#exo x reader

“Go away, you’re sweaty!”

Chanyeol was laughing. He didn’t even pause as he headed straight for your bathroom, choosing it simply because it was a few feet closer than his own apartment down the hall.

“I don’t even get why you exercise so much,” you huffed, watching him disappear around the corner. “You haven’t changed at all since you started.”

That hit a nerve. “Say that again!” he shot back, his voice echoing against the bathroom tiles. “I’m gonna show you exactly how buff I’ve gotten.”

Within seconds, your phone began to vibrate uncontrollably in your hand. He was spamming you with every progress photo he could find, from his very first day at the gym to the most recent shot in his camera roll. You looked down at the screen as notification after notification popped up—it was a total digital ambush.

Of course, Park Chanyeol couldn’t just accept a defeat.

You were still wheezing, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity of his desperation, until your thumb swiped onto the most recent photo. The laughter died in your throat. You nearly choked on your own saliva, your eyes widening as the screen displayed something you didn’t expect. Among the mirror shots, he had accidentally included a nude—and yes, he was huge.

“See? Look at my forearm!” Chanyeol crowed, leaning over your shoulder to point at the screen. “You can’t tell me that’s not progress—”

His voice cut off with a sharp, strangled gasp.

“Wait—no, no, no!” he yelped. He lunged forward, his large hands scrambling to snatch the phone out of your grip. “Give me that!”

You managed to get out, though your brain felt like it had short-circuited. You pulled the phone back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I-I didn’t mean to—you literally sent it to me!”

“I didn’t mean to send that one!” He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, his face turning red. “I was just selecting everything in the 'progress' folder! I didn’t—I forgot—oh my god, just give it to me!”

Chanyeol lunged, his large frame blurring as he moved to snatch the device from your grip. You instinctively backed away, but your heel caught the edge of the rug, and you tumbled backward onto the sofa. Before you could scramble away, he was there—heavy and solid.

He didn’t mean to pin you, but in his desperation to reach your hand, he ended up hovering directly over you, his arms braced on either side of your torso.

Up close, the buff transformation he had been bragging about was a physical reality. He was radiating heat, his skin still glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from his workout that made the hard lines of his shoulders catch the light. He was all red—half from the exertion of his training, half from the sheer mortification of the photo—but he was also all him.

The scent of his cologne mixed with the salt of his skin filled your senses, dizzying and sharp. You looked up, and for the first time, you didn’t see your goofy best friend. You saw the expansion of his chest as he panted, the way his biceps flexed against the cushions, and the intense, dark look in his eyes as he stared down at you and your lips.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from frantic to suffocating in a heartbeat. Neither of you noticed the dull thud as your phone slipped from your numb fingers and hit the carpet.

Chanyeol tried to shift, but his thigh pressed firmly between yours, and you felt it—the rigid heat of his cock through his sweetpants, making a light moan escape your throat.

He lost it. He dived down, his mouth crashing against yours with a hunger that felt like he was starving. It was a claim, a desperate attempt to swallow the sound of your voice. Your fingers acted on their own, flying upward to tangle deep in his thick hair, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you.

Chanyeol let out a low, vibrating growl into your mouth, his tongue sweeping past your lips to find yours in a messy rhythm. Instinct took over as he began to rock his hips, settling himself firmly into the cradle of your thighs, groaning directly into your mouth at the friction, the sound rumbling through your entire body.

The heat radiating off him was driving you mad. Your hands slid down from his hair, your palms stinging as they grazed his damp skin, until your fingers hooked under the hem of his black shirt. You yanked it upward, peeling the fabric off in a flash and tossing it blindly into the shadows of the room.

Finally, your hands were free to explore. You traced the broad, hard lines of his shoulders and the deep ridges of his back, marveling at how solid he felt under your touch. He was warm, slick with the remnants of his workout, and every muscle you had joked about earlier was now twitching and tensing under your fingertips.

There was no need for words. In one fluid, powerful motion, Chanyeol gathered you up. You felt like jelly in his arms, your bones melting against the strength of his chest as he carried you the short distance to the bed.

The moment your back hit the mattress, he moved with a frantic hunger, his large hands hooking into the waistband of your sports pants and stripping them away in one sharp tug as you were taking your shirt and bra off. His dark eyes scanned the damp silk of your panties, seeing exactly what he had done to you. Then, he dropped.

Chanyeol buried his face against your cunt, the heat of his breath seeping through the fabric before his tongue followed, delivering a slow, firm lick right over your center. A jagged moan tore from your throat, vibrating through the quiet room.

“Chanyeol... please,” you gasped, your fingers clutching at the bedsheets as your hips arched instinctively toward him.

He looked up at you, his face flushed and his hair a wild mess, a dark, predatory smirk tugging at his lips. “Cute.” He reached up, his large hand splaying over your stomach, his thumb stroking your skin. “You’re soaking wet for me just from a few pictures?”

Chanyeol didn’t wait for an answer. He hooked his fingers into the lace of your panties and peeled them off, tossing them aside without a second thought. He shifted, settling between your knees, his gaze dropping to your exposed slit.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, his voice a low register that made your toes curl. “So pretty… and perfect for me. I’m gonna taste every bit of you. You want that, huh?”

“Chanyeol, oh my god—stop talking and just—” you choked out, your head tossing back against the pillow.

He leaned back in, his tongue swirling against your pussy with expert precision, finding your clit and flicking against it until you were shaking.

“Make me.” His hot breath made you shiver. He looked up again, his eyes locking onto yours as he used his fingers to spread you wider. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

“I-I have,” you confessed, a broken sob of a laugh escaping you as he went back to work, his tongue heavy and insistent. “I want you so bad, Yeol. Please... don’t stop.”

“I’m gonna make sure your little pussy remembers all of me, doll,” he promised, his voice muffled against you.

You jammed your hand over your mouth, biting down on your own palm to stifle the shriek that wanted to tear out of you. Every stroke of his tongue was agonizingly perfect, filled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of his mouth and the frantic hitching of your breath.

Chanyeol looked up for a split second, his chin glistening, his eyes dark with a mix of pride and pure, unadulterated hunger. “Don’t hide it,” he growled against your inner thigh. “Lemme hear you, doll.”

“Yeol... please,” you whimpered as you finally pulled your hand away from your mouth. “You’re—you’re gonna break me—”

Before you could even process it, he slid two long fingers inside you. The sudden fullness made your eyes roll back, and your hand flew from your mouth to his hair, your fingers locking into the dark strands as you instinctively arched your hips, grinding yourself against his face.

“Fuck—yes,” he gasped, his hot breath blooming over your folds. “You’re so… so fucking perfect.”

“Ah—god.” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him closer as if you could pull him right through you. “God—Yeol, you’re so much…”

Chanyeol pulled his fingers out just to spit directly onto his palm, slicking the moisture back over your clit and spreading you wide. He delved back in, his tongue mimicking the steady, driving thrust of his fingers.

“Goddamn!” he moaned. “You taste so fucking good.”

