?”

you hesitate for a second. not because you don’t want it, but because it all feels unreal. nd then you nod.

in one smooth motion, he undoes your skirt, the fabric disappearing somewhere, forgotten. it doesn’t matter anymore.

his hands come back to you, more certain now. his fingers slide over you slowly, deliberately, watching every reaction like it’s the only thing that matters.

he shifts easily on the couch, settling between your legs. you catch the way he wets his lips before leaning in, and your back arches at the first contact.

he starts slow, careful, like he’s learning you. but it doesn’t take long before he loses himself.

your fingers tense, your legs react on their own, and he follows everything. every movement. every sound. each motion of his tongue sends waves through you you can’t control. your nails dig into the couch.

his own sounds mix with yours, vibrating against you, feeding the heat that’s already unbearable. you can feel how he only pulls away when he needs air, then dives right back in like he needs you more than that.

“fuck… jagi, you’re…” his voice breaks between movements, “perfect.”

your hands find his hair, tugging when it gets too much, when every movement pushes you closer. your chest rises and falls unevenly, broken sounds slipping out of you.

“sungie, fuck-” you try, but the words won’t come.

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, letting his fingers take over for a moment. his lips are wet, glasses crooked, hair sticking to his forehead.

but his eyes… completely locked on you.

“am i doing good, baby?” he asks, almost desperate. “don’t stay quiet… please. i want—need to hear you.”

you bite your lip as his fingers move in and out of you steadily. you nod as best as you can, a weak sound slipping out.

that’s enough to break him again.

he goes back to you with more rhythm, more precision. his fingers move with his tongue now, his thumb finding its own pattern. his mouth, his tongue, everything working together in a way that has your head spinning.

your sounds fill the room, and he answers every single one, every reaction pushing him further. the tension building in him too, low in his stomach, making his own breath hitch.

you can feel it. you’re close. and your grip tightens in his hair.

“sungie, ah- i’m so close…”

instead of pulling back, he lets out a pleased sound, picking up just slightly, his own body tightening with it. he doesn’t even need you to touch him. having you like this is enough.

when you come, it hits all at once. your body tenses, shakes, the feeling crashing over you without mercy while he stays right there, holding you through it.

like he needs to see you like this. like it’s all that matters.

“that’s it… that’s it,” he murmurs, more to himself than you.

he doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left. only then does he pull away. and even then, not completely. his own release follows seconds later, quiet, a low sound slipping out as he drops back against the couch, breathing hard.

a small silence settles around you. just your uneven breaths and the distant sound of cars outside.

and for a moment, that’s enough.

until your phone buzzes inside your bag.

jisung snaps out of it almost instantly, turning to you with something between expectation and something… more fragile.

you reach for it, a little clumsy. the second you see the name on the screen—your now ex-boyfriend—you roll your eyes and hang up without hesitation.

and still, jisung can’t help the small flicker of relief.

you sit up slowly, fixing your hair out of habit before looking at him. just like you expected. he’s still looking at you, completely.

you clear your throat, pulling his attention back again.

“do you mind if i stay tonight?” you ask, a small, slightly embarrassed smile tugging at your lips.

ironic, considering what just happened. but that’s how you two work.

jisung shakes his head immediately, maybe too fast, fumbling with his clothes, unable to hide the excitement that crosses his face.

he gets up right away, disappearing into his room and coming back seconds later with towels and that set of pajamas he always keeps for you. like he always knew.

“go take a shower. i’ll make your favorite tea and set up the bed so you can rest,” he says softly, setting everything beside you before heading to the kitchen. “you can pick what we watch tonight!”

he says it like nothing changed. like everything is exactly the same.

and maybe that’s the most dangerous part.

that nothing changed. and still, everything feels different.

You turn, and there he is—golden hair, freckled cheeks, a navy crewneck with the sleeves pushed up just enough to counter the innocence of his smile. “You look like you wanna run.”

You blink. “I’m debating it.” 

He holds his hand out for a shake, then switches it up and pulls you into a light hug like you’ve been dating for six months. “I’m Felix,” he says against your ear, voice lower now. “Just follow my lead, babe. We’re so in love it’s annoying.”

You chuckle despite yourself, like he’s given you a dose of serotonin just from meeting. “Okay then. Yeah.” Your eyes drift back to the cafe window when you pull back.

“Once we walk in, he’s gonna see us.”

Felix doesn’t ask who. Just opens the cafe door for you, hand settling at the small of your back as you step inside like he’s done this a hundred times. Like it’s not the first time you’ve met.

“Then let’s give him something to look at.” 

The bell jingles as the door shuts behind you two. Your ex looks up—and freezes. Felix clocks it instantly. “This place is cute,” he says a bit too loud, “It’s no British baking show but like... adorable in a trying too hard to be unique way.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. You almost laugh. 

