Taehyun never said I love you like a normal person.

He said it through tasks, timing, and attention. Always quietly folding the world around you so you never had to ask for anything. And you’d let him.

Truthfully, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d lifted a finger in his presence. You were independent when you met him—fiercely so. The kind of person who didn’t trust anyone to do things as well as you could, let alone take care of you. But Taehyun had a way of gently dismantling those walls, brick by quiet brick, until your hands were empty and your burdens shared.

There were meals cooked after long days where you both came home tired and frayed, only he wouldn’t let you touch the stove. Instead, he’d kiss your forehead and force you to sit pretty on the counter so he had a nice view while he worked. And when you were done eating? You wouldn’t dare attempt to help clean up. Not unless you wanted your hands swatted away and Taehyun sprinting upstairs to run you a bath, insisting you “go soak and relax, baby, I’ll join you soon.”

You’d never forget coming home from that terrible day, still raw from an argument with your best friend, and finding the apartment spotless, your clothes folded neatly on the bed, and a bottle of wine breathing on the counter beside your favorite takeout. No questions asked.

You couldn’t even recall the last time you carried your own purse. Traveling? He always found a way to juggle both suitcases without complaint, leaving your hands completely free.

And it wasn’t just the grand gestures. It was in the subtleties. The way his eyes always flicked toward you, searching for anything you might need. How he’d bring you water without being asked. Fix a squeaky cabinet at one in the morning because it annoyed you once. Rearranged his already busy schedule for yours, because stress on your shoulders was unbearable to him.

Not to mention in bed. God, the pillow princess he’d turned you into. Taehyun was as eager to please as he was allergic to being on the receiving end. The concept of letting you take care of him was laughable, sacrilegious, even. He never let you, not once. As if your love was something he didn’t need to feel. Only something he was born to give.

He never asked or expected. He only gave, and gave, and gave. But tonight, you decided to try anyway.

There he was now, creeping into the kitchen to make you a snack because he’d heard your stomach rumble while the two of you curled up in bed mid-movie. When you reached for him, questioning why he paused the TV, he only smiled softly, kissed your temple, and slipped out from under the covers.

For a moment, you lay in the dark listening: the clinking of metal, the click of the stove, the crinkle of packaging. Soon, the savory scent of your favorite instant ramen drifted down the hallway. It pulled you from bed like a thread tied to your chest. And the moment you step into the kitchen, your heart nearly stops.

He’s shirtless, facing away from you as he stirs the pot. The warm overhead light carves golden lines down his back. His shoulder blades shifting with every movement. Sweatpants hang low on his narrow hips, the waistband tugging slightly down on one side. He’s completely unaware of how devastating he looks, and that only makes it worse.

You swallow, mouth watering—and not just because of the ramen.

A few more steps forward and you're wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. Taehyun jumps, slightly startled, then relaxes into your touch with a smile. He sets the chopsticks aside and folds his arms over yours in a welcoming gesture.

"Hi baby," he hums with contentment.

"Hi," you smile into his skin, cheek pressed to the expanse of his back. "Smells good." A soft sigh leaves your lips, warm breath brushing his bare shoulder.

Goosebumps rise across his skin. He can feel the shape of you—your nipples faintly brushing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, your hips pressing gently to his. He knows without looking that you’re wearing nothing underneath but panties.

Still, he doesn’t move. He lets you hold him. But you? You’re already planning to do more than hold.

Your arms tighten, lips beginning to brush his back. You feel the tremor that runs through him, the tension pooling just beneath his skin. And still, he doesn’t pull away.

You trail your fingers along the firm plane of his stomach carefully, until your palms rest flat over the waistband of his sweats. You don’t dip beneath just yet, instead holding him there like he’s yours to touch.

He draws a controlled breath through his nose. “Baby…” he warns gently, voice catching in his throat.

“I know,” you whisper. “Just... let me.”

You turn him around by the hips, and Taehyun allows it, chest rising now with more visible effort. He leans back slightly against the counter perpendicular to the stove, arms going loose at his sides like he’s trying to prove something to himself and to you. But his eyes are already dark, focused on your mouth intently.

You press a kiss to his sternum. He gulps hard. Another kiss to the edge of his collarbone. And then, finally, you tilt your face up and catch his mouth with yours.

It starts sweet, nothing but melted sugar and warmth. His lips move slowly, savoring the feeling as he holds himself back.

But then your hands slip to the sides of his neck, pulling him deeper, angling his head how you want him. Your tongue drags against his with hot need. You kiss like you’ve forgotten what patience even means.

Taehyun moans softly against your lips, involuntarily. You feel his knees bend slightly, as if his whole body wants to follow yours.

You pull back, just enough to murmur, “Sit for me.”

Before he can question it, you gently push him toward the chair at the kitchen table.

He stumbles back a step and halts. His brows twitch with uncertainty. You watch the flicker in his expression: a flash of confusion and resistance. He’s never been the one sitting like this. He doesn’t really know how.

But you step forward, crowding him slowly, guiding him with your hands on his waist like you’re offering him something for once instead of taking. The backs of his legs hit the chair.

You don’t force him down, you just press lightly. He lets out a breath and finally sits.

For a second, Taehyun looks bewitched by you in the most gorgeous way. Hair tousled, chest rising and falling too fast, mouth pink and kiss-bitten. His hands clutch the edge of the seat like it’s anchoring him to the earth. Because he really might float away if he doesn’t hold on.

You climb into his lap with reverence, legs folding around him, your hands smoothing over his shoulders. His skin is flushed. His cock presses hard against you through the thin fabric of his sweats, and the friction alone has him sighing like he’s seconds from losing composure.

You kiss him again, filthier this time. Your hips roll forward, just enough to force a strangled noise from him.

“Let me take care of you for once,” you whisper into his mouth.

Your hand snakes its way down Taehyun’s abdomen. He’s so tense it’s almost laughable. He’s fighting within himself, wanting so bad to give in. But it felt unnatural.

“Baby… you don’t have to.”

His eyes are wired shut when he speaks. You don’t even grace him with a response. He sits there, feeling useless, feeling you place your lips in all the right places across his neck and jaw, fingers finding their way to cutely snake into his sweatpants.

But all he can think about is how you’re probably soaked under those panties. How you must be clenching around nothing, begging to be touched. You must want to be cared for, and oh how he wanted it to be him doing it. Suddenly, he can’t get the idea of you whining and cumming at his manipulation out of his mind.

That’s when the panic sets it.

Taehyun huffs, a sharp and frustrated sound that floods your ears, before gripping your waist so suddenly it makes you yelp. His eyes snap open, blown wide with want. So much want it nearly breaks you.

“I can’t,” he says hoarsely. “You don’t get it—I can’t.”

He lifts you with too much ease, standing abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Your legs tighten around him out of instinct. He presses your back to the kitchen table, firm but not rough, breathing hard. His forehead falls against yours.

“I’ll lose my mind if I don’t touch you the way I need to.” His voice is a growl now, trembling with restraint. “You don’t get to make me feel good and expect me to just sit here. That’s not how this works. That’s never been how this works.”

You see it all over him—how badly he wants the pleasure you’re offering, and how violently it clashes with the way he’s wired to love. It’s sexy, yes, but it’s also so deeply revealing you feel it split something open inside you. It's not that he doesn't want it. It's that he simply can't compute it.

His hands roam. One cups your jaw, the other sliding beneath your thighs. He’s already rolling his hips into you, chasing friction like it’s air.

“You’re not supposed to take care of me,” he hisses against your neck. “That’s not—what I’m made for.”

You gasp as his mouth finds the edge of your collarbone, biting gently. His grip on your waist tightens, and just like that, the control is back in his hands.

He rises slightly, pushing your shirt up over your chest to see all of you. Nipples flushed pink and hard with need, black underwear that he picked out already soaked and hugging the outline of your folds. He stares unashamedly like he always does. His hands are rough, tracing you from your ribs to your thighs as if reacquainting himself with your body.

"If I stop giving... and I let you give, it’s like I’ve failed you," he mutters, eyes glazed over with lustful thoughts of you.

While he's too busy eye-fucking you, you take your chance. You sit up slightly, just enough to reach for his cheek, grazing it softly.

“You haven’t failed anything. You love me so well. Let me love you back.” You attempt to bargain.

You rise further, closing the gap between you with a slow kiss, your legs looping around his waist to tug him closer, ankles locked. But he catches your wrist mid-motion, grinning softly, already seeing through your plan. Of course you’d try to flip the script.

But he can't take it anymore, not with your bodies this close. The food sizzles on the stove, but he doesn't care. His desire to serve takes over.

He scoops your thighs into his arms and drags you to the edge of the table, then drops to his knees. Your legs fall open over his shoulders. A breathy moan slips from his lips as he drinks in the new view—now eye level with your dripping cunt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I need to. Please—just let me.”

Your soaked panties cling to you obscenely, a clear outline of want pressed against black lace. He hums low in his chest, the sound nearly guttural.

Taehyun presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, this one open-mouthed and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make you mewl. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs to anchor himself.

He moans just from the scent of you. “Fuck." His voice is muffled, lost in the heat between your legs. “So wet.”

“Oh my god-“ You gasp as his tongue presses flat against the soaked crotch of your panties. Taehyun doesn't bother pulling them aside. No, that would be too simple. He’s decided you’re getting ruined like this: his mouth taking you through the fabric, letting every flick of his tongue sink through cotton and lace to where you need him most, and it works.

Your hips are arching up into him. But he’s relentless, hands sliding up to hold you still, palms splayed across your chest.

“Stay still,” his voice vibrated against you. “Let me do this right.”

He licks you long and slow, savoring the way your arousal has soaked through and made the panties cling to you like a second skin. Every pass of his tongue has your thighs trembling, your hands reaching blindly for something to hold.

You fist his hair. Taehyun groans—really groans—like your fingers pulling at his scalp could make him cum untouched. He presses his face deeper between your legs, nuzzling the soaked fabric as if inhaling you could give him life.

His tongue finds your clit. Even through the damp cotton, it sends a bolt of pleasure tearing through your spine. Your back arches and a cry escapes you. He hums again, pleased, adjusting the angle so he can suck gently, just enough pressure to make your vision blur.

“That’s it, baby,” he inhales deeply. “Give it to me. Let me have all of it.” He exhales just as deeply.

You don’t know if he’s talking about your moans, your pussy, your entire fucking soul, but you let him have it. Maybe this was your way of giving to him.

Taehyun keeps eating, savoring, and drinking you in through the delicate fabric until it's useless and he’s so hard in his sweatpants he could cry. One of his hands leaves your hip to slip between his legs, palming himself through the fabric just for a second, just enough to breathe again.