Your thighs were trembling so violently you could barely keep your legs open, the tension coiling in your gut until it was a physical pain. “Yeol, wait—stop! I-I’m too close!” you choked out as the first waves of the climax began to crest.

“I know, babe.” He didn’t slow down; if anything, he pressed harder, his fingers curling deep inside you to find the exact spot that made your toes curl. “Just give it to me.”

His mouth and the steady, relentless pressure of his hand made you lose the battle with your voice. A loud, broken moan echoed off the walls as your climax hit you like a tidal wave.

“Fuck—Chanyeol!” Your muscles clenched desperately around his fingers as you came, spilling over his hand and his mouth in a hot, frantic rush.

Chanyeol didn’t pull away. He drank it in, groaning low in his throat as he kept up the pace, trailing his tongue through the mess he’d made, making sure you felt every single second of the aftershock. You lay there, chest heaving, eyes blown wide as you stared at the ceiling, your body still buzzing.

“Good girl,” he panted, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. He was smeared with you and his own sweat, looking every bit the victor. “But I’m not done with you, love.”

Even though your muscles felt like water, the hunger hadn’t faded. You were still trembling, your skin hypersensitive, but as you looked up at him, your gaze immediately dropped to his erection against the fabric of his grey sweatpants.

Chanyeol didn’t keep you waiting. With a low, rough exhale, he stripped them off, leaving him in only his black boxers. The fabric was already darkened with a visible patch of precum, a testament to how much he had been wanting you while he was down between your legs.

He took a slow step closer to the edge of the bed. You reached out, your fingers trembling as you hooked them into the waistband of his underwear and pulled. As you freed him, his big cock bounced against his stomach, thick, pulsing, veiny, and mouthwatering, the tip already weeping with a fresh bead of moisture.

“Babe, you’re so dazed. You can barely keep your eyes open, huh?”

“No—I... I can.” The words felt clumsy on your tongue. You reached out, your hand looking small against his thigh as you guided him toward your face. “Lemme—”

Chanyeol let out a sharp, jagged breath as you leaned forward. When your tongue first swiped over the swollen tip, catching the heat of his precum, he hissed through his teeth.

“Oh—fuck,” he growled, his hand gripping your hair—firm enough to let you know who was in control. “I was watching you come, thinking about how much I wanna bury my cock so deep in your throat you can’t make a sound.”

You let out a soft, dizzy whimper, your eyes fluttering as you gave him those small, agonizing kitten licks, swirling around the ridge until he was shaking as badly as you were.

“Greedy.” His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, pulling it down to reveal more of your mouth. “I bet you wanna feel me hitting the back of your throat, huh?”

“Please,” you breathed, your heart hammering so hard it was the only thing you could hear. “All of you. Just... please, Chanyeol.”

“I’d love that, angel.”

You took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head as you tried to take as much of him as possible, gagging, but Chanyeol had other plans. He let out a sharp, strangled sound and pulled back, leaving your lips tingling and empty.

“No—Yeol…” you whined, your voice small and thick with a dizzying need. You reached out blindly, your fingers brushing against his thighs.

“Trust me,” he rasped, his chest heaving as he stared down at your flushed face. “I’m not stopping. I just have better plans for that tight little body of yours. Turn over. On your belly, doll.”

You obeyed with a clumsy, heavy-limbed desperation, rolling over until your face was buried in the pillow. You felt the bed dip as he climbed over you, his large, calloused hands finding your hips and hauling them up. He held you there, your ass arched toward him, leaving you completely exposed to his gaze.

“God,” he hissed. “You look so fucking delicious from behind.”

You felt his tip—hot, blunt, and weeping—begin to rub slowly against your folds, teasing. You lost it, a broken, high-pitched moan muffled by the sheets as you tried to push back against him.

“Yeol, please,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the mattress. “I can’t—just... fill me up.”

“As you wish, angel.” He gripped your waist so hard his fingers left white marks against your skin, and then, with a slow, agonizingly steady push, he slid his cock into you.

You felt every inch of him stretching you out, claiming the space he had worked for. You felt your eyes roll back into your head as he bottomed out, burying himself deep inside you until your bodies were flush.

Chanyeol let out a deep, guttural groan against the back of your neck, his breath scalding your skin. He leaned down, pressing a series of heavy, open-mouthed kisses along your spine before giving the soft skin of your waist a sharp, possessive nip, cupping one of your boobs, squeezing you.

“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he whispered harshly into your ear, his voice trembling with the effort of not losing control immediately. “You feel like you were made exactly for me.”

“You’re... you’re so big,” your voice trembling as he began to move with a slow, deep rhythm. “Shit—please, don’t stop!”

“I won’t,” he promised, his pace beginning to pick up, his hips snapping against yours with a loud, wet rhythm. “You’re mine tonight.”

The last shred of Chanyeol’s restraint snapped. He began to drive into you with everything he had, his hips snapping against yours with a raw, relentless force. The bed cracked under the weight of his movements, a frantic soundtrack to the chaos he was wreaking on your body.

You heard his moans mixing with your own high-pitched cries. Your body was a complete slave to the arousal, your mind having long since checked out to leave only sensation behind.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice was a ragged edge in your ear. “You’re taking me so fucking deep.”

You tried to answer, to tell him how much you loved it, but you could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. All you could do was sob his name over and over again, your fingers clawing at the sheets as you clenched around his cock with every thrust.

“Y-Yeol... oh god,” you gasped, your head thrashing against the pillow.

You could feel the tension in Chanyeol’s muscles reaching a breaking point, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants against your ear. “You’re doing so good.” His voice was thick with a looming climax. “So perfect. Shit—babe, come for me one more time.”

Your second climax hit, your muscles squeezing him with a desperate, crushing intensity. Chanyeol let out a loud, triumphant groan that vibrated through your entire frame. He moved with a sudden, frantic speed, flipping you over onto your back. He pulled out, and you watched through blown-out eyes as he rained over you. His cum landed in hot, heavy bursts across your thighs, your belly, and your aching cunt.

You tried to speak, to say something, but there was only panting. Your lungs burned, your heart hammered, and your voice was gone. Chanyeol was no better; he collapsed between your breasts, his heavy head resting there as he took deep, shuddering breaths. He didn’t care that you two were sticky with sweat and fluids; he just wanted to be close to you.

“Oh god,” he wheezed, his voice barely a whisper as he tilted his head up to give you a series of messy, uncoordinated kisses on your skin. “Remind me... to send you photos... more often.”

You managed a weak, breathless laugh, your fingers feebly stroking the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “I might not complain next time. I’d sleep better.”

Chanyeol’s head snapped up from your chest, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he immediately caught your drift.

“I could definitely help with that. And plenty of other things, too.”

You let out a tired, mid-breath laugh, but the sound died into a startled whine as he suddenly shifted. Without a word of warning, he hooked his strong arms under your knees and back, hoisting your jelly-like body off the mattress.

“C’mon, babe.”

“Yeol, no,” you groaned, your head lolling against his shoulder. “I’m tired.” You felt completely drained, your muscles trembling with a bone-deep exhaustion. “I can’t... I literally won’t survive another round. My legs don’t even work.”