Felix slides up beside you and signs you both in at the registration table, arm draped comfortably around your shoulders. “Team name?” the volunteer asks.

Felix turns to you. “What do you think, baby? Sugar and Spice? Or Bad Bitch Bakery?”

You glance at your ex, then smile sweetly. “Let’s go with Bad Bitch Bakery.”

Your ex is the one who walks you to your station. Of course he is. Clipboard in hand like he’s running the Great British Bake Off instead of a glorified couples’ night in a cafe. Maybe Felix was onto something. His smile is too tight, the kind that you force to reach your eyes.

“So,” he says lightly, but you can hear the edge under it, “how long have you two been together?”

Felix doesn’t even flinch. “Six months,” he answers smoothly, slipping his hand to your waist like it’s muscle memory. You lean into it. “We met at the farmer’s market. She hated my taste in strawberries.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Because you were buying the watery ones. Who does that?” You laugh, tipping your head toward Felix. “I had to save him from himself.”

Felix plays along, grinning wide, freckles crinkling with his eyes. “And I let her. Haven’t been able to shake her since that sweet strawberry shortcake we made.”

Your ex’s jaw works, tight. Like his teeth are grinding behind tight lips. He writes something meaningless on his clipboard, exhaling hard through his nose before looking back up at you. You tilt your head, smile just sharp enough to cut. “Funny, right? How things just…stick.”

For a second, you think he might snap his pen in half. He clears his throat instead and stalks off toward the other couples.

“Babe,” Felix murmurs, leaning down, “that was brutal. I’m so proud.”

You bite back a grin, but it’s useless. This is already paying off. 

Felix picks up one of the aprons and dangles it between you, eyes bright like the sweet stuff is his favorite part. “Arms up.”

You blink, smiling despite yourself. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“If you get flour on your shirt I’ll have to wipe it off. That means I get to touch that pretty chest of yours and I’m sure the very pleasant owner would crumble at the sight.” he grins, cutting a sarcastic glance to your ex.

Your smile turns into a laugh as you lift your arms, he steps behind you, hands careful as they tug the strings snug around your waist. “That’s the figure you’re hiding, hm?” 

He even smooths the fabric down like he cares how it sits. “His loss.” he says softly, close enough that his breath grazes your ear. “Now we look like a team.”

You swallow down the little flutter his words causes, clapping your hands to snap you out of the gutter. “Alright. Game plan. What do you actually know how to make?”

Felix brightens instantly. “Brownies. They’re my specialty.”

Perfect. Foolproof. You nod. “Okay. Then brownies it is.”

You grab a notepad from the counter. “So what do you need?”

He rattles it off, casual as anything. “Twelve eggs, two and a half cups of flour, six cups of sugar—”

You stop writing, smile dropping just a fraction. “Wait. Why do you need so much?”

“That’s how much I always use.”

You blink. “Are you baking for the entire block? That’s way too much.”

Felix frowns, genuinely confused. “This is a normal amount.”

You just stare at him. “Normal for who?”

Felix pauses, frowning like you’re the one being weird. “I mean… my friends. I’ve only ever baked for them.”

Now you stare at each other, both equally confused. Finally, you ask, “How many people do you bake for?”

“Eight.” He says it like it’s obvious.

You drop the pencil, staring at him in disbelief. “So you’ve been baking enough brownies to feed eight grown men for years… and you’ve never once thought maybe that’s not the standard recipe?”

He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “It worked fine every time.”

You throw your hands up. “Jesus Christ. You’ve been running a catering service and didn’t know it.”

“There’s eight of us at the company, and they eat a lot. Like—a lot.” Felix grins, finding the revelation amusing. Or maybe it’s just your reaction to it all. “Nobody ever complained.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting the laugh bubbling up. “Okay, fine. Do you know how to convert it? Like, cut the recipe in half?”

He looks at you like you’ve asked him to recall laws of quantum physics. You nod once, clapping your hands a bit weaker this time. “Okay, uh…then we guess.”

He rolls up his sleeves and beams at you like a kid on Christmas day. “Guessing’s the fun part anyway.” 

Flour dusts the counter. Felix has a smear of chocolate across his cheek and doesn’t notice. You put it there. You can’t stop smiling, and you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun baking anything. He flicks flour at you, bumps you with his hip and calls it an accident. You strike back with a smear of chocolate on his nose, then cheek. He dared you to lick it off and you blushed hotter than the oven. 

Every time he laughs—loud, bright, like only you and him are in on the best joke in the world—you feel a flutter you know you shouldn’t. It feels too natural for a stranger. Guess he’s good at his job, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

When your ex glances over again, Felix catches him, then turns to you with a glint in his eye that clearly means mischief. He scoops a dollop of batter onto the tip of his finger and holds it up. “Open.”

A chuckle bubbles up before you can help it. “What are you, five?”