Then his mouth drags lower, tongue teasing the spot just beneath your entrance through the sheer fabric before returning to your clit. You're writhing now, moaning like a confession, your thighs trying to close in around his head but he won’t let them.

“You're almost there, aren't you?” His voice is noticeably ruined. “Cum for me. I want to feel you shake on my tongue.”

He licks harder, and you shatter.

Your orgasm hits like a wave. Crashing and sweeping through your entire body until your hands fall from his hair and you’re barely able to breathe, whimpering his name over and over.

Still, he doesn’t stop, not until your hips twitch from overstimulation and your whines turn into helpless little pleas for him to end it. Only then does he pull back, panting, chin glistening, and your panties practically glued to you.

He looks up at you like he’s blessed. This is the only thing he’s ever prayed to.

“Better?” he asks, voice hoarse, lips curled into the faintest, self-satisfied smirk.

You're so busy coming down from your orgasm, about to respond, that you don’t even realize he’s stripped you. Your soaked panties gone along with his boxers and sweatpants, discarded somewhere on the kitchen table.

When you glance down, he’s already between your thighs again, his cock hard against your leg. You’re still catching your breath, body trembling from your orgasm, but his hands are already moving.

He lifts one leg, then the other, hooking the backs of your knees over the crooks of his elbows like he's done plenty of times before. His chest brushes yours, folding you in half on the table, breath warm against your skin as he lines himself up.

“Let me give you more,” he murmurs, every syllable soaking with need. “Let me stay inside you until you forget your own name.”

Then he’s pushing in devastatingly deep. Your breath stutters, your head tilting back as he sinks you down onto him inch by inch. His grip tightens around your thighs, holding you to him while your body opens for him completely.

You can feel every inch of Taehyun. But it’s not just the fullness that makes you a whimpering mess, it’s the way he’s holding you there, pinned to the surface.

“Fuck,” Taehyun exhales, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel—Jesus.”

Your hands reach to grip his neck as he starts to move. Each thrust is so expertly precise. The slow drag out, the firmer press in. His rhythm is just right, but his breath is ragged. You cling to the edge of the table and to him, legs still lifted, knees trembling slightly where they’re slung over his arms.

Taehyun's hands grip your body in a way they've never held you before. And he groans every time he bottoms out inside you.

The kitchen is filled with the slick, inappropriate sound of him moving inside you. The quiet hiss of the stove behind you both now forgotten, noodles cooking past perfect. The smell of ramen and sex drifts through the air.

“Taehyun!” you gasp, head tipping back. This is his favorite view of you.

“Yeah?” he pants, not stopping once. “Say it again.”

You do. Over and over. Not just his name, but everything. What he feels like, how he fucks you, how he makes you feel like no one else ever has. You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. Only that it pours out of you in moans and broken whines.

You feel it building again, this time too fast and way too strong. Your body tenses around him.

He must feel it too, because he drops your legs from his elbows and folds you close, hips never faltering as he hooks his arms around your waist and lifts you clean off the table. You gasp in surprise, clutching his shoulders.

Now it’s chest to chest, his forehead against yours, your legs wrapped tight around his hips. Your nails score his back as he fucks you suspended in the air.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads, voice cracked as he slams you down onto his cock. “Give it to me one more time.”

You shatter for the second time in your little kitchen. This one rips through you harder than before. You cry out, whole body shaking and convulsing around him, just the way he likes.

“Fuckfuckfuck—fuck,” he hisses, every muscle in his body going rigid as he drives into you one last time and cums harder than ever. His hips falter, then still as he pushes in as deep as possible, moaning into your mouth as he buries himself to the hilt.

Silence slowly follows. Beautiful, comfortable silence.

Taehyun doesn’t pull out of you right away. He lowers both of you down slowly, your back landing softly against the now-cleared table. His cheek rests against your thigh, damp with sweat, lips parted as he catches his breath. His arms are still around your waist. You brush a hand through his hair, looking down at him.

“One day, I’ll make you let me take care of you.” You can't help but smile.

He half-laughs and murmurs back, “I'll die trying to stop you.”

You feel the slight ache in his words. Because behind them, you worry Taehyun thinks he’s unworthy of being taken care of by you. That’s the part that guts you.

You sit up just slightly, shifting your weight until you're able to reach the stove. The ramen is still there, now slightly burnt at the edges, thick with overcooked noodles. Laughing quietly, you dish some into a bowl, scooping a bite with your chopsticks and blowing to cool it down. When you turn back and offer it to him, he almost hesitates.

But eventually Taehyun lets you. He opens his mouth, and you feed him. He chews, swallows, then drops his forehead into your neck with a sigh so deep as he relaxes into your warmth.

This is the kind of peace he’s never allowed himself. But tonight, just for a moment, he does for you.

tags: @bunnysoonie @zznblr @another-lemon-tree @gyudollies @beomgyusluver @dawngyu @boba-beom @taebatu @simpforseoho @beestvng @yyeonbinn @chubichubs @jooyeonsvape @txt-thelmi @zorange13 @jellyyjn @frenziedpiratetrap @gardnhee @txtsdoll @annovaz @morguebounddoll @melmochii @yunhorights @saccharinezennie @gyutaepie @313hwa @tyuncloudreamy @ijustwannareadstuff20 @bamtor1sss @iyoonjh

"what's wrong, kitty?" you ask, setting your book aside. he's been like this all evening, rubbing against your leg during dinner, mewling under his breath.

san crawls closer, the bell on his collar tinkling with each movement, stopping at your feet. "please.. i need you," he murmurs, voice low and breathy. his cheeks flush pink as he nuzzles into your thigh, the soft fur of his ears brushing your skin, "wanna ride you so bad.. been thinking about it all day."

you reach down, fingers threading through his hair, scratching gently behind his ears. he leans into it, purring deep in his chest, the vibration rumbling against your leg. "yeah? my needy little cat wants to bounce on my strap?" you question, watching his pupils dilate.

he nods eagerly, tail curling around your ankle, "yes, please. i'll be good."

you stand, pulling him up with you, leading him to the bedroom. you instruct him to wait on the bed, and he obliges, kneeling with his hands in his lap.

you strip down slowly: your shirt sliding over your head, shorts and underwear pooling at your feet. san's breath hitches when you grab the harness from the drawer, adjusting the buckles tightly against your hips and thighs. you lube up the strap, the slick sound filling the quiet room, causing san's ears to perk up, tail swishing as he whines.

"patience, kitty," you say, glancing at him as you secure the last strap. you climb onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard, patting your lap, "come here."

san strips out of his clothes with shaky hands, his skin smooth and warm. his cock is already hard, curving up against his stomach, leaking at the tip. he climbs onto the bed, straddling you lap, the bell on his collar jingling sharply as he positions himself.

you guide him slowly with one hand on his hip, the other holding the base of the strap. it presses against his entrance, and he gasps as the tip slides in, stretching him open inch by inch. "feels so full," he breathes, bottoming out with a soft whine.

"that's it, kitty. ride me like you wanted." your hands rest on his hips, his muscles tensing under your palms, thighs tremoring slightly.

he starts moving slowly, lifting himself up and dropping back down with a wet slap. the bell jingles with every bounce, his ears twitching as his claws scratch your shoulders.

he picks up the pace, hips rolling in tight circles, trying to find the spot inside him that makes his toes curl. "ah-! feels good," he pants, voice rough. his tail lashes behind him, his abs flexing with each thrust.

you slide your hands up his sides, thumbs brushing over his nipples, causing him to arch into your touch. "keep going," you murmur, voice soft, "show me how much you need it."

he nods frantically, bouncing faster as his breaths come in short gasps, skin slick with sweat.

his movements begin to falter, his thighs trembling as his muscles give out from the effort. he slumps forward, forehead falling against your shoulder. "c-can't.. too tired," he sobs, tears welling up in his eyes, "wanna cum so bad. please, help me.. hurts to stop."

his cries tug at you, tears dampening your skin. you wrap your arms around him, flipping him over onto his back in one smooth motion. he lands with a gasp, legs spreading automatically, tail thumping against the sheets.

"i've got you, sweet boy," you murmur as you pin his wrists above his head, pushing the strap back in hard and bottoming out in a single thrust. he cries out, back arching off the bed, the bell jingling softly.

you set a brutal pace, the strap hitting that spot inside him over and over, the bed creaking loudly as san's whimpers turn into throaty moans. "ah-! like that, please- harder-" he chokes out, tears streaking down his cheeks, ears pinned back against his head.

you lean down, mouthing his neck just below the collar, sucking a mark into the soft skin. he keens, legs wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, heels digging into your back.

"too much- gonna cum, please," he begs, voice cracking. san clenches tighter around the strap, body shuddering as every muscle tenses and quivers.

you release his wrists to grip his thighs, spreading him wider and fucking into him with everything you've got. "cum for me, kitty," you say, thrusting harder, grinding against his sweet spot.

san falls over the edge with a cry, body tensing as cum spills over his stomach in hot spurts, the bell of his collar jingling in tune with his trembling body.

you slow down gradually, pulling out gently once he stops shuddering, gathering him in your arms. he nuzzles into your chest, purring faintly as his body slumps against you, warm and heavy. "thank you," he whispers, voice sleepy and slurred.

Usually, your periods didn't hit you that hard, but this time around, it was like you were being stabbed in the uterus over and over again. Your entire body was aching like there was no tomorrow, and you truly thought it was going to be over for you because no matter what you did, you were in a world of pain. Hot packs didn't help, painkillers didn't help— nothing was working to alleviate your pain. So, you just curled yourself up into a ball and hugged a pillow to your body while burying your face in the pillow.

"Baby?" San asked as he approached you on the bed slowly from behind you. "Are you okay?"

"No," you mumbled into the pillow. "I wanna die."

"Don't say things like that, baby," San said with a frown.

"How about I kick you in the balls, then you talk?" you couldn't help but retort. "You would wanna die, too, wouldn't you?"

San shivered at the thought of anything hurting his crotch. He shook his head to keep himself from derailing from his original thought and said, "Well, I'm here to help you, baby. Can I do anything else to help you?"

You tried turning to face him, but your back was so sore that it hurt when you moved even a millimeter. Still laying on your side, you grunted in slight pain as you pulled your shirt up slightly and asked, "Can you massage my back for me please? My lower back?"

"Of course I can," San replied.

San knelt on the bed, his knees on either side of you at first as he waited for something, although you had no idea what until he spoke again.