Chanyeol let out a boisterous, mocking laugh. He started walking toward the bathroom, his steady stride making your head spin.

“Another round?” he repeated with mischief as he looked down at you. “Imma think about it. But… I was thinking about an actual shower, you little deviant. Y’know, with soap? And water?”

Your face flushed a fresh shade of heat, and you let out an indignant huff, weakly smacking his bare, muscular chest. “I hate you!”

“You don’t!” His mockery was back in full swing. “And don’t hit me like that... it hurts! Jesus… I’m gonna skip the gym tomorrow. You drained me.”

You tried to sulk, turning your face away, but he wasn’t having it. As he kicked the bathroom door open, he kept ducking his head, trying to catch your lips with his own. He teased the corners of your mouth with tiny, nipping kisses, laughing against your skin every time you tried to dodge him. Even as you grumbled and complained, you found yourself leaning into his warmth, knowing that neither of you wanted to be anywhere else.

“He’s such a fucking bum,” Baekhyun sighs. He throws the crumpled piece of paper in the air and it lands on your chest. “Who dumps people with a handwritten note?”

“That was so like him though,” you grumble. “He was so anti-phone. Every time I showed him a reel he would say, you know that stuff is rotting your brain, right?”

Baekhyun turns back from his position on the floor to look at you, scandalized. “You were sending him reels?”

“Yes?” You roll your eyes at his pout. “You know that you don’t like, own Instagram right? I’m allowed to send reels to other people besides you.”

“You’re not allowed to send reels to people that dump you through a handwritten note slid under your door.” He turns back around and leans his head back on the couch, the top of his head nearly touching your thigh. “You’re okay, though? You don’t seem very torn up about it.”

“What if I was?” you hum. “Would that be so terrible?”

“Are you?”

You aren’t. You’d dumped others and been dumped so many times but you’d never actually experienced heartbreak. It never felt real enough to you to feel the hurt. You’d simply nod and move on, blocking their numbers before you were even out the door. Baekhyun called you a sociopath, you called yourself realistic. Besides, who is he to judge anyways? How many nights have you spent rubbing his back because the pretty girl at the bar ghosted him? You think about saying this, but that wouldn’t be a very nice thing to say to your best friend, who was kind enough to open his door to you at midnight with no questions asked.

“He sucked,” you say instead. 

“I could have told you that. I don’t think he knew my name. He just called everyone ‘bro.’ Even you.” 

“He always made us split the bill when we went out.”

“I’m pretty sure he was trying to flirt with Jongin’s girlfriend last week.”

“He never ate me out.”

Baekhyun chokes, and for a second you think that maybe, for the first time in your fifteen years of friendship, you’ve gone too TMI. He makes that sound again, a strained, choking sound high in the back of his throat. 

Then you realize that he’s laughing.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wheezes. Is he wiping a fucking tear from his eyes right now? “It’s just like – go fucking figure, y’know?”

“What do you mean?” 

He turns around to fully face you, still trying to stifle down his giggles. “Like, if there’s a guy who treats his girlfriend like shit there’s like a 90% chance he won’t go down on her either.”

Your eyebrows crease together. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?” he asks. “Like if a guy is a piece of shit he wouldn’t want to do something that’s solely for her pleasure. Of course he’d never turn down a blowjob, but the other way? No way.”

“But I don’t think it works the other way, right?” you say. “Like a guy can be a good partner but not do it.”

“I mean everyone has their preferences, I guess but a downright refusal without a good reason is kind of a red flag.” He raises an eyebrow. “Why are you getting defensive about this?”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I guess ‘cus like… I’ve had partners that weren’t shitty people.”

Baekhyun falls silent, eyes wide and incredulous. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

You groan and cover your burning face in your hands. “Can we drop it?”

“No one’s ever gone down on you?” he asks. 

“Baek…”

“That’s fucking insane,” he mutters.

“Okay, well, since you’re the fucking sex expert how many times have you done it?” you spit out. You sit up, fully looking him in the eyes. The teasing glint is long gone now, replaced by something that you realize is close to pity.

“Like… every time?” he says weakly. 

“Every time,” you repeat, voice flat. “Every time you hook up with a girl you go down on her?”

“I at least offer!” 

A bitter silence falls over the two of you as you turn over this new piece of information in your head. Of course it’s something that you’ve thought about from time to time, but you always just thought it was something optional. A little appetizer to the main course. And you don’t get an appetizer every time you get a meal. But as you think back to all your partners, all the excuses that they gave you for not wanting to do it, you can’t help but feel… bad. Was there something about you that made all your partners not want to go down on you?

“It’s nothing wrong with you,” Baekhyun says. He has a funny way of doing that, assuming what you’re thinking without you saying anything. “I think you just happen to only date terrible people.”

“Thanks, Byun.”

He shrinks away. He knows you only call him that when you’re pissed. “Hey,” he says softly, tugging at your pajama pant leg. “I could do it for you if you wanted.”

You nearly shoot up straight in your seat. “Excuse me?” 

He holds his hands up in front of his face, anticipating you to smack him. “I’m being serious. Just so you could see what all the hype is about.”

It’s not an immediately horrible idea. It was just a favor, a way for you to test the waters. But still, thinking that Baekhyun is (objectively) good looking and pretending that you don’t occasionally fantasize about him from time to time (which is a totally normal thing to happen to best friends) are completely different things from, well, actually having sex with him. 

“Is it going to be weird?” you ask. “Y’know, after?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think so. I’ve had lots of meaningless sex.”

“Ouch.”

“You know what I mean,” he rolls his eyes. “I mean that we’re not going to fall in love or anything just because I put my mouth on you. You’ll still be my best friend.”

“Besides,” he continues. “Won’t it feel better knowing that it’s coming from someone who cares about you? Instead of some rando who won’t pay for dinner?”

“Can you please be nicer about my dating history?”

“Date a normal guy then I'll see.” Baekhyun sticks his pinky out towards you. “We can drop it right now and I’ll never bring it up again, I swear. But if you’re interested… I’m offering.”

As you stare at his outstretched pinky, you think one more time that maybe this is a bad idea. Then, your treacherous mind betrays you. How bad could it be? It was only a one time thing.

“You better be good,” you say, hooking your pinky with his.

He grins cheekily. “Never had any complaints.”

The two of you wisely decide to not do anything that night, to give you both some time to think about it and maybe even back out. You almost do. Several times, in fact. But the curiosity always wins out over the anxiety in the end. One week later, you’re in your own apartment, sitting next to each other on the side of your bed. He’s freshly showered, and he smells like your shampoo (he always uses too much), and suddenly this is feeling too real.

“It’s just me,” he says softly, noticing your nerves. “Do you want to back out?”

You hesitate for only a second before firmly shaking your head, as if doing so could convince the butterflies in your stomach to settle. “I’m ready.”

Baekhyun’s eyes flutter shut as he leans forward, pursing his lips the slightest amount. A strange feeling, a mix of overwhelm, panic, and maybe even manic laughter fills your chest. “Wait,” you blurt out.

He opens his eyes, biting back an exasperated sigh. “We can stop.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s the… can we not kiss?”