Felix grins, leaning against the counter and batting his lashes in mock innocence. You sigh, lean in, taste it. It’s too sweet, cloying, but the way Felix beams like he truly has been falling for you the past six months makes you laugh. Shy with emotions that feel too big all at once. 

You push his arm, looking down at the mess before you to hide a blush. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he says without hesitation. Loud. On purpose. You choke on your laugh, and when you glance up, your ex’s expression has soured completely.

Felix nudges your hip with his own, both of you laughing now, unable to help it. The sweetness continues—he brushes your hair back with flour on his fingers, you poke his ribs in retaliation, then you both laugh while you fumble with simple baking utensils. It’s stupid. Mundane. But the chemistry hums so loud it’s impossible to ignore.

By the time the brownies are in the oven, you’re both flushed, smiling too easily, like you’ve forgotten there’s an audience.

“Twenty minutes,” Felix says, glancing at the timer. “Think they’ll notice if we raid the supply closet?”

“For what?”

“Chocolate chips. Obviously.” He winks. “You know, for morale.”

You shake your head but follow him anyway.

The supply closet is cooler, dimmer, shelves stacked with bags and boxes. You actually look, digging through the labeled bins, tugging at a sack of flour. That’s how it starts. When you bend to check the bottom shelf, apron snug around your waist, Felix goes quiet behind you.

“You know,” he says after a beat, voice lower now, “he’s out of his mind.”

You glance back. “What?”

“Your ex.” He’s closer now, you stay bent, slowing your movements. “I don’t know what he was thinking, letting you go. But thank God he did, because now I get to stand here and…” He trails off, eyes lingering where your apron bows across your back, then lower.

You straighten slowly, turning your head, and he’s already looking at you. Really looking. 

He steps forward, chest to your back and then reaches forward. “Found them.” He holds up the chocolate chips you were looking for, but your eyes stay on his. And his go to your lips. 

Then he kisses you.

It starts soft, testing, but heat sparks quick. His hand slips to your waist, tightening on contact, turning you and pulling your chest flush against his. You kiss back, hungrier than you mean to, and suddenly it’s not soft anymore. It’s messy, needy, his lips parting yours, his tongue slipping past in a way that makes your knees threaten to give. The chocolate chips hit the floor. Felix anchors himself with a hand tangled in your hair. 

You laugh breathlessly into his mouth. “We came in here for chocolate chips.”

“Found something sweeter.” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you harder.

Your hands find his hair now, tugging just enough to make him groan, too loud for the small space. He doesn’t care. If anything, it eggs him on. 

“Do that again.” He murmurs against your lips, tongue slipping over yours before you can respond. His hands are everywhere now—palming your hip, sliding up your back then sneaking lower.

Your back slams against the door, the rattling thud nearly loud enough to give you away. Felix doesn’t even flinch. He groans into your mouth, clutching your waist like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

“God—” his words spill out between kisses, rough and unfiltered, “you taste so good. Been thinking about this since the second I slipped that apron on you.”

“You’re that easy?” you smirk, yanking his hair hard enough to make him whine.

“Yes,” he admits, breathless, like it’s something to be proud of. His hips rut against you once, sharp and unashamed. “You have no idea, baby.”

“What else is gonna make you fall apart like this?” Your hand slips down between you, palming him through his jeans, and he nearly doubles over with a strangled moan. Too loud. You clap your hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Felix.”

His eyes roll back, muffled whine spilling against your palm. He nods quickly, obedient, though the second you move your hand he gasps out, “I’ll be quiet, promise.”

You press the heel of your palm against him, and he’s already trembling, forehead pressed to your shoulder. Hands slipping down to your ass, squeezing like the touch just isn’t enough.

“Touch me,” you order, pressing your thigh between his legs. “Now.”

He doesn’t hesitate. One hand slips under your skirt, apron bunched, fingers sliding higher until they find heat. You gasp when he presses his palm over you just right, fingertips applying perfect pressure on his first try.

“Felix—”

“Shh,” he whispers, forehead against yours, smiling lazily while he watches. “I got you.”

One finger hooks and holds your panties to the side while the others slip through slick so wet that he groans. His eyes are on yours, brows furrowed either in disbelief or approval.

“You’re so wet already—fuck, you’re perfect. Can I?”

You grab his wrist and press him against you, grinding down hard. “Do it.”

Felix looks down to watch his fingers disappear beneath your skirt. He slips one in, gliding with ease. He adds a second and you moan. That’s what gets him. His hips cant forward, grinding his cock over your bare thigh. He groans, head lolling back as his fingers move, eager, messy.

“Oh my God—fuck, you’re—” he can’t even finish, too caught up in the sounds you make, trying to match your rhythm. Every moan you let slip only makes him match with one louder, desperate to pull another one out of you.

“Felix,” you warn, slapping his hip with a soft pop. “Too loud.”