"Shouldn't you lay on your stomach for me to massage your back, baby?"

You huffed in frustration, but before you could even contemplate turning, San said, "Never mind. Don't move— I think I can still massage you well from the side."

"You sure?"

"Yes, baby," San said as he left a light kiss on your temple. "I want you to feel comfortable."

San ended up lying on the bed right behind you, his warm hands resting on the small of your back. He pressed his thumbs into the dimples on your back, and you groaned. It was still painful, but the pressure from his thumbs did alleviate some of the pain, so it was worth the momentary suffering.

Every time San pressed his fingers into your back, you groaned and sighed, the massage actually working better than the hot pack did. You found yourself pushing your body towards his magic touch, sighs of pleasure tumbling out of your mouth as his massage continued.

What you didn't realize, though, was that San was getting harder with every passing second because your moans were incredibly sensual. He knew that you were in pain and suffering because of your period, but he so badly wanted to fuck you in that moment because you sounded so fucking sexy to him with your constant moaning and groaning.

Now that the dull, throbbing pain in your back was slightly relieved, you felt your breasts get more sore. You dropped the pillow you were hugging to the floor and tried to massage your own breasts, but your hands were too weak to get the same level of pressure that San was using on your back. So, you asked, "Can you... Can you also massage my breasts, please?"

"Of course, baby. Whatever you want," San murmured.

San's hands slithered up your shirt, his palms resting flat on your ribs, his fingers brushing your underboob. As he hugged you from behind, he pulled you closer to him, your back flush against his chest. He then gripped your breasts gently, his fingers pressing into your sore breasts and starting to massage them. However, when you moaned in slight frustration, he immediately used more power and gripped your breasts tightly. As he did so, his fingers brushed past your nipples, making you moan loudly and erotically as hell. Embarrassed, you covered your mouth, your face heating up.

"That was so cute, baby," San teased as he buried his face in your hair. "Can you make that noise again for me? Please?"

"N-No. Shut up," you rejected.

Despite you rejecting him, San was determined to make you moan like that again.

"S-Sannie," you moaned when his fingers started pinching your nipples. "I-I'm really sensitive right now, baby..."

"Do you want me to stop, then?" he asked you, his breath tickling your neck and his low voice tickling your brain.

"God, no... Don't stop..."

San chuckled. He pinched the slightest bit harder before tugging on your nipple. You arched your back and sighed sensually as he continued to tug. You reached back for his head and ran your fingers through his hair. You gripped the roots of his hair and tugged his head back slightly whenever he rubbed your nipples in his fingers.

Your eyes began fluttering the more he massaged, and you completely closed your eyes when you felt him begin to leave small little kisses in the nook of your neck. You were thoroughly enjoying his massage and got sucked into your own little world of pleasure, only for your eyes to fly wide open when he pressed his pelvis into your ass.

"Sannie, you're turned on right now?" you couldn't help but giggle as you asked.

You managed to reach back and cup his clothed hard-on in your hand, the man moaning slightly as you did so. His breathing hitched as he replied, "How can I not be when I'm touching you like this... And while you're moaning like that...?"

Finally, thanks to his hard work, your soreness was relieved just enough for you to turn in his arms. You palmed his cock over his pants and whispered, "How about I help you with this, then? It's my turn to help you, after all."

"Actually," San said slowly before gulping nervously. "I think there's a way we can help each other out, baby..."

"What do you mean?"

You were honestly left completely shocked when San suddenly got up from the bed and disappeared from your bedroom. However, moments later, San returned with a couple of towels and a condom.

"Do you think you can get off the bed for a second, baby?" San asked you.

"W-What— You can't be serious right now, San," you said in disbelief, your eyes wide.

"I read online that having sex on your period should help with your cramps," he explained to you.

"But— Won't the blood freak you out?" you questioned.

"It's a natural thing, baby. Why would I be freaked out?"

"It'll get all over you, and it'll stain the bed sheets! Also, it's dirty—"

"That's what the condom and towels are for," he interrupted you. "Don't worry, baby. We don't have to if you don't want to, but I think we could at least try it out."

Honestly, you had read the same information online about the benefits of having sex on your period, and it did cross your mind to ask your boyfriend to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but you didn't think he would be open to having sex when you were bleeding; so him being so willing to have sex with you on your period without you even asking kind of freaked you out a bit, and you would've probably pushed back a little harder had it not been for your hormones turning you on earlier when he was massaging your breasts.

You agreed, and San immediately set up the bed. He laid the towels down on the bed and removed the comforter and pillows to make sure they wouldn't accidentally get stained. He had you strip down to nothing before having you lay down on the bed.

As you laid on the towels, you were already worried about bleeding onto them, and you couldn't help but fidget. Noticing the slightly stressed look on your face, San quickly removed his own clothes and rolled the condom on his twitching, hard cock before straddling you. His fingers held your chin gently, forcing you to look at him as he lowered his body onto yours.

"Baby, don't think about it as blood. Think of it as lube, only red," he said calmly. "And if you're so worried about the color, then just close your eyes, okay?"

With a soft exhale, you nodded. Your eyes fluttered shut as San got closer to you, his lips meeting yours. He kissed you softly and slowly, your mind melting as his kisses got more sensual. You didn't have a single care or worry with the way San was kissing you in that moment, and you were so out of touch from everything else that you didn't realize he was rubbing the tip of his cock along your cunt.

San pushed his cock into you slowly but easily, his cock filling you up. You moaned against his lips, your hands clutching the towels underneath you as you started unintentionally getting nervous again. As a result, you couldn't help but clench your cunt, and of course, San felt your nervousness.

"Baby," San interrupted your chain of kisses with a soft sigh. "Relax..."

His hands reached for your arms. He brought them up and laced his fingers with yours. He kissed you again, and when he felt your cunt finally relax, he started moving. His waist rolled into yours slowly, and the dull pain you felt earlier started melting away thanks to the friction from his cock. You couldn't help but sigh with relief the more he moved in and out of you.

"You feeling better, baby?" San asked you, his forehead pressing against yours.

"A little bit, yeah," you admitted softly.

"Then, can I move a little faster?"

San lifted his face so he could look into your eyes. You opened your eyes and nodded before closing your eyes again— technically, San was blocking your line of sight, but you were still worried that you were going to see red, so you closed them again. San buried his face in the nook of your neck, his breath hitting your collarbone. He started rutting into you a little faster, making you sharply inhale and moan while exhaling.

The wet sound of his waist meeting yours repetitively was honestly freaking you out a little bit. No matter how you tried to think about it, you knew that the wet sound was not your arousal or lube, but before you could spiral thinking about it, San moved his lips to your ear, and he started whispering sweet nothings into your ear, drowning out the sound of him fucking you.

Your entire body started shifting along the towels as San not only sped up but started thrusting harder. He let go of your hands to hook his arms under your legs, pushing them upwards, easing the strain on your lower back as he quite literally bent you in half. You could hear him grunting and moaning softly in your ear with every thrust; you could tell he was close, and honestly, you didn't realize you were as well until he grabbed your breasts again.

San intentionally rubbed his fingers against your nipples, the pleasure from how sore they were building rapidly within you. It was when San rammed his hips into yours as hard as he could, hitting your cervix with the tip of his cock, did you cum. You moaned loudly and pushed your head back while arching your back as you came, San's cock still buried inside you.

As you came, you clenched your cunt tightly, giving San's cock the right amount of pressure for him to cum as well. He moved up so he could hold your waist tightly and thrust a couple more times into your cunt. He groaned and sighed, meeting your same decibel as he filled the condom he had on his cock with his seed. Hs cock twitched and throbbed inside you as he finished, and he dropped his head back into the nook of your neck.

The two of you were breathing heavily at that point. You remained in a puddle on the bed as San got up to take the condom off and properly dispose of it before returning to your side. He wiped his fingers on one of the towels as you finally reopened your eyes to look right into his eyes, still afraid to see the damage done from him fucking you during your period.

"We should get cleaned up, baby," San said. "Why don't I help you?"

San tucked his arms beneath your back and legs, lifting you off the bed. You held onto his shoulders as he walked you to the bathroom.

"Besides," he continued. "We could always go for round two in the shower. Right, baby?"

the room is dim, save for the soft glow of a lamp spilling across the floor. yeosang stands in front of the mirror, feet shifting nervously on the carpet as his fingers twist in the hem of the pleated skirt you picked for him.

it's short, a dark color that makes his skin look like porcelain. every little movement makes the fabric flutter against his thighs, teasing the fact that he's wearing nothing underneath.

"look at yourself," you murmur, pressing your cheek to the smooth skin of his hip. "see how pretty you are like this?"

yeosang stares at his reflection with flushed cheeks, thighs trembling slightly. he's already half-hard under the fabric, twitching under your attention.

you slide both hands up the backs of his thighs, pushing the skirt higher until it bunches uselessly around his waist. his cock hangs heavy between his legs, the tip glistening faintly in the low light.

"fuck.." he breathes, looking away from the mirror.

you hum in approval, nosing along his hip before dragging your tongue up the underside of him, letting spit pool and drip down the shaft. his knees buckle a little, one hand flying to the mirror to steady himself, fingertips smearing the glass.

"keep your eyes on us," you tell him, voice muffled against his skin. "watch how desperate you look when i'm taking care of you."

you wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently, enough to make his hips jerk forward, a broken moan falling from his lips.

you pull off with a wet pop, letting strings of saliva connect your mouth to his cock, "you're so pretty when you're leaking for me, sangie."

you give him another slow lick, flattening your tongue against the head to coax out more precum before taking him deeper, your nose brushing the soft skin above his cock, the fabric of the skirt brushing your forehead.

yeosang's head is tipped back, little gasps falling from his throat as his hips jerk forward in tiny thrusts he can't control, the skirt fluttering with every movement.

"oh- oh god-!" he whimpers, his free hand flying to your hair to ground himself.

you pull back, lips brushing the slick head, "tell me how it feels, pretty."

'feels- feels like i'm gonna die," he whines, voice trembling. "feels so good- please- don't stop-!"

you reward him by swallowing him down again, your lips kissing the base as your throat flutters around him. his hips stutter, thighs shaking, causing the pretty skirt to sway.

you let him use your mouth for a few shallow thrusts before you pull off completely, replacing your mouth with your hand. you stroke him slowly, dragging your tongue over the head while your hand twists.

yeosang's eyes are glassy, pupils blown as his mouth falls open, drool escaping the corner of his lips. "gonna- gonna cum," he chokes out, voice wrecked, "please- please let me-!"

you take him back into your mouth, one hand cupping his balls while the other grips his hip under the skirt, holding him still so you can work him relentlessly.

he cums with a sob, cock pulsing hard against your tongue, spilling hot down your throat. you swallow every drop, milking him through it until he's whimpering from overstimulation, legs trembling uncontrollably.

you pull off, pressing a soft kiss to the tip, then another to the inside of his shaking thigh.