There’s a pause, before he throws his hands up in disbelief. “No kissing?” 

“You said it yourself, this is meaningless. And kissing just kinda makes it mean something to me?” Your voice shrinks with every word, wilting under the incredulity of his gaze. 

“Meaningless wasn’t a good word,” he says quietly. Almost regretfully. “But yeah. Okay, we can skip the kissing.” He has an unreadable expression for a moment before he shakes it off, replacing it with the easygoing air that you’re used to. “Not sure how you want to get in the mood without it but–”

The words die on his tongue when you abruptly pull your shirt over your head, reaching back to unhook your bra before you have the chance to feel self-conscious about it. His gaze drops down, eyes widening almost comically. You shove the rest of your clothes down your legs and shift onto the bed so that you’re laying back against the pillows. “You’re the expert,” you say, trying to ignore the way that your voice is trembling slightly. “So show me how you get started.”

Baekhyun swallows, trying to not be too shameless in the way he’s staring at your body, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips slightly before he settles in between your legs. “Can I–?” he says carefully, his hand brushing against your waist.

“Do anything you want to do,” you exhale. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”

He lays down onto his stomach and spreads your legs, hooking his arm under your thighs. Your eyes flutter shut of their own accord, breath hitching in anticipation. What if you don’t like it after all? you think. What if he doesn’t? What if there actually is something wrong with me and he’s just like the rest of them? 

A small gasp rips from your throat when you feel his lips on your inner thigh, brushing lightly at first before kissing the plush skin there. Your heart is hammering behind your ribcage, muscles tensing when he switches to the other side. You feel exposed with your core so close to his face, even more so since you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. 

After what seems simultaneously like a lifetime and a lightning flash, he finally focuses his attention onto your pussy. He starts slow, licking a long stripe up the length of your cunt, flicking his tongue at the top. Then his mouth descends, tongue dipping into your pussy, a low and almost inaudible groan leaving his mouth.

“Ah–” You let your head tip back against the pillows, eyes falling shut as he works his mouth over you. His tongue is so wet, lips so soft. You lose yourself in it for a while, slowly getting used to the feeling of him, the slick noises between your legs make you less embarrassed as each second slips by. 

His lips abruptly seal over your clit and you jolt when he starts to suck. Your legs twitch in his hold of their own volition, your fists scrambling to clutch the sheets below you. “Oh, that feels good,” you gasp, your voice coming out breathy, foreign to your own ears. 

Baekhyun repeats the motion, losing his grip on one of your thighs to bring the pads of his fingers to your dripping hole, shallowly thrusting the tips inside, flirting with your entrance. You buck your hips, inviting him in, pulse pounding in your ears as the pressure in your stomach continues to build higher and higher.

The second that he slips his fingers completely inside of you, you know that it’s over.

Long, slim digits slide inside of you, searching for the one spot that will make you break, mouth still working over your clit, alternating between sucking and licking. “You like that?” he asks, gaze burning, studying your expression.

“Yes, yes, don’t– nn, don’t stop,” you moan, hips moving unconsciously. “Baek—!”

He groans against your skin, and the sound of his voice, usually so light and airy, pitched lower with thinly disguised desperation, sends a new wave of arousal pulsing through you. “My hair,” he gasps, pulling away from you for a second. You look down to meet his gaze and are nearly bowled over by the sight of him: expression dark and thick with lust, lips pink and wet, dripping with you. “Put your hand in my hair.”

Your fingers sink into the soft locks of his hair, pushing his face against you. You’re practically riding his face now, but you don’t care, can’t care when it feels so good. WIth a final cry of his name, his mouth and his fingers bring you to the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you, crackling like static in your veins. Your back bows, arching into him, your grip on his hair borderline painful. He keeps going, prolonging the pleasure until it becomes too much and you’re softly pleading for him to give in.

“Holy fuck,” you say finally. 

“Good?” he asks. You look down to find him smirking playfully, equal parts annoying and endearing. 

“Solid 8 out of 10,” you reply. “Always room for improvement.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes and gets up, handing you your clothes from the side of the bed. “I just gave you head and you wanna be smart with me.” He stands and your eyes widen when you see his sweatpants. 

He’s hard as fuck.

“Do you want– um–” Your eyes flick away, trying to look anywhere but at it.

“Nah, it’s all good,” Baekhyun replies easily. If he’s embarrassed, he doesn’t show it, even if his voice sounds rough with need. “This was supposed to be for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” The reminder of all this is— a one-time favor— hits again. You try to pretend that you’re not disappointed. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure, but I get to pick.” He nudges you to scoot over and slides into bed next to you as if nothing’s changed, as if things are going to go back to normal just as easily as they had skewed from it.

Things don’t go back to normal. 

How could they? Both of you had been too stupid, too naive (too hopeful?) to think otherwise. Baekhyun casts glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you find yourself zoning out into his face until he has to snap in front of you. When he feeds you a bite from his meal, as he always does, you notice the way that he swallows, gaze drifting to watch your lips close over his fork.

It’s torture. You can’t even get yourself off without thinking about the feeling of his mouth on you. Seeking other people is out of the question entirely because now that he’d shown you exactly what you’d been missing, how could you ever settle for anything less? You throw yourself into anything you can: work, exercise, picking up abandoned hobbies. Anything to get your mind off of him, off the sound of his voice when he’s turned on, the feeling of his hair in your fist…

“Are you like… okay?” 

You blink back to reality, back from where you’ve been watching Baekhyun walk to the restroom, back to focus on Kyungsoo in front of you. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you say, eating a fry to distract yourself. “Just been a bit distracted lately.”

Across the table, Kyungsoo narrows his eyes inquisitively. “Distracted by… Baekhyun?” he says carefully.

You deflate. “Is it that obvious?”

“Um… yes? I feel like I’m third-wheeling the two of you more than usual.”

“Soo…” You put your head in your hands and whine. “I need to tell you something but you can’t tell anyone and you need to be normal when Baek comes back.”

“No promises.”

“We… hooked up. Sort of.”

Instead of any sort of reaction of surprise, Kyungsoo just blinks at you. “Oh. You haven’t been hooking up this whole time?”

“What?!” You lower your voice when the neighboring tables whip their heads to look at you. “Is that what people think?”

“People think that you guys are full on together and have been for years,” he deadpans. 

“Well, you know that we’re not, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he shrugs. “But there’s always the possibility that things are happening beyond my knowledge.”

“What do I do?” 

Kyungsoo pauses. “Are things just awkward now? If it’s that, then I think it’ll fizzle out on its own.”

“No, it’s that… I think I kind of like him? Or at least want to hook up with him again. And I think that maybe he also wants to?”

“So hook up again.”

In the corner of your eye you see Baekhyun leave the restroom so you adjust your posture, stealthily raising your eyebrow towards him so that Kyungsoo knows he’s coming. “It’s not that easy, Soo.”

“I think it is,” he replies, then clears his throat before raising the volume of his voice. “Anyways, did you want to get dessert?”

“Ooh, you guys are talking about dessert?” Baekhyun slides into the booth next to you, stealing a fry off your plate easily. “Can we split a slice of cheesecake?”