He muffles his next groan into your shoulder, his hips still moving against you, fingers curling inside you when he slips in to the knuckle. “Can’t help it. You feel so fucking good. I need more of you, please.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp when he curls his fingers just right, your words come out chopped between pleasure and composure. “Ask again.”

“You want me to beg?” he rasps, voice raw as he huffs, bright brown eyes shading darker with every desperate rut of his hips. “I’ll do anything, just please, baby. Please. Let me feel you.” 

His begging comes out rough, shaky. Like he doesn’t know what else to give you except please. It’s stupid and sweet and it makes your stomach twist just right.

“Beg better,” you tell him, testing. Teasing.

His eyes flick up, wide. He swallows, tries again, voice cracking as soon as he starts.

“Please,” he gasps. “Let me—just let me have you. I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good, I swear.”

You raise a brow. “That’s your best?”

His mouth opens, shuts. He swallows hard, fingers twitching at your hips like he’s hanging on by threads. “I’ll do better,” he blurts, quick, frantic. “Please. Gimme a chance to be good for you. I wanna be good for you.”

The begging’s rough, unpolished, almost embarrassing. But that’s what gets you. The fact that he’s not smoothing it over, not trying to play cool. He’s just spilling it, raw and too much. It’s desperate enough to make you laugh under your breath, meaner than you intend.

“God, you really are easy.”

He nods fast, doesn’t even flinch at the jab. “For you? Yeah. Always.”

The honesty of it is almost stupid. No polish, no charm. Just desperate.

Your nails dig into his hips, stilling the slow grind he’s been rocking into your thigh. His fingers slow inside of you, slipping out while he waits for your say.

“Go ahead.” He moves so fast it’s clumsy. He turns you towards the door, his hands skating down your sides before finding your wrists and guiding them up to press flat against the wood. 

“Here,” he mutters, pressing his palms over the back of your hands for a moment, pressing his hips into your ass. “Keep ‘em there, yeah?”

The command in his voice surprises you—messy as he is, he’s not fumbling now. His voice is deeper, a bass commanding the moment seconds before a string pops.

Fabric rustles behind you. A foil tear. You glance back, catching him rolling a condom on with quick, practiced movements, jaw tight with focus.

“Prepared, huh?” you say, breath a little uneven already.

His grin flashes, sheepish and bright all at once. “Of course. What kinda boyfriend shows up unprepared?”

The praise slips out mindlessly. “Smart boy.”

He groans. Actually groans—like the words hit deeper than they should. One hand fists in your hair, tugging lightly so you arch, the other steady on your hip. “Say that again,” he pants, already pressing forward, cock sliding against your heat before he pushes in slow.

Your mouth falls open with the stretch, and his head drops forward, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades as he lets out the loudest, neediest sound yet.

“Fuck. You feel unreal,” he gasps, hips jerking once, then twice. Shallow. “Tell me—tell me what you want. I’ll do it. Harder? Faster? Just say it.”

Felix rocks into you slow, waiting for your word. “Faster.” 

He picks up on command. Working himself up to a steady pace, driving into you fast enough that you’re both moaning in the small space.

“Holy shit, you’re so tight.” He murmurs with a strangled sound, hips stuttering forward like he’s not controlling himself.

“Shut up,” you hiss, but the way you clench around him only makes him cry out louder. It’s messy and eager, like he’s living out a dream he didn’t think he’d ever reach.

His hands grip at your waist, pushing your apron up until he gets impatient and undoes the neat bow he tied. “You feel too good. Too tight. Too wet. Fuck.”

His hands trail up the bare skin of your back then meet in the front to settle over your bra. Every thrust knocks a gasp out of him, high, sharp, uncontrolled. One of your hands goes down over his, prompting him to squeeze. “Feel me, wan’ you to touch me.”

Two fingers dip into the cup of your bra, pulling it down enough to feel properly. “Shit, such perfect tits. You’re built to ruin me.” he grits out the words right as you push back against him, the wood of the door rattling each time you meet his thrust. 

“Deeper.” your moan breaks louder than his, pleasure building too quick to care. “Please—Felix, please. So close.”

Felix whines, the sound raw, almost broken, and shifts the angle just enough for his cock to brush where you need it most. The spot that makes you grip him tighter, wringing another desperate sound out of him.

“Oh my God—like that? Is that good? Tell me it’s good.”

“So fucking good,” you pant, knuckles blushed where you brace against the doorframe. “You’re such a good boy. Such a good fuck.”

His whole body jerks at your words, a ragged moan spilling out before he can swallow it down. “Good boy—fuck—say it again,” he begs, hips stuttering hard against you. “Please. Please keep saying that. I’ll do anything, I’ll give you everything.”