These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.

Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.

It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.

“Oh, I like this one.”

You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.

Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”

You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.

“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.

It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.

Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.

It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?

Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.

You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.

“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.

“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.

“My name is Chan.” He says.

You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.

“May I come in?”

Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?

“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.

The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”

Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.

“I’m your husband.”

You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.

“Excuse me?”

He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”

You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.

“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”

You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.

“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”

You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.

“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”

You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.

You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.

But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.

There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.

‘You have my fur. You bought it.’

As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.

Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.

[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?

You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.

He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.

“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

He nods. “I can’t leave.”

The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.

“Get up. Come on.”

He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.

He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.

You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”

He nods.

“And you’re… a selkie?”

His nod is even more vigorous this time.

“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”

You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”

You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”

He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.

“You bought my fur.”

You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”

He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.

“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”

Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?

The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.

You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.

“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”

While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”

You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.

God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.

“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”

His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.

…………………………………….

You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.

You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.

“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.

“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”

He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.

When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.

“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.

Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.

“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”

Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.

With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.

Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.

Your life changes as the weeks go by.

Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.

You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.

That becomes a daily occurrence.

A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.

A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.

You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.

“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.

You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.

The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.

You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.

Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.

He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.

“Okay.”

He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.

“Would it be better without this?”

You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.

Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.

“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”

You crack a little smile at the comparison.

“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”

His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.

“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”

You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”

Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”

You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.

When was the last time you were truly happy?

When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.

It still makes you smile.

“You make me happy.” You say.

His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.

“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.

With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.

“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.

You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”

You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.

Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.

It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.

“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.

“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.

God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.

He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.

Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.

He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.

Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.

“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”

You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.

He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.

“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”

You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.

“Yeah.”

He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”

The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”

Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.

He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.

“There,” you gasp, “right there.”

He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.

It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.

He’s a vision.

You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.

“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”

You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.

“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”

“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.

Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.

“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”

“Inside….?”

It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.

“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.

“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.

“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.

The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.

The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.

“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.

“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.

“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”

He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.

“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”

It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.

“Off.”

He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.

Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.

Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.

“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”

He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.

“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.

Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.

He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.

“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”

“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.

You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.

“Can I lick you again now? Please?”

You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”

“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”

Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.

Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.

You lay sprawled beneath him on the rumpled sheets — utterly fucked out yet aching for more — body a canvas of exhaustion and ecstasy. Every nerve ending alight from the previous rounds where his cum had painted your thighs and belly, now mingling with the slickness dripping from your swollen folds onto the mattress below.

“So wrecked and still begging for it," he rasped, his voice a rough vibration that made your toes curl. 

Your wrists chafed against the leather of his belt binding you to the bed rails. It left you wholly at his mercy, the restriction heightening your desperation to run your fingers through his dark hair or trace the hard lines of his torso. Poor you, couldn’t do all that, so all you could do was moan — a needy, broken sound that echoed off the walls as his hot breath ghosted over your cunt. 

You found yourself in discomfort and delight simultaneously from overstimulation when Hyunjin descended again, mouth capturing your pussy with a filthy, unrestrained hunger that made your hips buck against his face for more friction. He lapped at your overstimulated entrance with broad strokes of his tongue, delving deeper over and over and over again, gathering your juices, sucking at you, his nose brushing against your nub this way and that, like pinpricks of molten lava in your veins. He was eating you out like a man starved despite making you cum on his tongue plenty of times previously tonight. 

And as if fucking you with his mouth wasn’t enough, his fingers joined the assault — pumping slowly at first, then faster, stretching you out to draw out a string of whimpers that turned into full-throated cries. Curling them to hit that perfect spot deep within, more of your arousal coating his hand and dripping onto the bed and leaving you a quivering mess. He didn't let up, adding a third finger with a saccharine smile. 

“That’s it, my perfect girl,” he murmured against your flesh, the praise wrapped around your heart as much as it stoked the fire in your veins. “You taste so fucking divine, all messy and mine—let me hear those sweet sounds.”

The overstimulation was exquisite torture, his fingers pumping faster, stretching you wide as he sucked harder on your clit, the pressure building relentlessly. Your throat was hoarse from all the sound he had drawn out of you.

"You want to touch me so bad, don't you? Tug my hair while I eat this pretty pussy?" he taunted, dirty words spilling out like honeyed venom as his free hand gripped your thigh to hold you in place.

He was right. Your hands strained against the restraints, desperate to tangle in his hair and pull him closer, but all you could do was whimper pathetically, "Please... I need to touch you," your words dissolving into breathless gasps as another wave of pleasure crashed over you, your pussy clenching around his invading fingers, leaking even more onto the bed in a shameless, sticky mess.

“Attagirl,” he chuckled, kissing your clit.

Hyunjin pulled out his fingers to admire his work, using his index and ring fingers to spread your pussy wide open. Your body twitched uncontrollably, your tied hands pulling at the railing as he leaned in and blew a teasing stream across your heated core, making you bow your back off the bed and a desperate mewl escaping your lips. He cooed softly, his eyes locked on yours with that intoxicating mix of dominance and adoration.

With evident satisfaction, he pushed his thumbs into your juicy hole and stretched you open even wider. A hot glob of his spit landed perfectly into the depths of you, the warm sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body and mushed out senses. You cried out, the filthy act heightening the intimacy and thrill through you both until it felt like he was claiming every inch of you — marking you as his in the most primal way. Your hips kept lifting toward him as if craving more of his debauched attention. 

Grinning at your reaction, Hyunjin pulled one thumb free and brought it to his lips, cleaning it with a savoring swipe of his tongue and satisfied hum, the taste of your combined arousals making his cock twitch visibly. That same hand then wrapped around his throbbing cock, veins pulsing along its length, and lined it up with your slit. With a powerful snap of his hips, he buried himself deep inside your welcoming heat, filling you completely. The sudden invasion drew a guttural cry from your lips. 

"You're so goddamn tight, even now—gonna make you come again, soak my cock like the greedy little thing you are."

At the same time his other thumb pressed into your mouth. You complied eagerly, your tongue swirling around his thumb as if it were another part of him. The dual invasion was overwhelming in its intensity. The wet downright sinful squelching sound of his thrusts resonated through the room, combining with his high pitched moans and your whimpers.

He fucked you hard and deep, his free hand splaying across your abdomen to press down, amplifying every thrust to feel the way he filled you until you felt the pressure coil impossibly tight. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned, his pace relentless.

Your body spasmed in waves of ecstasy until you were squirting around him in uncontrollable waves when your indefinite number of orgasm hit you. Your moans were reduced to muffled whimpers against the pad of his thumb pressed on your tongue, drool dribbling down the corner of your parted lips.

Chanting his name over and over again in a blabbering mess of pleas and gasps, the last bit of your theoretical sanity slipped away when he came inside you in a hot, flooding rush that filled you to the brim yet again, his load oozing out in thick waves that seeped out around his shaft. 

Your thighs ache. Your body trembles with restraint, with the desperate need to move, to grind down, to do something to relieve the pressure building inside you. But Hyunjin hasn’t given you permission.

And you know better than to break first.

His free hand rests lightly on your hip, his grip absentminded, barely there. It’s not restraining you—no, the restraint is entirely invisible, woven into his soft-spoken warnings, in the way he tilts his head and watches, in the way his fingers trace slow, mindless shapes over your skin as if he isn’t completely destroying you from the inside out.

You swallow hard, shifting the smallest amount—so little, so careful—just enough that you can feel the full, devastating weight of him inside you.

Hyunjin exhales through his nose. His fingers twitch at your waist, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He just waits.

You freeze, caught in the stillness.

Then, slowly, his lips part. “You can wait a little longer for me, can’t you?” His voice is warm, affectionate, entirely unfair. “I’m almost done.”

A sharp, frustrated breath escapes you. Almost done? He’s been almost done for what feels like eternity, his strokes slow and careful, his focus lingering between the painting and you.

“I—” Your voice breaks, a breathy little sound, your whole body betraying you. You clench around him involuntarily, desperate for anything, and that—that—gets a reaction.

His breath stutters. His grip on the brush tightens.

But still, still, he doesn’t move.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone softer now, his hand dragging lazily down your thigh, “are you struggling?”

You glare at him through half-lidded eyes. “You know I am.”

Hyunjin smiles. It’s indulgent, amused. Cruel.

“I know,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies you. His fingers trail higher, his touch featherlight, teasing. “But you look so pretty when you try so hard for me.”

You whimper, gripping onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin. It’s unbearable—the stretch, the lack of friction, the way your body screams for more, for movement, for something that will finally, finally give you the relief you need.

And he’s just watching, completely unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

You can’t take it anymore. You shift again—just barely, just enough to make yourself gasp, just enough to make his breath hitch.

This time, Hyunjin does react.

His fingers tighten against your hip, holding you still. “Baby.” A warning, light but firm.

You bite your lip so hard it stings. You feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

“Hyunnie, please—”

Hyunjin hums, low and thoughtful, dragging his fingers back up your thigh in a lazy, absentminded path. His gaze flickers toward you for only a second before returning to the canvas, his brush gliding over the stretched fabric in slow, careful strokes.

“Please what?” His voice is a whisper, warm and lilting, an artist admiring his muse. “You know I don’t like unfinished sentences.”

You shudder, your entire body burning with the need to move. He’s so deep inside you, pressing against something devastating, and yet he offers you nothing—no friction, no relief, just this. The unbearable fullness. The simmering, torturous heat.

You try again, your voice thinner now, desperation bleeding through. “Please let me move.”

Hyunjin’s brush pauses mid-stroke. His fingers tighten slightly on your hip. And then, slowly, agonizingly, he exhales.

“Mm.” He tilts his head, pretending to think it over, but you already know the answer before he speaks. “No.”

A strangled whimper escapes you, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as you physically tremble in his lap. Your entire body is screaming for release, for movement, for anything that will ease the pressure coiling hot and tight in your stomach.

Hyunjin presses a kiss to your temple—soft, sweet, utterly insufferable.

“I’m almost done,” he murmurs again, the same words he’s been repeating for what feels like hours. “Be good for me a little longer, yeah?”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to ride him until you break apart completely.

Instead, you whimper into his skin, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him involuntarily.