“Get your own slice, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo says. “Last time you hogged it all.”

Baekhyun splutters in protest, and you laugh, ignoring the way that your heart squeezes.

“You wanna come by my place for a bit? Watch a movie?” Baekhyun asks. 

When Kyungsoo left the car just moments ago, it’s as if he took all of the easygoing nature of the hangout with him. Now the atmosphere is heavy, wrought with tension so thick you can practically taste it. Baekhyun drums his fingers against the wheel anxiously. 

You could say no. You have to do your grocery shopping tomorrow, your place is a wreck and you need to do a deep clean, you don’t have any of the belongings you need to stay overnight (which is a complete non-issue. You’ve had extra clothes and a spare toothbrush at his for as long as you can remember). You’re not stupid: you know what will end up happening if you stay the night.

But a part of you that you aren’t quite ready to reckon with yet wants it.

“Sure,” you say. 

Neither of you are paying attention to the movie that he throws on when you get there. His arm around you is nothing new, his knee knocking against yours is familiar territory, but it all feels so different now. You’re hyperaware of everything: every shift he makes, every time he clears his throat. 

Your heart hammers in your chest, beating behind your ribcage with a ferocity you’ve never known before. Calm down, you think. This is Baekhyun. This is Baekhyun and this is normal and we’re just best friends–

He calls your name.

Softly. Pleading. 

When you turn towards him, his face is so close that you can count every individual eyelash, see every mole on his face in spectacular detail. The soft glow from the lamplight bathes him in gold. His gaze drifts down, down towards your mouth, his lips parting ever so slightly.

Fuck it.

Before you know it, you’re straddling him, thighs bracketing his hips. You throw your shirt over your head and unclip your bra, shuddering slightly when he splays his hand across your side. His lips dip toward yours and you pull away in a panic.

“No kissing,” you whisper.

He exhales harshly, almost like a laugh, before he diverts his pathway to your neck. “God, you drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, pressing kisses down the column of your throat. His hands reach up to cup your tits, brushing your nipples under his thumb. 

You roll your hips down, pressing yourself against his hardening cock with increasing intensity. “Shit,” he hisses, pulling away. “Lay down for me.” He pushes you gently onto your back, discarding his clothing and the rest of yours in the process. His fingers enter you slowly, stretching you out as he covers your body with his. 

“You’re so obvious, y’know?” he chuckles against your skin when you whine. “Practically giving me fuck me eyes every damn day.”

“Fuck you.” Your voice holds no malice, not even a little bit of bite, going breathy around the edges when he thrusts his fingers in deep. “You’re not any better. I saw you looking at my ass the other day.”

“Can you blame me?” He pulls out and positions you so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his cock positioned at your entrance. “You’re fucking perfect.”

He doesn’t waste any time, immediately thrusting into you at a brutal pace. It’s messy, frantic, your blood thrumming through your veins. You gasp, clutching onto his shoulders for dear life, each thrust pushing you deeper into the couch cushions.

“Holy fuck,” you moan, your head falling back. “Just like that.”

“Yeah?” he grunts, his fringe hanging low over his eyes, casting the top half of his face in shadow. “Tell me how good it is.”

You don’t even have it in you to make a smart comment back, too bowled over by the quick pace and the mounting pleasure. “S-So good, Baek. Don’t stop.”

He pulls out of you momentarily just to drape your legs over his shoulders, practically bending you in half when he re-enters your slick pussy, caging his arms around your head. The position makes you feel so vulnerable, so completely under his will that it sends a thrill up your spine. 

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, voice strained with the effort of keeping up the pace, “just how much I’ve thought about you since that night? Can’t get the fuckin’ taste of you out of my head.”

You whimper at the heat of his confession. “Me too,” you say. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Never had anyone like that.”

He chuckles, slowing his hips until he’s just grinding into you. “And what about this? Any of those assholes fuck you this good?” 

You shake your head, subtly arching into him, trying to get him to resume his pace. “Never. Keep going, need more.”

“Gonna have to hear you say ‘please,’” he teases.

“God, please,” you gasp. “Please, I want it.”

He fucks into you like he has something to prove, moving his hips with devastating precision. His control is slipping, you see it in the way that his jaw tenses, feel it in the way his hips start to stutter. You’re no better— with every minute, you feel your orgasm threatening to overtake you, the overwhelming heat coiling low in your stomach. 

“I’m close,” you whisper. 

“Me too,” he says, voice breaking. He snakes his hand around as best as he can to reach your clit, the pad of his finger brushing the sensitive nub. “With me, please. Wanna feel it.”

You unravel together, bodies curled in on one another. It rolls through you in waves, white-hot pleasure that makes your vision turn to static around the edges. His fingers dig into your sides, breath hot as he pants against your collarbone, emptying himself inside of you.

You don’t even have a moment to catch your breath before he’s pulling out and kneeling on the floor, draping your legs over his shoulders once again. “What are you— fuck!” Your oversensitive body twitches when he puts his tongue against you, sealing his lips over your clit and inserting two fingers inside. 

“I need to taste you again,” he pants. Desperate, needy in a primal way that makes you dizzy. “Please.”

Your moans turn to full-on whimpers as he brings you back to the edge in record time, squeezing your eyes shut as you tremble through it. You cum with a shout of his name, gripping his hair between your fingers. 

Then, as your body comes down to Earth, the reality of what’s happened starts to dawn on you.

Uncertainty settles in before anything else. You shift so that you can meet Baekhyun’s gaze, but to your amazement, you don’t see your own hesitance reflected back at you. He smiles at you easily, charmingly, as if he hadn’t just fucked your brains out.

“You alright?” he asks. “Was it too rough?”

“No,” you say, voice hoarse. “Can you get my clothes?”

You get dressed in silence, watching the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his shirt over his head. What the fuck just happened? Last time was just a one-off, a favor. But this?

“Can we talk about this?”

Baekhyun’s easygoing facade slips for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, sit down.” 

You sit down next to him on the couch—the couch where you had just had sex, what the fuck?—and take a deep breath. “Where are we going with this? The sex and stuff?”

He shrugs. “Wherever you want it to go. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page about, y’know, expectations and stuff.”

Baekhyun chooses his next words carefully before reaching over and putting his hand on top of yours. “We can always stop and I won’t be upset or disappointed. But if you’re open to it, I would really like to keep doing this.”

“I’m just scared it’s going to change things for us.”

“Nothing will change,” he whispers, smiling. “You’re still my best friend.”

And the way he looks at you… how can you be expected not to believe him?

It becomes a routine. 

Frantic quickies at 3am, lazy morning sex, even in the back of his car after a party. You can’t keep your hands off of him, and he can’t keep his hands off of you. Nearly every time you’re alone together, your clothes end up discarded, forgotten on the floor. He learns his way around your body quickly, until making you cum is second nature, as easily as making you laugh. You’re not a bad student either: you learn that he really likes it when you beg, loves it even more when you say his name right before you shatter on his fingers, on his lips, on his cock.