His thrusts get sharper, deeper, like he’s trying to earn every word. He fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to expose your throat. His forehead presses to your shoulder, teeth catching skin as he whines through another roll of his hips. “You’re gonna ruin me. You know that, right? Calling me that…” he cuts himself off with a choked gasp. “God, I love it. I love being good for you.”

He rolls your stiff nipple between his fingers, kissing your neck sloppily when you mewl for him just right. He’s rutting now, fucking you like he’s in heat and you’re the only thing that can stop the burn. Groaning like he’s the one being undone. 

“Wan’ you to cum,” he nearly sobs the words, hips stuttering before finding a quicker rhythm that makes your legs tremble. “Wanna be good and make my baby leak. Let me, please.”

“Rub my clit.” He follows your breathless command as if his life were on the line. His hand drops from your tit and starts with slow circles between your legs. His grip on your hair tightens just enough to nearly have your back flush to his heaving chest. 

He’s deeper like this, so much deeper you can feel every frantic push in your spine. Each thrust grinds you up against his hand, his fingers slipping perfect circles over your clit like he’s memorized your body in seconds. You can’t fucking think straight. Your words slur and break into moans. 

“Felix—shit” Your voice cracks, hands barely pressed to the door anymore. Nothing but his arm snaked around your waist and your wobbly legs holding you up. You try to keep pushing back against him. You can’t. “So fucking good, baby, right there—don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He groans into your shoulder, hips stuttering before slamming in harder. “I won’t. Never gonna stop, baby.”

Your words spill faster, tangled with moans. “Yes, that’s it, that’s my good boy. Fuck, yes yes yes. Give it to me just how I need—fuck, deeper, please—harder, faster, don’t hold back, I want it all. Wan’ all of it.”

Felix practically whines at the sound of you babbling for him, hips snapping quick, sloppy. His hand tightens in your hair, dragging your head back further while pressing your chest to the door. His mouth is hot against your throat, groaning into your skin after each sloppy kiss over your pulse.

“You’re perfect,” you gasp, broken, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “God, you’re perfect. Look at you, working so hard for me. You wanna make me cum so bad, huh?”

“Yes—yes, please, baby, I need it, let me, let me—”

The desperation in his voice rips you open. Your body locks, your moan comes out sharp and wrecked as you clench hard around him, making his own moan shatter with yours. Your words dissolve into choked praise—“so good, so good, you’re so fucking good”—as your orgasm drags through you.

Felix loses it at the sound, rutting hard, babbling into your skin like he can’t keep it in. 

You glance back at him, his flushed face, the way sweat dampens his golden hair, and mumble through your haze. “Don’t come.”

“I can’t, I can’t. Baby, please.” he begs, voice cracked and needy.

You reach back, still off balance, still hazy and heaving but you manage to push his hips back in the middle of a sloppy thrust. He pulls out, whining but obeying. He hand strokes the slick rubber, his angry red cock leaking into it, seconds from bursting.

“Take it off.” his brows furrow but he listens, watching as you clumsily shift to your knees. The condom snaps off with a pop and you barely give him time to drop it before taking him in. 

“Baby—oh fuck. Fuuuck.” he gasps, drawing out every moan and falling right into babbling praise into the air. His hips stutter, hand rests on top of your head. Not to push, just to guide you, just barely. 

It doesn’t take much until he’s shaking. A couple of bobs have him whining, then you take him all the way, and it’s over.

“I’m gonna—oh, baby, gonna—”  Felix falls apart with a sound that’s half-groan, half-whimper, hips jerking forward like he can’t control them anymore. His voice cracks, loud and frantic, every word spilling out unfiltered. “I’m coming, I’m coming, fucking, coming—”

His hand tightens in your hair but it’s not rough, just desperate, holding on while his whole body shakes through it. His thighs tremble against your palms, chest heaving as his release hits hard. Every thrust is messy, uncoordinated, but he can’t stop—his cock twitching in your mouth, spilling until he’s gasping for air.

His forehead knocks against the door like he’s seconds from collapsing, but you don’t let up until he’s whining from overstimulation. His knees wobbling so bad he has to grab the shelf for balance. Finally, you pull off with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Felix looks down at you, wrecked, sweat plastering his golden hair to his forehead and freckles stark against flushed skin. His mouth hangs open, chest rising and falling like he just sprinted a mile.

“You’re…” He laughs breathlessly, voice wrecked. “…gonna kill me.”

Your laugh comes out ragged, breathless. “Good boys survive.” You push up to your feet. “Even the loud ones”

His grin is dopey, fond even, as he clumsily attempts to tuck himself back into his jeans, still catching his breath. “Then I’m your good boy.”

You two clean yourselves up as much as you can after an impromptu fuck in a cafe closet. Finally, once he reties your apron, Felix mumbles, “Timer’s probably screaming.”