His breath stutters. His fingers flex against your hip. That—finally, that—gets a reaction.

And you know, then, that you have a way out.

Hyunjin is patient. He is teasing. But he is not immune to you.

So you do it again, deliberately this time—tightening around him, pulsing, squeezing. A quiet, choked breath escapes him, and you feel the shiver that runs through his body.

He stills.

Then—so soft, so dangerous—

“Baby.”

You shiver. “Hmm?”

His hand slides up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to meet his gaze. His lips are parted slightly, his breathing slow, measured—but his pupils are blown, his own restraint stretched thin.

He wants you.

You bite your lip, lashes fluttering as you clench around him again.

Hyunjin’s fingers tighten in your hair. His jaw ticks. “Are you trying to test me?”

You blink at him, all wide-eyed innocence, but he sees right through it.

“Sweetheart,” he exhales, dropping his brush entirely, his hands suddenly everywhere—gripping your hips, splaying over your thighs, sliding up your spine in a slow, possessive drag. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be very gentle with you.”

You whimper, the heat in his gaze making you shudder. “Maybe I don’t want you to be gentle.”

Hyunjin exhales sharply, his hands flexing against your hips, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in. Instead, his grip turns purposeful, heavy—holding you in place like a warning.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your temple, his voice almost affectionate. “I did say I was almost finished.”

The words make you want to scream. You don’t even know if he’s talking about the painting or you anymore—both of you stretched thin, teetering on the edge of something unbearable.

You squirm in his lap, a tiny, minuscule movement, but it’s enough—enough to make you gasp, enough to make him inhale through his teeth.

Hyunjin’s fingers dig into your hips. “You’re not listening.”

You whimper, fingers curling into his shoulders, your body trembling with the effort of holding still. “I can’t,” you whisper, voice breaking on the edges of desperation. “I need to move. Please—”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker down, watching the way you pulse around him, how your thighs quiver where they bracket his hips. He inhales through his nose, slow and measured, as if he’s debating something—but then his grip on your hips softens, his thumbs smoothing over your skin in a lazy, indulgent stroke.

“You really are something else,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So pretty like this. So desperate.”

Then he leans back.

His hands slide from your waist to rest on his thighs, relinquishing control entirely. His long, lean frame stretches out against the chair, his head tilting slightly as he watches you, his expression unreadable.

“Go on, then,” he murmurs. “Since you need it so badly.”

You hesitate for only a second, your thighs burning, your body trembling—but Hyunjin just tilts his head, watching you with heavy-lidded amusement, like he knows you’re about to lose yourself completely.

And he’s right.

You shift, adjusting your position, your breath hitching as you sink down again, taking every inch of him. The stretch is so deep, so consuming, slick pooling between your thighs as you grind down experimentally, rolling your hips just enough to make yourself feel it.

Hyunjin exhales hard through his nose, his fingers twitching against his thighs, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He just watches. His chest rises and falls steadily, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as his gaze remains glued to where your body stretches around him, glistening, dripping, taking him so well.

“God,” he breathes, voice thinner now, his restraint stretched razor-thin. “Look at you.”

You whimper, your movements growing bolder, more desperate. Every drag of his cock against your walls sends another shiver through your frame, the friction so thick and wet, the slide so obscene it fills the air with slick, messy sounds.

Hyunjin groans, his head tilting back slightly, throat bobbing. “Fuck, baby—”

Your thighs shake as you lift yourself just enough before sinking back down, taking him to the hilt, your walls fluttering around him uncontrollably. The pleasure is dizzying, overwhelming, your body locking up as you brace yourself against his shoulders, as you grind down and chase it, as you use him just like he’s letting you.

Hyunjin’s hands tighten into fists against his thighs, his jaw clenched, his self-control hanging by a thread. His cock twitches inside you, every squeeze of your walls pulling another quiet groan from his throat.

“Such a messy girl,” he exhales, eyes flickering between your soaked, swollen cunt and the desperate look in your eyes. “So greedy.”

You can’t even respond—you’re too far gone, pleasure ripping through your veins, your rhythm turning frantic. You ride him faster, harder, your thighs trembling as you drag yourself up and down his cock, using the thick stretch of him, chasing your own ruin.

Hyunjin lets you.

Hyunjin lets you take and take and take.

Lets you chase the high he’s denied you for so long, lets you grind down in messy, desperate rolls of your hips, lets you use him until your thighs tremble violently from the effort.

He’s still so composed—leaned back against the chair, watching through hooded eyes, his hands resting lazily against his thighs like he isn’t buried to the hilt inside you, like he isn’t being squeezed so tight he can barely breathe.

You feel filthy. You feel worshiped.

Your hands slip down from his shoulders to brace against his chest, your nails biting into his skin as you lift yourself just enough to let him drag against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “Such a spoiled thing,” he murmurs, his voice slow, syrupy, thick with amusement and something darker. “Cried and begged for it, and now you can’t even stop yourself.”

You shake your head, gasping, swallowing down the heat burning up your throat. “I—”

But there’s no air left in your lungs. No words left in your mind. Just the pleasure, the tension coiling tighter, your whole body trembling with the force of it.

Hyunjin watches you unravel, his gaze dark and hungry, drinking in the way you shudder and gasp, the way your slick coats his cock in a glossy sheen with every desperate roll of your hips. He lets you chase your high, lets you work for it, lets you fuck yourself onto him like you can’t get enough—like you never could.

And he knows you couldn’t.

His hands remain at his sides, fingers twitching against his thighs, his self-control hanging by a fraying thread. He could help you, could grab your hips and slam you down onto him like he knows you want, but he doesn’t. Because this? This is what you asked for.

You mewl, the burn in your thighs turning unbearable, but you can’t stop. Every drag, every shift, every tiny movement makes your vision blur at the edges, makes the coil in your stomach tighten into something searing and all-consuming.

And Hyunjin just watches. Watches with that dark amusement, watches like he knows you’re going to break soon, like he’s waiting for it.

“You’re shaking,” he muses, dragging a single finger up your thigh, featherlight and teasing. “Getting tired already?”

You are. Your legs feel like they’re moments from giving out, your muscles screaming with the effort of keeping your pace, of keeping the pleasure cresting higher, of chasing the high he left just out of reach for so fucking long.

“Hyunjin,” you gasp, your voice high and wrecked, pleading. 

His fingers tighten suddenly, gripping your waist hard—but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t help. Doesn’t give you what you want.

“What do you want?” he murmurs, his tone dripping with indulgence, with something so unbearably smug. “You’ve got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You let out a choked sound, frustration and pleasure warring inside you.

He tilts his head, watching the way your body trembles, the way your brows knit together, the way your thighs shake from the effort of keeping up the rhythm when he knows you’re about to give in.

“You’re so greedy,” he whispers, almost in awe, his thumbs pressing deep into your hips, holding you just so. “You beg and beg for it, and then you can’t even take it properly.”

You could cry.

Your body is so fucking close, your muscles wound tight, the pleasure flashing white behind your eyes. But it’s not enough—not when your legs are giving out, not when you can’t move properly, not when you need more.

And Hyunjin knows.

That’s why he’s smiling when he finally—finally—takes pity on you.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice soft but mocking. “Should I help you?”

You nod desperately, fingers curling against his chest, your breaths coming out in uneven gasps.

Hyunjin hums, dragging his hands down to your thighs, his grip firm, possessive. “Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly.

And then he slams you down onto him.

You muffle a scream into his shoulder, your whole body locking up as pleasure detonates inside you, as he thrusts up to meet you, filling you so deep it feels impossible.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his grip bruising now, his restraint gone, fucking up into you with slow, deep, devastating rolls of his hips. “Take it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You can’t even answer. You’re sobbing, gasping, moaning, pleasure tearing through you like a live wire, every snap of his hips making you shake, making your walls clamp down so tight around him it’s unbearable.

Hyunjin groans, his jaw tight, his eyes wild with something raw and needy as he fucks up into you harder, chasing your high, chasing his.

“Fuck—” His voice wavers, his fingers pressing bruises into your thighs. “Gonna cum, baby?”

You nod frantically, so fucking close, so fucking full, your entire body coiling tight, ready to snap—

Hyunjin’s hand flies to your throat, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him as he slams you down onto his cock one last time.

“Then come for me, greedy girl.”

It rips through you like fire, your whole body locking up as you come with a broken, desperate sob, waves of pleasure crashing over you so violently you think you might black out.

Hyunjin groans as your walls spasm around him, his own rhythm breaking, his cock twitching inside you. His grip tightens, his lips parting, his body stiffening—

And then he’s gone, his head tilting back as he spills inside you, a deep, shuddering moan tearing from his throat, his hips jerking up, burying himself deep as he fills you with everything he has.

The room is thick with heat, with the scent of sweat and sex, the only sound your mingled, heavy breathing. Your body feels boneless, exhausted, trembling in the aftermath of pleasure so intense it left you shaking. You slump against him, your forehead pressing into the crook of his neck, your lips brushing his damp skin as you inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself.

Hyunjin sighs, slow and content, his hands smoothing over your back in lazy, affectionate strokes. He shifts slightly, still buried inside you, still keeping you close.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the curve of your shoulder. “So, so good for me.”

You hum softly, too spent to form words, your fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes against his chest.

Hyunjin exhales a quiet laugh, his arms wrapping around you fully, holding you against him. “Tired?”

You nod against his shoulder, and he smiles.

“Guess I should really finish that painting now,” he muses, but his voice is warm, teasing, the weight of his hands on you making it clear he has no intention of moving just yet.

You huff out a tired laugh, your lips pressing against his skin in something close to affection.

“Later,” you murmur, your voice soft, sated.

Hyunjin smiles against your temple, holding you just a little tighter.

San all but traps you on the couch; kneeling in front of you with his arms around your hips. His chin rests on your thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. He starts nuzzling at your thighs, his eyes still locked on yours. Your mouth goes dry as you subconsciously spread your legs to give him more room.

He loosens his hold around your hips, his hands dipping into your waistband as he nips at your inner thighs. He helps you wriggle out of your bottoms, leaving you in just your underwear. His eyes burn into yours while his mouth finds your clothed clit. He lifts your legs onto his shoulders, lapping his tongue over your clit.

He watches your face change with such intensity that it makes you lightheaded. He keeps licking you through your panties, soaking the fabric through with your arousal and his spit. San pulls back, hooking his arms over your thighs to spread your folds apart. Your panties stick to you like a second skin, outlining your soaked pussy.

He holds you open while his mouth goes back to work, focusing on your newly exposed clit. The feeling is heavier now, stronger as his tongue presses against the sensitive bud. Your hands fist into the cushions, your eyes fluttering shut. San pulls away, not saying a word until you look back at him.