One more time turns into two more times turns into five. Full days pass where the two of you spend all day in bed, lazily dozing in between sessions until you remember that there actually is an outside world that you have to attend to. You’re running out of turtlenecks to wear to work, the only clothing sufficient enough to hide the constellations of love bites across your neck and chest.

Despite all this, he’s still your best friend. You still swap inside jokes, still annoy the hell out of each other. He’s still your comfort person, your safe space, even as you become more vulnerable with him than you ever thought possible. 

It’s another lazy night following a lazy day spent in bed. You trace abstract patterns on his back absentmindedly when he perks up suddenly. “I’m bored,” he says. “You wanna go for a walk?”

“Right now?” you ask. “It’s dark out.”

“We’ll just walk to the park and back. What, you don’t think I’ll protect you if any monsters come out of the shadows?”

To Baekhyun’s credit, the park is actually well-lit at night. You take the winding trail through the trees slowly, with all the time in the world. You still find things to talk about, even after years of friendship, after all the hours that you’ve been spending together recently. 

“Do you hear that?” Baekhyun asks. And you do, the sounds of live music drawing closer and closer. As you approach the gazebo, you see an older man sitting inside, playing his guitar. 

“Hey, isn’t this–?” you say.

Baekhyun’s eyes widen in recognition before a smile spreads across his face. “Oh yeah!” 

A high school dance, one of the few that you attended, you can’t remember which one. You had both been rejected by your crushes and ended up having to go with each other. During the slow dance to this very song, the two of you decided to dance together but could not for the life of you stop giggling. Dirty looks were cast your way by the other couples on the dance floor, but you kept snickering into his shoulder, and he kept muffling his laughter in your hair.

“Shall we dance?” he asks, holding his hand out in an exaggerated manner.

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” you curtsy before taking his hand.

It starts out the same way, all giggly and joking, Baekhyun twirling and dipping you until your head spins. You see the old man cast a smile your way and you nod at him as he continues playing. “Beautiful!” he shouts.

“Isn’t she?” Baekhyun laughs.

And maybe it’s the way that you become aware of his steady hand on your waist, maybe it’s the way that his eyes crinkle up at the edges when he smiles. But all of a sudden, you become painfully, horribly, much too aware of the fact that you are definitely, without question, in love with him. 

When had it all changed? Somewhere among all the times that you were under him? In between the whispered praises, the affectionate touches? Or maybe, God forbid, were the feelings there all along?

It doesn’t really matter in the end. All that you know is that everything is different now. It’s as if the world ceases spinning, time slows to a crawl. You’re in love with your best friend. The realization is enough to knock the wind out of your chest.

Baekhyun tilts his head at you questioningly. “You okay?” he murmurs, eyebrows creasing with concern. 

You just nod. Your emotions are so stuck in your throat that you’re afraid to answer. The gentle strumming of the guitar stops, leaving the two of you in the silence of the night. 

“What’s up with you?” 

You blink and find Baekhyun staring at you, concerned. “Nothing,” you reply.

“You’ve been so quiet lately,” he says. “Distant.”

“Just have some things on my mind.” You can’t, won’t meet his gaze. It’s been a few weeks since that night in the park, and all of your energy has been focused on keeping everything normal. The way it always was, the way it always should be. But your mask has been slipping lately, wearing your irritation on your sleeve, spacing out more than usual. Baekhyun’s too perceptive to have gone this long without noticing. 

He turns back to the TV, worrying his bottom lip in between his teeth the way he does when he’s thinking. “You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?” And for a moment, you feel your heart rate start to pick up, fluttering with hope. You know that I have feelings for you, right? You imagine how those words would sound coming from him. Would he say it in a serious way? Or with that same, lighthearted confidence that’s permeated your entire friendship?

“That I’m seeing someone.”

You didn’t think it was possible for your entire world to shatter with just four words. He has the audacity to look surprised when you gasp, an ugly, strangled sound in the back of your throat.

“Is that… not what–”

“What?”

“I’m sorry!” he splutters. “I thought you figured it out and that’s why you were pulling away–”

You stand up and pace across the room, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Shielding yourself from him. “Since when?”

“For like a month,” he says quietly.

“Baek… we hooked up so much in the past–”

“I know.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down, frustrated. “I know. But we’ve really just been talking and only went on a couple dates and just decided that we should be exclusive. Like literally last night.”

You laugh bitterly. “So we have to stop, then. Thanks for the fucking heads up, I guess.”

“Stop what?” 

You look at him as if he’s grown two heads. “Are you joking?”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes. “If you’re asking me if we have to stop having sex, then yes, we have to stop having sex.”

“No shit, Byun.” You sigh, a clusterfuck of emotions rising like bile in your chest. “But where does it stop? We’re going to have to stop hanging out, she probably won’t like it if we hang out at all.”

“Okay, hold on.” Baekhyun stands and grabs you gently by both shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions. I love you, but please calm down.”

I love you. It hits you like a slap to the face. “Don’t say that.”

His face twists with pain. “I know you hate when I tell you to calm down but I need you to hear me right now. Nothing’s going to change. We just have to stop hooking up, okay?”

Of course he doesn’t even register that the calm down part of the sentence wasn’t the part that bothered you. “Right. Remember what happened the last time we said nothing was going to change between us?”

Baekhyun falls silent, grappling with the right words to say. Finally, he settles on, “Please. Please don’t hate me for this.”

You throw your hands up in frustration, twisting out of his grip to grab your bag and head towards the door. “I don’t know, it kinda feels like you’re breaking up with me right now.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice hardens instantly. “We’re friends. We’re just best friends.”

“Best friends don’t do this!” you yell. “They don’t have morning sex or dance with each other at the park or have sit down conversations saying that they have to stop hooking up because one of them started seeing someone. They just don’t.”

“So what are you saying then?” he says, tone sharp enough to cut with, dripping with malice. “That you’re in love with me or something?”

Your breath hitches. The way he says it as if it’s something so terrible.

“What if I am?” Your voice cracks, small and pathetic. 

He melts instantly, all the venom sucked out of him in one go, and you see your best friend again. “Oh.”

Humiliation spreads like a virus in your chest. So he didn’t know after all. 

“I’m so sorry–”

You throw your bag over your shoulder. The second your back turns to him, the hot tears fall down your face. “It’s fine. Just forget it.”

“Wait, please–”

“I said forget it.” You head towards the door without another look back at him, slamming it shut behind you. You almost want to wait to hear the hurried footsteps behind you, but you can’t stand the thought of waiting in that cold, empty hallway, waiting to be followed by someone who would never come.

The calls stop after the third day.

Before the silence, he calls every hour on the hour. You listen to a few of the voicemails from the first day. Hi, can we please talk about this? I don’t want to lose you. Please. After a while, it gets too painful to hear his voice, and the number of unopened voicemails ticks higher and higher until they don’t anymore. 

You hardly leave your apartment as weeks go by. It hadn’t occurred to you before now just how much time you had been spending with him. Your days feel emptier now, lacking a spark that he always brought. The silence of your empty place feels almost oppressive. 