Then, he peeks out like a kid checking if they’ve been caught stealing snacks. He pushes the door open once he sees the coast is clear, hand on the small of your back like this is real. His hair is messy, cheeks flushed, you both look like you just did something you weren’t supposed to.

Back at your baking station the oven dings like it’s been at it for awhile. Felix hurries over, grabs mitts and slides the pan out. You both just stare. It’s glossy, wrong. A dense glob of fudge that doesn’t pull away at the edges. You poke it. It jiggles.

“Uh,” you mumble. “Why does it look… shiny?”

Felix pokes it with a spatula. It jiggles again. “Did we forget something?”

You both look at the counter and the full carton of eggs looks back at you. 

“Oh.” You hum.

“No eggs.” Felix says, nodding seriously. Then looking over to you. You both burst out laughing. 

“So we made… fudge?”

“Pretty much.” You look up. The other couples have left. All forfeited and probably too scandalized by Felix’s not-so-quiet moaning. 

Your ex stands there, glaring at the pan of ruined brownies, then at you two. Face a color you’ve never seen before and jaw so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack. Finally, he forces a smile, holds out two medals and a cheap envelope with steakhouse vouchers. “Congratulations. You’ve won.”

Felix takes the medal, slips it around your neck, and kisses you. Not a peck. A kiss. Bold, messy, too real for how fake it’s supposed to feel.

The applause from the remaining onlookers covers the sound of your ex’s pen snapping in half.

a/n: I'm so excited to be back! I'm sorry for the wait. Things have been very tough but I'm fighting to finish this series and other projects! I hope you enjoyed! (and if it sucks, act like it doesn't. my brain is running on fumes I swear.)

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The club is packed in a semi-calm way. Not overly rowdy with rainbow lights like other clubs. Your ex used to call it “fancy chaos” but you figured that was a lie since he was so good at those. You're looking around as soon as you get in but try not to make it obvious. The app says he's here. He said he'd wear Gucci and you figured he was a showy asshole—that's why you picked him. 

You don't see him by the bar, or the tables, the dance floor is a mess and—

“Looking for me?” You jump, turn fast with a hand over your chest. 

“Jeez—” there he is. Tall enough, Gucci jacket and matching pants. Perfect for the club, perfect for you.  

“Scared you?” You nod, taking a slower breath. “I meant to.” Oh, he's weird? The secret kind that sneaks up on you… you’ve encountered worse. He holds out his hand and you take it slowly. Very slowly. 

“Lee Minho, but you knew that.” He doesn't smile, isn't condescending, just straight to the point. You can work with that. You tell him your name and he hums like he already had your star chart memorized. 

You get right to it after that. “My ex is over there, I was thinking—” he cuts you off, smooth, laces his fingers with yours

“Follow my lead.” 

“Oh… okay.”

He starts leading you across the dance floor, hand warm and it's now that you get to take him in… this man is thick. Chest and thighs and just wow. 

When you get to the bar your ex is flirting with some girl while her boyfriend right beside her, fitting. Minho leans on the bar facing him and turns your back to him, he guides you closer, close enough to look comfortable. Close enough to look taken. 

“If this is going to work you have to look madly in love with me.” He doesn't smile, he smirks, big difference. There's something dark to it. Something that's five steps ahead. 

He's right though. You snap yourself out of staring and smile at him, a real smile. You lean a touch closer, lay your hand closer to his and laugh at nothing at all. 

Lights, camera, action. 

Minho smiles now, perfect and wide and says the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. 

"You ever think about how fucked we’d be if horses were carnivores?” you lose it, cause he's right and also wow. That laugh is just what he needed, though it is beautifully distracting. Minho looks down the bar and your ex is looking over like he’s trying to figure something out. Good. Minho goes again. 

"Imagine being the first person to see a cow and deciding to drink whatever came out of it.”

You cover your mouth this time, leaning into him. “Ew.” 

“Exactly.” He hums, eyes lighting up a bit. Gosh, you do have a pretty laugh, he's sure he'd recognize it too. “Imagine that. Warm white stuff from under a cow… let me drink it.”

“I mean, it's not too different from other things.” You say it before you can access the sense to stop. Minho's eyebrows raise, his head tilts a bit, and that damned smirk is back. 

“Oh, we're gonna have some fun.” Then he raises his hand for the bartender. “Buckle up, buttercup.”

Your ex sees him raise his hand and his reluctance tells Minho that he figured out it's you. He sends a co-worker over but Minho keeps looking at your ex. “Mm mm.” He motions towards him, smiling. “We want him, right princess?” Minho's hand finds your waist, sweet and warm and a little dizzying. You play along, nodding sweetly. 

“Yeah, he makes my drink perfectly every time. I think it's called—”

“Denial is a river?” Minho suggests smoothly and you have to bite your lip not to laugh. 

“That one, yeah.” The man behind the bar couldn't care less. He calls over your ex and tells him that he'll switch with him. Minho sees the moment your old flame tried to make himself burn bright enough to miss. 