He dives back down without a hitch, steadying his focus on your throbbing clit. You're trying to keep yourself upright but he's getting you to your first orgasm quicker than you can think. Your head lolls back, making him stop again. You whine softly, peering at him with wet eyes. He's still not saying anything, just holding your gaze and getting back to work.

He's repeating the same routine; getting you to the edge, just to leave you hanging when your eyes falter. San is nothing if not persistent in the way he keeps building you up and breaking you down. And to think he can give you this much pleasure without fully stripping your clothes off is making you dizzy.

You're lost in your head, trying so hard to will yourself to keep your eyes on him. San can see that your eyes have glazed over, your body strung up high. He moves his hands to tug your panties to the side, holding your pussy open to finally let his tongue lap at your sopping cunt. The sudden shift in pleasure makes your back arch.

San holds your thighs tightly, keeping them open and on his shoulders while he sucks your puffed clit into his warm mouth. Your thighs are trembling on their perch, falling apart at the seams. San simply works you through it all, his aggressive sucking turns into softer kitten licks as he helps you down from your orgasm.

He's gentle when fixing your panties back into place and letting your legs down from his shoulders. He rested his chin on your thighs again, peering up at you with a triumphant smirk.

"Consider that my payback."

I lay there, aimlessly scrolling on my phone like I usually do before I go to sleep. No obligations. No responsibilities. Just an attempt at relaxation before I allow sleep to drag me under. I have put my phone down three times now, trying to find it in myself to fall asleep, but each time I am just not tired enough. 

Nobody to talk to, all of my friends have pretty consistent sleep schedules. None of them are really expected to be browsing social media at 1am on a Tuesday night. Just silence. It's kind of relaxing, the quietness of it all. 

San: Are you awake?

A second later:

San: Drive?

I’m barely halfway through brushing my hair out of my face when I’m already slipping on the first hoodie I can find. The house is silent except for the hum of the fridge downstairs, the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts echo. I move carefully, even though I technically don’t need to hide anything - I’m an adult, he’s an adult, and late-night drives have been our thing since long before graduation.

Still, something about slipping out at this hour feels… illicit.

The air outside is cold, the kind of cold that bites at your ankles even through thick socks. Streetlights buzz faintly overhead as I step onto the curb. The moment my phone buzzes again, headlights turn the corner -  familiar, warm, a low beam sweeping across the quiet neighborhood.

San’s car slows to a stop in front of me. I already feel myself exhale in relief.

He doesn’t usually get out to greet me. He never has. Instead, the passenger door unlocks with a soft click. I pull it open and slip inside.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and a little raspy. He’s got his hair pushed back, a few pieces falling forward in that messy, tired way. His hoodie is oversized, draped around him like it’s the only thing holding him together tonight.

“Hey,” I reply, closing the door. The heater hums softly. His music is playing low, something atmospheric.

“You good?” I ask gently.

He gives me a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just… didn’t wanna be alone.”

That answer usually means he’s been thinking too much again. Feeling too much again. I know the symptoms intimately, he and I have always been too intense for anyone else’s taste.“ Same,” I admit quietly.

He nods once, then puts the car in drive.

We don’t speak for a few minutes. We don’t need to. Streetlights slide across his face in orange sweeps, casting shadows that make him look older, almost hollowed out. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, but the rhythm is uneven. Something’s chewing at him tonight.

“San,” I say softly. “Talk to me.”

He exhales, a harsh breath through his nose. “Do you ever feel like you’re… off? Like everyone else is tuned to the right frequency, and we’re stuck on some broken one?”

My chest tightens. “Yeah. All the time.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Of course you’d get it.”

Then he cuts a glance at me - sharp, like he’s trying to see inside my head.

I look back at him. I don’t look away.

-

We end up at our spot.

An empty overlook on the edge of the city, a place we found junior year, back when ditching class to sit on the hood of his car felt like rebellion instead of burnout. The view hasn’t changed, the city lights have always looked like a reflection of some galaxy we’ll never reach.

San shifts into park, then leans his head back against the seat. His throat bobs with a swallow.

“You ever think we peaked in high school?” he asks quietly. “Not in a good way, in a like… life was simpler when we were just trying to survive the day kind of way.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “Or maybe we’re just in the in-between part.”

“That’s the problem,” he mutters. “It feels like nothing’s happening. Like I’m waiting for a version of myself that might not ever show up.”

“You already showed up,” I say. “You just don’t see it.”

His eyes flick to me again. There’s something raw there this time. Something cracked around the edges.

“Why does it feel like everyone else knows how to be a person except me?” he asks. “Like I’m… off-putting. Too much.”

I reach for his sleeve without thinking, fingers grazing the soft fabric. “You’re not too much. Not for me.”

He stares at me like the words hit harder than I meant them to. I retract my hand, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting in the dark.

Then - he reaches into the cupholder.

And pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

My breath stills.

“Since when do you smoke?” I ask gently.

He hesitates. His thumb taps once on the pack before opening it. “Since a few months ago.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

He laughs again, a small, humorless sound. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

I watch as he flicks the lighter. The flame casts a sharp glow over his face: cheekbones carved in amber light, lips parted. The cigarette tips with ember-red.

“You gonna judge me for it?” he asks, but the tone is light, almost teasing.

“No,” I say quietly, maybe too fast. “Just… surprised.”

He leans out the window slightly and exhales. Smoke curls out in a slow ribbon, illuminated in the glow of the dashboard.

It’s stupid, but my heart thuds at the sight.

He looks good like this. Too good. Like the version of him I’m not supposed to stare at.

San tilts his head back and takes another drag.

“You want one?” he asks, casual but not.

I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”

“Didn’t think so.”

But then he pauses.

“You want to try?” he asks, softer this time, less playful.

I look at him. At the faint tremble in his fingers. At the exhaustion in his eyes, dark and stormy under the streetlight glow.

“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “I want to understand.”

His breath stutters.

He shifts toward me slowly. He holds the cigarette out between two fingers, angled toward me, but there’s something intimate in the way he does it, like he’s handing me something heavier than nicotine.

I lean in. Our faces are too close.

I take a tentative drag, almost cough, and San laughs, but it’s soft, fond, gentle. He reaches out and rubs my back once, warm pressure through my hoodie.

The smoke burns but tastes warm.

When I exhale, I feel his eyes on my lips.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “It’s addictive.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I can see that.”

His jaw clenches, not out of anger, but restraint.

I hand the cigarette back. Our fingers brush.

He swallows hard.

For a moment, the car feels too small. Too warm.

We sit there for a moment. Him looking out the window, trying to gather his thoughts. Me, still thinking about the way he looked at my lips. With hunger. With desire. 

“Can I try again?” I ask, motioning toward the cigarette. 

San's eyes darken. He pulls the cigarette away slightly, shaking his head.

"No," he says, voice rougher than before. "You shouldn't."

My heart drops a little. "Why not?"

He takes another drag, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. The ember flares bright in the darkness between us. When he speaks, smoke curls from his lips with each word.

"Because I have something better."

I don't understand at first. Not until he shifts closer, the center console suddenly feeling like nothing at all. Not until his free hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing just below my ear.

"Trust me?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

I nod because I can't form words.

He takes one more pull from the cigarette, deeper this time, then stubs it out in the ashtray with careful precision. The loss of that small light makes the car feel even more private, more ours.

San turns back to me. His pupils are blown wide, catching the distant city lights. His thumb traces my jawline once, a question and a promise.

Then he leans in. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough that our noses almost brush. His breath ghosts over my parted lips, and I realize what he's offering.

"Open," he murmurs.

I do.

He exhales slowly, deliberately, and the smoke flows between us like something tangible. It fills my mouth, warm and intimate and dizzying in a way that has nothing to do with nicotine. I inhale it, tasting him in it, with mint and smoke.

My eyes flutter closed.

When I exhale, he's still there, so close I can feel his breath hitch.

"Again?" he asks, and this time his voice is wrecked.

"Please."

He reaches for the cigarette, lights it with shaking hands. Takes another drag. This time when he leans in, his forehead presses against mine first, grounding us both.

The second time is slower. More purposeful. He cups both sides of my face now, angling me exactly where he wants me. The smoke passes between us and I swear I can feel his lips trembling, hovering just a breath away from actually touching mine.

When I exhale this time, it comes out as a soft sound - half sigh, half something more desperate.

San pulls back just enough to look at me. His chest is rising and falling too fast. His eyes are searching mine for something, maybe permission, maybe a reason to stop.

-

San’s gaze is fixed on my mouth like he’s afraid it might disappear. Or like he’s afraid he’ll do something he can’t take back. His chest rises once, sharp, before he finally speaks.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, but his hands on my face don’t move an inch. 

I swallow, my pulse pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “San…”

He closes his eyes like the sound of his name hurts.

“You don’t get it,” he breathes. “I’ve been trying not to cross this line for a long time.”

“How long?” I whisper.

His eyes open. Dark. Conflicted. He doesn’t answer. Which is an answer.

My heart clenches. Warmth rises up the back of my neck. “San… you don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he mutters. “I’m trying to figure out how to stop wanting something I don’t deserve.”

I shake my head, barely moving in his hands. “Why would you think you don’t deserve me?”

His breath catches at the word me.

Then he breaks. Not dramatically - quietly. Like something finally snaps in a way he can’t hide anymore.

His forehead drops to mine again, softer this time. Less heated. More vulnerable.

“It’s because it’s you,” he says. “You’re the only person I’ve ever actually trusted. And I’m scared of ruining that.”

My fingers lift on instinct, curling around the fabric of his hoodie. The cotton is warm where his chest is, faintly damp with the tension he’s been carrying all night.

“You won’t ruin it,” I say.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” My voice is steady, even though I’m shaking inside. “Because if you ruin this, I ruin it too. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath stutters against my cheek.

Silence stretches again - heavy, too full, brimming with everything we’ve never said.

Then, his thumb brushes my lower lip. A ghost of a touch. Barely pressure at all.

But it sends heat all the way down my spine.

His voice is a whisper. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

“The smoke?”

His lips tilt into the smallest, most dangerous smirk. “You know what I mean.”

I exhale shakily. “Yeah. I liked it.”

His hand slides from my jaw to the side of my neck, fingers settling. Gentle. Careful. But claiming in a way that makes my breath catch.

“Do you want more?” he asks.

Not demanding. Not teasing. A genuine question wrapped in restraint.

I nod.

“Use your words,” he says softly.