The thought comes into your mind one night when you’re burying your feelings into a pint of ice cream that this must be what it feels like to be heartbroken. You laugh a bit at the irony– you always figured that the first time you would experience this, you’d at least have the solace of your best friend to crawl to.

A rapt knocking at your front door brings you out of your stupor and your heart leaps into your throat. You sit frozen for a few seconds before the knocking comes again. Before you can think about it too hard, you’re on your feet bounding towards the door.

“Baek, I–”

“Uh, hi?”

It’s not Baekhyun on the other end, but Kyungsoo, who looks a little startled at your appearance. “I was getting a little worried about you, you haven’t answered any of my texts.”

“Oh, um… you can come in. It’s a bit of a mess.”

Kyungsoo looks around your place as he steps inside, littered with trash and piles of laundry. You have half a mind to be embarrassed about it, but he just looks with concern, free of judgement. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You tell him everything, trying your best not to trip over your words, determined to get through the story without crying. Kyungsoo listens silently, nodding when appropriate, but never makes a move to interject. Finally, when you’re done, and the lump in your throat feels almost too large to bear, he says, “So you haven’t contacted him since this happened?”

“No.”

“And he just sent a bunch of voicemails, didn’t text, didn’t show up here?”

“Yes.”

“And you… want him to?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Your head sinks into your hands, the heels of your palms digging into your closed eyelids. “I don’t know what I feel right now. I just wish that we never did anything to begin with so I never had to realize these feelings.”

“Well… we can’t take it back. And I think it’s obvious now that things have changed, so… now all that’s left to do is renegotiate the terms of the relationship.”

“But what if…” Your voice comes out small. “What if I don’t like his terms? What if he doesn’t like mine?”

You feel a gentle hand on your back. “You won’t know until you talk about it. That goes for him too. He needs to be a better communicator. Jesus.”

You laugh wetly. “It’s something we’ve always had in common.”

“Avoidance attachment?”

When you peek up through your fingers, Kyungsoo’s smiling good-naturedly. “C’mon, get up. Take a shower and I’ll clean up a little.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you groan.

“I know. I want to. You don’t have a choice.”

The next time you hear a knock on your door, you know that it’s not Kyungsoo. 

Baekhyun smiles at you sadly in the doorway, already looking like he’s bracing himself for your rejection. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say. Your tongue feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

“I can leave if you want me to, and I won’t bother you again, I swear. I just thought I’d try to talk to you one last time?”

You swallow, then open the door wider. “Come in.”

He looks tired. He hovers around the corners of the room as if he doesn’t know this place better than his own. You get him a glass of water, and you sit awkwardly side by side on your couch. The silence is nearly unbearable, but thankfully, he doesn’t take very long to break it. 

“I broke up with her.”

You nod slowly. “When?”

“A day after everything,” Baekhyun says. “I told you in a voicemail, but uh, I assumed you were ignoring it or you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I didn’t hear it,” you admit. “But I never asked you to do that for me.”

“You didn’t have to.” Baekhyun takes a breath, fidgeting with the glass in his hands. “I was scared to admit that becoming physical with you had changed things between us. I thought that if I tried looking elsewhere that things between us could go back to the way they were.”

“You wanted things to go back?” you ask. 

“I thought that I would rather things go back to normal than to lose you entirely.”

“You kept insisting that things never changed,” you say. “You were the one that kept that boundary.”

“I know,” he sighs. He looks up at you, dark eyes broken. “I was a fucking idiot. I thought that if I kept saying it, I would believe it.”

“Couldn’t you feel it?” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, stinging the back of your throat. “Couldn’t you feel that I was falling for you?”

“I didn’t want to believe it. I thought it was my brain telling me what I wanted to hear.” Baekhyun laughs. “I’m such a mess. I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t.” You reach over and grab his hands. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, eyes glimmering with hope. “You didn’t ruin anything, Baek. I should have been more upfront with my feelings too. I shouldn’t have ignored your calls.”

Baekhyun worries his bottom lip between his teeth before speaking again. “So if you were to be more upfront about your feelings now, what would you say?”

“I would say…” You take a deep breath. “That I think I’m in love with you. And I want to try being something more than your best friend.”

His face breaks into a relieved grin. “I love you too. And I’m so, so sorry for everything.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I do,” he frowns. “I did a really douchey thing to you and I regret it—”

You cut him off by climbing into his lap, putting both of your hands on the sides of his face. His words die on his tongue, lips falling apart in awe, looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. 

“Please,” you whisper. “Just kiss me.”

Soft lips meet yours cautiously, hesitantly. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you in close, deepening the kiss at the same time. He kisses you with care, like you have all the time in the world, moving his lips against yours perfectly in sync. 

And it’s so amazing. It’s unfair just how amazing it feels, how long you’ve denied yourself from being like this, from being with him. You melt in his arms, losing yourself in the rhythm of his lips, the soft gasps of breath in between, the warmth of his body against yours. 

You slip your hands into his hair and he groans, breaking apart from you for a second. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I… I like it a lot.” He looks up at you through his lashes, exhaling shakily. “I just want to do this for a while and that makes it really hard for me to not carry you into your bedroom right now.”

You smile, rolling your hips down once, decisively, onto his lap before dipping down for another kiss. “No reason why we can’t do both,” you whisper.

Baekhyun’s eyes widen before he brings you in even closer, pressing his face into your shoulder. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Just making up for lost ti—ah!” Your hands scramble to grab onto his shoulders as he stands, carrying you to the bedroom. Your laughter echoes off the walls of your apartment as he walks, filling the place with the light that it sorely missed, that it won’t ever be without from this moment on. 

your throat is hoarse from screaming lyrics you didn’t realize you still knew by heart. your skin’s still buzzing, glitter catching on the collar of your top, sweat drying beneath your skirt.

baekhyun’s concert wasn’t just a show—it was an experience. a sensory overload. the kind that settles into your skin and stays there. the way he moved—fluid and precise, every step pulled straight from muscle memory and instinct—was hypnotic. the way he sang, breathless yet effortless. his visuals? unreal. almost unfair. 

and the way he engaged with the crowd? grinning, teasing, soaking up the screams like sunlight—yeah, that wasn’t just performance. that was a man doing exactly what he was born to do. an idol in every sense. and it was obvious—he loves it. he lives for it.

and you—loud, radiant, maybe a little too invested—could’ve sworn he looked right at you during woo. his gaze was sweeping, fluid, made to tease, but just for a second… it paused. 

row ten.

pink sequined skirt.

you froze mid-sway, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, and you didn’t dare blink.

you told yourself it was wishful thinking. that you were just one face in a sea of thousands. but now, stepping out into the night air—still in that same outfit, skin buzzing like it’s holding onto his falsetto—you’re drunk on something more than just concert adrenaline.

your body still vibrates with the bass, your voice is hoarse from shouting lyrics like they were gospel, and your cheeks ache from smiling too hard for too long.

“oh my godddd, meeks, that was fuckin’ insane,” you pant, nearly breathless, practically levitating as you leave the venue.

your best friend, mika, laughs beside you—influencer, 125k+ on the gram, energy like a triple shot of tequila, dressed like the night owes her something. 