“What can I get you?” His voice makes something happen in your chest. Not good, not anymore. It's more like anxiety. You don't know how but Minho notices, he squeezes your waist just slightly and you look up at him to find him already looking at you. 

“What do you want, baby?” He looks over at your ex. “Give her a second, yeah? She's the cute thoughtful type.” Minho walks you through some drinks options niceeee and slow and affectionate. At one point you find yourself moving in closer. There's something about him that's magnetic, like he's making space for you to slip right into him. 

“Give me something strong.” You look your ex in the eyes when you say it, borrowing some of Minho's courage to throw in a smile too. “Shaken and make it pretty.”

You can see that he has something he'd like to say, maybe ask why you're here or when you moved on. It's been months and he's been with half this damn club, now it's your turn even if it's fake. Minho coos something sweet when you finally order, hand wandering a bit lower on your hip for show… you think.

“I'll make mine simple.” the smile that he gives your ex belongs to an anime villain.  “I'll have a gin martini. Hendrick's if you have it. Stirred for exactly thirty seconds, not shaken. Extra cold. Lemon twist, no olives. In a chilled Nick and Nora glass if possible. If not, a coupe is fine. And could I get a sidecar of sparkling water with a lemon wedge? No seeds with the lemon, please.”

Your throat burns from trying not to laugh. Your ex looks at him and just stares for a second before asking “are you serious?” Minho's smile drops clean off his face, he stares, then asks, “do I look like I'm kidding?”

You're left alone in an instant. He starts making your drinks while you laugh into Minho's chest. 

“What the hell is that order?”

“My usual.” He teases. His hand smooths up your back now and you stand straighter at the feeling “Hm?”

He looks at you like he's actually trying to memorize something. His fingers tickle down your spine and you squirm a bit. “Sensitive?”

You hum a pathetic sound then try to hide it. Minho presses his fingertips a bit firmer, “Cute.” then his hand is gone. You almost protest the absence, almost grab his wrist, but then your drinks arrive. 

Your's first, then his. Neither of you look at your ex anymore. You still feel the ghost of his fingers tickling your spine and Minho's suddenly very interested to see where else makes a pretty girl squirm. 

“Ya’ll got a bathroom?” Minho asks, still looking at you for a lingering second before tilting his head expectantly at your ex. 

“Yeah.” He doesn't say anything else and Minho scoffs. 

“Finish the job, you look like you're quick. C'mon.” You laugh this time. Hard. So hard that you snort. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth and the corner of Minho's mouth turns up just a touch. He likes that more than he expected. 

Your ex hates this, his face says it all. “They're to the right down the hall.”

“Single stalls? One room?”

“Stalls.” he answers, fed up. 

“Am I bothering you?” Minho asks, voice a little meaner now. “Cause I can take my pretty girl to the bathroom and leave you to your lonesome.”

He glares between you and Minho, then again. “No sex allowed in the bathrooms.”

Minho hums, standing straighter with his hand nearly on your ass. “Who said anything about sex?” You're just impressed by how well he's showing off. This is money well spent. Minho fixes his jacket, flashing the Gucci stripes a bit and enjoying your exes glare. “But don't worry, she'll be quick.” You look up at Minho at that one. You'll be quick? Not him? You don't miss that distinction. 

Minho slaps some bills onto the counter and waves your boyfriend off. Once he’s gone he turns back to you, he doesn’t get to say a thing before you bring it up. “I'll be quick?” You turn into him, standing impossibly close now. Minho looks at you, eyes on yours. 

“If you're as sensitive there as you are on your spine, yeah, you will be.” You're sure your neck is starting to flush, ears too. It's hot, maybe it's your drink that you haven't even tried yet. You just need an excuse. 

“What's your plan here?” You bite your lip and Minho's eyes drop to it. He takes a second, just a quick quiet second before cupping your chin and tilting it up a bit. Just a bit. 

“The plan's to make you come.” Yeah. You're definitely flushed. “If that's what you want. I think I can make it worth your money.”

You finally lay a hand on his chest, messing with the buttons on his jacket. “You think you can?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, hums an amused laugh then looks out to the dance floor for a second, just a second. “Don't challenge me, I'll get carried away. 

Your hand slips inside his jacket, so close to the warm skin beneath his shirt. Teasingly close. “Maybe I want you to.” 

That does it. “We're going. Now.” He doesn't have to tell you twice. You let him take your hand again and lead you towards the hall opposite the bathrooms. You look back, confused.

“Where are we going?” He doesn't slow, just calls back an answer. 

“I'm not fucking you in a bathroom.” Aw, he's considerate. 

Minho leads you towards an empty VIP booth with a half cleared table. There's barely a curtain and it's busy enough that none of the drunk partygoers around you would be able to tell that you're ruining your panties. Minho slides in first, guiding you behind him and shifts you onto his lap. There's more than enough room and you're more than comfortable taking up space like this. 