My heartbeat slams against my ribs. “Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

San leans in, slowly, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away. But I don’t. I lean too. Both of us moving until the space between us shrinks into nothing.

His lips brush mine. Just once. A question.

I answer it by closing the distance.

The kiss is soft at first, barely pressure, more breath than contact. His nose nudges mine, and he tilts his head a fraction, deepening it just enough to taste, not devour.

His lips are warm. He kisses me like he’s memorizing something. A soft sound rises in my throat before I can stop it, and he reacts immediately - his fingers tightening at the nape of my neck, pulling me in closer, holding me there like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.

He tastes exactly how I’ve imagined. Something I think I’ve wanted longer than I’ve admitted.

The kiss breaks slowly, reluctant to stop. He stays close, so close that I can feel every shaky breath he takes.

“God,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I knew it. I knew I’d lose my mind if I ever kissed you.”

My cheeks burn hot. “San…”

“No,” he says quietly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Look at me.”

I do. His eyes are dark, but softer than I’ve ever seen them.

“You can walk away from this,” he murmurs. “You can pretend this never happened, and I’ll go back to being your best friend. I swear I will. Just say it.”

His jaw flexes. “But if you don’t…” His thumb sweeps my cheek. “…I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

I breathe. “I don’t want you to stop.”

The air leaves his lungs in a stunned, shaky rush.

He bites the inside of his cheek, overwhelmed. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I mean it.”

He closes his eyes, the word hitting someplace deep.

When he opens them again, they’re even darker.

“Then come here,” he murmurs.

His hand slides behind my waist, guiding me over the console until I’m half leaning into him. I brace one hand on the headrest behind him, the other curled into his hoodie.

He kisses me again, slow at first, then warmer when I respond. His fingers trace the line of my spine, stopping at the small of my back like he wants to pull me into his lap but doesn’t want to push.

His restraint is somehow hotter than if he had.

The windows begin to steam faintly.

I don’t know how long we kiss like that - soft, deep, lingering - every brush of his lips feeling like it rewrites the last few years. Like we’ve been orbiting this moment without realizing it, waiting for something to change.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is warm against my cheek. My throat feels tight.

Outside, the city lights flicker quietly. The air inside the car is warm, humming, heavy with everything we’ve crossed into.

San’s thumb strokes once along my lower lip. He kisses me again, gentler, tender this time.

His fingers rest on my thigh, warm through the fabric of my skirt. They don’t move. They don’t squeeze. They don’t wander. But the weight of them is enough to make every nerve in my body pay attention.

His hoodie smells like detergent and something faintly smoky, but underneath that is him, that warmth I’ve always associated with San. Comforting, familiar, grounding. But now that comfort feels charged, like there’s a wire running straight from his skin to mine.

His gaze drops to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. The air leaves my lungs.

Slowly, instinctively, his thumb begins to move, a gentle, unconscious stroke against the outside of my thigh. Back and forth. Barely pressure, but enough to send warmth crawling up my spine.

“San…” I whisper, not even sure what I want to say.

He leans in slightly, his forehead grazing mine. “I’m not trying to rush anything,” he murmurs. “You know I’m not like that.”

“I know,” I say.

“But you have to tell me if I’m crossing a line,” he adds, softer still. “I need you to tell me if I should stop.”

There’s something fragile in his voice. Something that feels like he’s fighting himself harder than he’s fighting the situation.

I shake my head gently. “You’re not crossing anything.”

His breath stutters, and he closes his eyes, trying to get a grip.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then his hand, the one on my thigh, shifts - just enough to slide a fraction of an inch closer to my knee. Slowly, with intention, San reaches up and cups my cheek. His palm is warm. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. I move toward him without hesitation.

He meets me halfway.

This kiss is deeper than the last, more certain, less testing. His hand slides back to my jaw, angling me the way he wants, guiding the kiss without dominating it. His other hand grips the side of my thigh, fingers spreading just enough to hold, not claim.

I gasp softly into his mouth at the contact, and he responds with a quiet sound, between a sigh and a restrained groan. The warmth between us spikes.

His fingers slide a little higher on my thigh.

Not high enough to cross a line.

Just high enough to ask a question.

I tremble, and he notices. His hand pauses.

“This okay?” he whispers against my mouth.

“Yes.” My voice is barely there. “I just… didn’t expect to feel all of this so fast.”

He presses his forehead to mine again, breathing heavily.

“Me neither,” he murmurs.

I intertwine our fingers and rest my head on his shoulder.

His answering smile is small, crooked, almost boyish. The kind of smile he’s never let himself show me before.

He lifts our joined hands to his lips and presses a single, soft kiss to my knuckles.

And somehow, it makes my stomach drop harder than any kiss tonight.

We stay like that for a long time.

Long enough for the heater to grow warm and steady, long enough for my breathing to match his, long enough for the world outside the fogged windows to feel distant and irrelevant.

Eventually I lift my head from his shoulder. The shift makes him tighten his arm around me before he seems to realize I'm just adjusting.

His eyes open slowly, heavy-lidded, warm in the dim light. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Just… wanted to see you.”

The corners of his mouth lift - not a full smile, but something small and soft. Something that feels like it’s meant only for me.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, amused.

“I know.”

He tilts his head, watching me back. “Why?”

Because you’re beautiful. Because you make me feel safe. “I like looking at you.”

San’s inhale is sharp, and his eyes flicker, surprise first, then darker, warmer, spreading through them like ink.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he says quietly.

“Why not?”

His voice drops to a low murmur. “Because I want to kiss you when you do.”

There’s no hesitation this time.

I reach up, fingers curling around the back of his hoodie, and pull him to me.

The kiss starts soft, it always starts soft,  like he needs that moment of gentleness, that grounding breath. But it deepens quickly, the warmth building between us, spreading through every place we touch. His hand slides from my arm to my waist, fingers spreading over my hip. The pressure is gentle but possessive in a way that makes my breathing change, I shift closer, practically climbing over the console, and he lets out a low sound - quiet, surprised, but undeniably pleased.

He pulls me into his lap.

Not roughly.  But with a firm, confident strength that sends heat rushing through me.

My thighs settle on either side of his, and his hands freeze on my hips for a second, like he’s processing what just happened.

“Are you sure?” he asks, breath warm against my mouth.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want to be close to you.”

His grip tightens,  just enough for me to feel it. His head falls back against the seat for one beat, eyes closed, breathing uneven.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, the word barely audible. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

I smile, and he opens his eyes again, wide, dark, hungry in a way he’s been trying to hold back since the first drag of smoke.

His hands slide slowly from my hips to my waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of my hoodie. Not lifting it -  just touching. Testing. Learning my reactions. I shiver, and he notices instantly.

“You cold?” he asks.

“No.”

His eyes flicker, understanding.

“…Good.”

He kisses me again. His hands roam higher along my sides, fingertips tracing the lines of my body through the fabric. Every slow sweep sends sparks through me. I kiss him harder, and he responds like he’s been waiting for it, one hand sliding up my back, the other settling at the curve of my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.

My fingers slip into his hair, tugging just lightly, and he groans, quiet, caught off guard.

He pulls back, breathless, forehead pressed to mine.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers.

“Do what?” I ask, breath uneven.

“That,” he murmurs, catching my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my palm. “I can’t think when you touch me like that.”

His thumb brushes my wrist as he lowers my hand, still holding it gently.

“You make me...” He trails off, eyes flicking somewhere between embarrassed and hungry. “You make it really hard to slow down.”

“We don’t have to rush,” I say softly.

He exhales shakily and cups my cheek. “I know. I just… want you. Badly.”

The honesty hits deeper than anything else.

I lean into his touch. “I want you too.”

His hands slide around my waist again, settling gently.

“Can I kiss you slow?” he asks.

The question melts something inside me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

He kisses me slow. Painfully slow.

His lips move against mine like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to memorize the shape of the moment. His thumbs stroke the sides of my waist in small circles, grounding my breathing, pulling me deeper into the warmth of his body.

I melt against him, fingers lacing into his hair again, softer this time. His lips part slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make my stomach tighten with heat.

His tongue brushes mine - barely there, gentle, teasing.

I gasp quietly, and he swallows the sound with another kiss.

He breaks away for just a breath, lips ghosting mine.

“You taste like the smoke,” he murmurs. “And like you.”

My cheeks flush. “Is that good?”

His thumb brushes my cheekbone.

“It’s perfect.”

I kiss him again.

This time, he tilts his head and guides me deeper, his hands steady on my waist as if keeping me anchored. The warmth between us builds, slow and steady, But we feel it. We both feel it. The car is warm. The windows are fogged. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my hands.

His lips trail down the corner of my mouth to my jaw, soft, careful, lingering like he’s testing every boundary with tenderness first.

“San…” I breathe out.

“Mm?”

“I don’t want tonight to end.”

He lifts his head, eyes searching mine.

“It won’t,” he says softly. 

He brushes my hair behind my ear, so gently it makes my chest tighten.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” he murmurs.

“Me neither,” I confess.

He tilts his head, studying me with that heavy-lidded intensity, like I’m something he’s afraid to touch but wants anyway.

“You look nervous,” he whispers.

“I’m not.” But my voice betrays me, soft, thin around the edges.

He smiles. Not his usual sharp grin, but something small and warm.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “Not with me.”

His hand slides up my back, fingers spreading between my shoulder blades. The pressure is soothing, steady.

“You’re safe,” he adds, quieter. “With me, you always are.”

I swallow hard.

Because I know he means it. And that scares me more than anything.

His eyes drop to my lips. His breath stutters.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“You don’t have to ask,” I whisper. His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me that last inch closer.

My fingers grip his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath his hoodie. Every tiny shift of his body sends electricity through my body. 

Then his hand slips under the hem of my hoodie. Not far. Just enough to touch my waist directly.

His fingers graze my skin, warm, calloused, tender. I inhale sharply, and he freezes, eyes darting to mine.

“Too much?” he asks immediately.

“No,” I whisper. “Not at all. It feels good.”

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose along mine, a soft, affectionate nudge that sends my heart tumbling.

“I want you to tell me something,” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“If I cross a line… if anything feels too fast… you tell me. Promise?”

His thumb strokes my waist, slow and comforting.

“Promise,” I say. “But you’re not crossing anything.”

His hands slide up my sides, fingers tracing the lines of my ribs through fabric, gentle, reverent.

Our lips connect again, a careful slide of his tongue against mine that has warmth pooling deep in my stomach.

I shift in his lap without thinking.

And he makes a sound -  low, sharp, strangled - straight into my mouth.