“Be honest.” Minho looks up at you with eyes that shine unfairly bright. “Does this cost extra?” He scoffs, hands smoothing up your waist. He watches his fingers brush over the curves of your dress. 

“I'm not guacamole.” You laugh again, hard just like before. Minho smiles, actually smiles. “That damn laugh.” Then he's kissing you. His mouth seals over yours in a hot wet kiss that makes you moan into him. His hands slot on your waist and yours on his chest. Your hips move in small rocking motions with every kiss. You can't help it. 

Minho breaks the kiss first, laying his forehead against yours while guiding your rocking into full on riding. “Pretty girl.” He situated you so that you're straddling one thigh, hips rocking over the rough denim. Your panties are growing stickier by the second. The pressure feels like sex itself. “Pretty laugh makes me wanna hear her moan.”

“Wanna hear you too.” Minho smiles, kisses you harder just cause that was so damn cute of you.

“We're gonna take care of you tonight, kitten.” Then his hands start guiding firmer. Your sopping core is dragged forward, back, forward. Your panties roll to the side themselves and Minho presses up for perfect pressure. 

You swallow a sound and he squeezes your hip. “Nuh uh.” he starts bouncing his leg a bit, making himself vibrate against you. “Let me hear it, right in my ear, c'mere.” 

You lean close enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear, close enough to smell his shampoo and cologne—and you moan. Sweet and a little deep and Minho swears it's perfect. 

“Oh, baby.” He guides you faster, your grinding turns into dry humping and moans turn into whines. There's a wet spot on Minho's jeans from his cock leaking through layers of fabric, then another from your flooding cunt. 

“Minho—” that gets a groan from him. His hands cupping your ass now, kneading and squeezing while you whisper and babble against his neck. “I'm gonna cum.” 

He keeps pace, doesn't change it, something your ex could never seem to do. That alone makes you wet his jeans. It's a gush, not squirting but just as messy. Minho fucking loves it. 

“She's so messy.” You pull back and look at him with dazed eyes and wet lips. “Let's see”

His hand finds wet flesh under your dress, swiping his fingers over your clit, then small circles. Your spine bows, hips bare down, still sensitive from your high. You whimper, he hums. 

“Pretty kitty is sensitive, huh?” The tips of his fingers press inside then back. “Can you take two?” You nod before sense can catch up. 

Minho likes that. “Good girl.” Then he's pressing in. His fingers sink deep into gooey flesh and your mouth parts with no sound. It's sensitive. It's tight and burns so good. 

“Minho, m’ gonna make a mess.” He looks at you like he's waiting to be told when he asked. His fingers move once, pull back and sink. 

“Give me something to clean up.” It's over after that. He moves like he wants to see you split in two. 

You're straddling both his thighs now, spread open by him. The squelch your cunt cries out is obscene, so much so, that someone at a neighboring booth looks up to the ceiling like they heard it. You can't help but chuckle, and Minho stops completely. 

“Do that again.” You tilt your head, mutter a small “huh?” But he's already tickling your spine. You yelp and chuckle, nails digging into his shoulder.

Minho's teeth sink into his bottom lip and his fingers curl inside of you, deeper, perfect. “So tight when she laughs.” You're holding on by a thread. Your foreheads on his again, he's talking you through it with sweet names and praise. 

“That’s it, keep it up, baby.”

“Gonna make me cum, looking so pretty...”

“Gimme another one, kitty, c'mon.”

Your orgasm is creeping up on you, each and every methodical curl of his fingers is bringing you closer and closer, you're close, so close.

“Min—” you hide your face in his neck and let out a wet and long moan. Drooling a bit into the collar of his jacket. Minho's fingers keep going, helping you ride it out, but his rhythm falters. His breath catches and he groans something broken deep in his chest. “Did you just…”

His breathing picks up just a touch uneven. You pull back, look down, and both wet spots are spreading. He came in his jeans. Finished untouched. Unreal. Impressive. 

Minho looks up at you, eyelids fluttering like he's still a bit dazed when he says— “kiss me.” 

You do. You meet him in the middle and kiss him softly. Soft enough to hear his slight hum when your warmth settles. “Perfect.” He murmurs then kisses you again. 

“He's” kiss “an” kiss “idiot” 

That makes you chuckle against him, soft and sweet. Minho pulls back then, looking at you for a moment. You’ve cracked him a bit. He blames that laugh. He loves it a little too much for this to be fake. 

“So.” You murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose over his. “Venmo or Zelle?”

Minho hums, face serious, humorless. “Your number.” You lift your brows at him, smile a bit and he gives you that damn smirk. “I'll take that instead."

a/n: I have been soooooo in my head about this series. I hope that you enjoyed!

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