His grip tightens, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other clutching my waist. “D-Don’t…” he whispers, voice strained. “If you move like that…”

I freeze.

His forehead drops to my collarbone. He’s breathing hard, hands trembling faintly against my sides.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean-”

“No,” he cuts in, shaking his head against my shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…”

He swallows.

“I’m trying really hard to take this slow.”

I slide my hands up into his hair, fingertips brushing his scalp. He shivers. “You don’t have to hold back so much,” I whisper.

His hands slide down to my hips again, holding me still. Gentle. Firm.

“I do,” he says softly. “Because if I don’t…”

He looks up at me, pupils blown wide, lips swollen, breath unsteady.

“I won’t stop.”

My heartbeat jumps.

“San,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips brush his cheek. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His breath catches - a sharp, broken sound -  and his hands tighten just a little.

San's hand lingered on my thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles that sent sparks racing up my skin. The car was parked in a shadowed overlook, the city lights twinkling far below like distant stars, only intensifying the atmosphere. 

Eventually he leans back, enough for me to see his face. His eyes look darker in the low light, but softer around the edges, warm, melted, undone in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Can I touch you?” he asks softly.

“You already are,” I whisper with a smile.

He shakes his head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from my cheek.

“No… I mean - can I really touch you?”

My breath catches.

His fingertips skim along the side of my face, then down the curve of my jaw, tracing it gently. The touch is featherlight, careful, almost worshipful.

“I want to know what you like,” he says. “I want to learn you.”

The way he says it sends warmth curling low in my stomach, not rushed, not urgent, but deeply wantful.

I nod slowly. “You can.”

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing mine with the tenderness of a first confession. The kiss started soft, exploratory, his mouth moving against mine like he was savoring every second. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, waiting for my invitation before slipping inside, tasting me with deliberate care. I sighed into him, my hand rising to cup his jaw. His free hand cradled the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me close without demand.

Minutes passed like that, kisses deepening gradually, our bodies shifting closer. His thumb stroked my cheek, a soothing gesture amid the growing heat. Our tongues danced slowly, wet and warm, building a fire that simmered rather than roared.

His hand on my thigh inched upward, not grabbing but caressing, fingertips drawing lazy patterns on my inner skin. He paused at the edge of my panties, eyes searching mine for permission. I parted my legs slightly, a silent yes, and he smiled - that soft, knowing smile that made my heart ache. Hooking his fingers gently, he eased the fabric aside, exposing me to his touch. His fingers glided over my folds, finding the slickness there, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating through our kiss.

'You're so beautiful like this,' he whispered, dipping one finger inside me with exquisite slowness. I gasped, hips lifting instinctively to meet him. He moved it in and out languidly, letting me feel every inch, every ridge of his knuckle as it stroked my inner walls. Adding a second finger, he curled them upward, pressing that sensitive spot with gentle insistence. My juices coated him, easing the way as he built a steady rhythm - not frantic, but deep and purposeful, memorizing the way my body responded.

I reached for him, lifting his jacket over his head with trembling fingers, revealing the smooth planes of his chest. My palms flattened there, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath. He pulled the shirt off his shoulders, then helped me with mine, peeling it away to bare my breasts to the cool air. His mouth followed immediately, lips closing around one nipple with a soft suck. Tongue circled the peak lazily, teeth grazing ever so lightly, sending shivers down my spine. He lavished attention on both, alternating, while his fingers continued their slow dance inside me.

Pleasure coiled low in my belly, unhurried but intense. 'San,' I breathed, my hand in his hair, guiding him gently. He looked up, eyes dark with affection, and kissed his way back to my mouth. His thumb found my clit, circling it in feather-light strokes that made me whimper. The orgasm approached like a gentle tide, washing over me in waves. My pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing as I came, wetness flooding his hand. He held me through it, kissing my forehead, my eyelids, murmuring, 'That's it, let go for me.'

When the tremors faded, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste me. The sight made my core flutter anew. He unbuckled his belt with calm precision, zipper descending to free his cock. It stood thick and hard, veins pulsing. He stroked himself once, base to head, but his eyes never left mine. 'I want to be inside you,' he said softly, voice thick with need.

His hands roamed my body worshipfully - tracing my collarbone, cupping my breasts, thumbs teasing nipples back to hardness. Leaning down, he kissed me deeply as his cock nudged my entrance. Inch by inch, he pushed in, stretching me open on top of him with a burn that bordered on bliss. We both moaned at the fullness, pausing when he was fully bottomed out.

He stayed still, letting me adjust, our foreheads pressed together. 'You feel perfect,' he whispered, rolling his hips in the slightest grind. Then he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that dragged his length along every sensitive inch of my pussy. Each withdrawal left me aching for more, each plunge filling me completely. His pelvis ground against my clit on every inward stroke, sparks igniting with each connection.

Our bodies moved in harmony, finding a rhythm of meeting his upward thrusts with the gravity of my hips, skin sliding slickly with emerging sweat. He braced one arm beside my head, the other hand interlacing with mine, pinning it gently to my thigh. Kisses peppered my lips, my neck, my shoulder, soft and frequent. 'I love how you take me,' he breathed, pace unchanging, deliberate. 

Time stretched, the car a cocoon. His thrusts grew fractionally deeper, but never faster, building the tension exquisitely. My second climax built gradually, walls fluttering around his cock. 'Come with me, please' I pleaded softly. He nodded, angling his hips to hit that spot inside relentlessly. Pleasure crested, my pussy spasming in rhythmic squeezes, milking him. He buried deep, groaning as his cock throbbed, hot cum spilling into me in thick pulses. We shuddered together, holding each other close.

He didn't pull out, staying nestled inside as we caught our breath. Soft kisses resumed, lazy and affectionate. 'Backseat?' he suggested after a while, voice husky. I smiled, and we disentangled carefully, clothes shed completely in the process. Crawling to the spacious rear, he folded the seats flat, creating a bed of leather. I lay back, and he joined me.

Naked now, bodies pressed skin-to-skin, he kissed a trail from my lips down my body - pausing at breasts, navel, hips. Between my thighs, he parted me gently, tongue lapping at my folds with broad, flat strokes. He savored our mixed release, humming approval. Lips wrapped my clit, sucking softly while two fingers slid inside, curling slow. I arched, hands in his hair, but he took his time, drawing out my pleasure until I came again, softly crying his name. “Ah, San, god, just like that,” I whimper, eliciting a satisfied groan with vibration. 

Rising, he positioned himself, sliding back into my cum-slick pussy with ease. This time on our sides, facing each other, legs tangled. He thrust languidly, one hand cupping my ass, the other stroking my hair. Whispers of endearments filled the air - 'So good,' 'My love,' 'Don't stop.' Our mouths met in endless kisses, tongues mirroring the slow rhythm of his hips.

He rolled us so I straddled him, guiding my hips in a gentle rock. I rode him unhurriedly, grinding down to take him fully, clit rubbing his pubic bone. His hands explored, massaging my breasts, thumbs on nipples, then down to where we joined, fingers teasing my stretched lips around his shaft. Eye contact held, love evident in every gaze. Another orgasm rippled through me, pussy clenching, and he followed, filling me more. 

He just holds me, pulling me closer for a few moments. The car is still warm. The windows are fogged, the air thick with the faint scent of his cologne and the lingering sweetness of the heater. The world outside is nothing but dark sky and distant city lights, but inside the car… it feels like we created our own weather. 

San’s breathing is the first thing I notice.

Slow. Steady. A low exhale against my hair, like every breath is him coming back into his body, and mine settling into his.

I’m curled against his chest, my legs draped across the seat now instead of his lap. One of his arms rests around my shoulders, hand rubbing small, absentminded circles along my upper arm. His fingers are warm, gentle, like he’s checking I’m real.

“You okay?” he whispers into my hair.

I nod, though the motion barely registers. “Yeah.”

He shifts just enough to see my face, brushing a thumb slowly along my cheekbone. His eyes are soft - not dark with desire like earlier, but warm and melted, a little sleepy.

“You sure?”  His voice is low, careful. “You’re not too cold? Or sore? Or… overwhelmed?”

I can hear the anxiety buried in the quiet of his words. San feels deeply, always has. And right now he feels fragile and protective all at once.

“I’m perfect,” I whisper, nuzzling closer to his chest. “You made me feel safe the whole time.”

He exhales shakily, relief melting through him so visibly it makes my chest ache. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, fingers sliding gently through my hair.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I wanted to be gentle. I wanted you to feel cared for.”

“You did,” I say softly.

A soft smile curves his lips, small, real, tender. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. Then another. And another. Like he can’t stop himself.

“You’re so warm,” I mumble against him, and he laughs quietly.

“You’re freezing,” he counters.

I barely realize I’m shivering until he slips one arm away and reaches behind his seat, pulling out the blanket he always keeps in the car for late-night drives.

“Come here,” he murmurs, draping it over my shoulders before tugging me back into his chest. The blanket traps the heat instantly, and I melt into him.

He tucks it snugly around me, fussing quietly, smoothing it over my arms.

I trace idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm.

“San?”

“Mm?” His fingers stroke the back of my hand, encouraging me to continue.

“I liked… all of it.”

A breath escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. Something softer, He’s relieved.

“I did too,” he says. “More than I should’ve.”

“Why ‘should’ve’?”

He shakes his head, forehead resting against mine. “Because I’m scared of how much you matter to me.”

My chest tightens. I lift my hand and cup his cheek. His skin is warm beneath my palm, and he leans into the touch like he’s been waiting for it.

“You don’t have to be scared,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

He closes his eyes, letting the words sink into him.

“I know,” he murmurs. “And that’s what scares me most.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling myself closer. He hugs me back instantly, bodies fitting together with a kind of ease that feels years in the making.

His fingers brush slow, steady circles into my back, soothing, almost hypnotic.

“You tell me if you need water,” he says softly. “Or if you’re dizzy. Or if you wanna lie back. Or if you just wanna… breathe with me.”

A soft warmth spreads in my chest.

“You’re taking such good care of me,” I say.

He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there. “I always will.”

I tilt my head up, brushing my nose against his. “Can I take care of you too?”

He freezes. Something flickers through his eyes - vulnerability, a quiet unraveling.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

I shift in closer, one hand coming to the side of his neck, thumb brushing the warm skin there. His breath stutters.

“You okay?” I ask, echoing his earlier tone.

He smiles softly, leaning into my touch. “More than okay.”

I rest my forehead against his. Our breath mingles, warm and quiet.

“Stay with me a little longer,” he murmurs.

“I’m not going anywhere.”