“oh, baby,” she purrs, thumb tapping her phone like she’s conjuring magic, “the night’s just getting started.”

her screen flares to life with a flood of unread dms—club logos, kiss emojis, a string of heart-eyes from guys whose names you don’t recognize but probably should. “should we go clubbing?” she offers, eyes glinting. “wanna hit up gravity?”

you hesitate. gravity always spirals. last time, you ended up in a stranger’s penthouse afterwards with three underground rappers and a girl who swore she was hyunjin from le sserafim’s third cousin twice removed.

but fomo’s coded into your dna, and baekhyun’s voice is still ricocheting through your bones. you told yourself you’d say yes to everything tonight. so you do.

you grin, breath catching with the kind of thrill that tastes like trouble.

“fuck it,” you say, two taps away from ordering the uber. “let’s go.”

the club is a blur of lights and bass. you barely make it past the velvet rope before you’re swept inside by the gravity of mika’s orbit.

she knows everyone. the guy at the door daps her up like they grew up together. the bartender winks and sends over a tray of drinks before you even reach the bar. the DJ in the booth flashes her a grin mid-set and changes the track to her favorite remix.

you don’t wait in lines and you never check prices. you exist outside of time when you’re out with her—just a blur of laughter, glitter, and beat drops that rattle your ribcage.

you dance like your heels don’t hurt.

like you didn’t just scream your lungs out at a concert two hours ago.

your skirt swings with every sway of your hips, sequins catching the light like tiny spotlights made just for you.

you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, drunk on tequila and attention, your friends orbiting you like a constellation of bad choices and even better memories.

you feel pretty—head tilted back, hips swaying, alcohol warming your blood. a random guy tries to flirt and your friend yanks you away with a grin.

“nope,” she says. “we’re keepin’ it mysterious tonight.”

you’re drunk and dizzyo a quarter ‘til midnight when you check your phone and realize you should probably head home.

but then she leans in close and whispers, “wanna hit an afters at the ritz?”

she doesn’t say whose. she never does.

but that’s the thrill of it. the not-knowing. the possibility that tonight hasn’t even peaked yet.

you glance down at your drink—half-melted ice, lipgloss on the rim—and swallow what’s left. you’re sticky with sweat, eyes glassy, lips tingling from salt and lime. 

and yeah, maybe you should go home. but you’re not in the mood to be responsible especially when the night still feels electric.

so you grin, swipe your phone off the table, and say the words you always do when mika’s got that look in her eyes.

the suite looks like it was pulled straight from a luxury travel vlog—sleek, sprawling, and softly lit in golds and shadows.

there’s music playing low—something bassy and expensive, vibrating through marble countertops and plush velvet cushions. a tray of half-finished cocktails glows under the dim, amber light, and bodies are draped across designer furniture like they were born there. heels kicked off. dress shirts half-buttoned. laughter echoing from corners you’re not quite invited into.

you’re crouched near the minibar, pretending to fix the strap of your heel, feigning fascination with the towering bouquet of flowers that probably cost more than your rent, when you spot them—faces you vaguely recognize. not close enough to be certain, but… yeah. you’ve seen them before. maybe at the club earlier tonight. the way they move—relaxed, self-assured, like people who know they’re being watched.

you don’t overthink it. just assume that’s how mika got wind of this afterparty in the first place.

and then—something shifts.

a hum in the atmosphere. like the room just hit pause.

you glance up.

and there he is.

baekhyun.

but not in silk. not in silk or leather or anything made to kill. no stage persona. no spotlight.

just… soft.

he’s near the bar, dressed in an oversized grey hoodie with faded red letters stretched across the front. the collar hangs loose, offering a peek of a plain white tee underneath. a slouchy beanie hugs his head, and strands of bleached blonde hair curl out in fluffy wisps—just messy enough to look real. freshly washed face. no makeup. no filter.

he looks like he just stepped out of a hot shower. glowing, flushed, skin catching the warm golden light like it’s gilding him from within.

he doesn’t see you. not yet. he’s nursing a drink, sleeves pushed to his elbows, shoulders relaxed in that way people get when they’ve finally made it to the other side of a long night.

and then—click.

your eyes flick across the room again. those familiar faces lounging on velvet sectionals, sipping cocktails and laughing like they’ve done this a hundred times before—now you get it.

you hadn’t realized it earlier. hadn’t connected the dots.

but now, with baekhyun standing there—unguarded, undeniably real—it all snaps into place.

this is his afterparty.

those are his people.

you tear your gaze away, forcing your attention to the condensation sliding down a bottle of sparkling water like it suddenly holds the answers to all of life’s questions. anything to keep from staring at the man who just quietly turned your whole night inside out.

you don’t expect him to move—to notice you. definitely not to approach. but he does, of fucking course he does, like the universe just couldn’t resist handing you this plot twist wrapped in cozy grey cotton and freshly washed hair.

“you always this mesmerized by sparkling water?” his voice drifts in from beside you—low, easy, just amused enough to make your pulse trip.

you blink, caught in the act. the bottle suddenly feels like a spotlight. heat crawls up the back of your neck.

“i wasn’t staring,” you blurt, too quick, too defensive—and not at all what he asked.

baekhyun hums, a quiet chuckle under his breath. “didn’t say you were.”

you glance at him—and instantly regret it. he’s even more beautiful up close. skin dewy and flushed from the shower, hoodie soft around his frame, eyes sharp and curious beneath the shadow of his beanie. he smells like detergent and something warmer—clean skin and cologne clinging faintly to the cotton of his hoodie.

“what are you doing at this party, anyway?” you ask, shooting for nonchalant but landing somewhere breathless. “shouldn’t you be off… i don’t know, being famous somewhere?”

he grins—wide and unapologetic. “my team booked out the whole floor,” he says, like it’s the most mundane thing in the world. “so technically, i am where i’m supposed to be.”

you let out a quiet snort. “that’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

he studies you—really studies you—like he’s trying to file you into a box but hasn’t quite found the right label yet.

“you here with someone?” he asks finally, voice still casual, but there’s a hint of curiosity threading through it now.

“my friend got the invite,” you say, keeping your tone even. “i just tagged along. didn’t even realize whose afterparty it was until…” your eyes flick toward him. “well. until i saw you.”

that earns you his full smile—not the rehearsed kind, but something softer, looser at the edges. whatever guarded suspicion he’d been carrying eases, replaced by a flicker of something else. amusement. maybe interest.

“so you’re not here to corner me for a selfie? no skincare interrogation?” he teases, brows lifting.

you huff a laugh. “i mean, the skin is suspiciously clear. but no.”

his grin tugs wider. he tilts his head, studying you a little longer than necessary. “you were at the show, though… right?”

you pause—then nod. “yeah.”

his eyes drop for a second. “thought so,” he murmurs, voice dipping just enough to make your breath stutter. “that pink skirt’s kinda hard to miss.”

your heart stumbles over itself.

“well,” you manage, “you put on a good show.”

“thanks,” he says, smiling like he means it. “wanna sit? it's quieter over there,” he nods toward a closed off corner of the suite—where the music’s softer, the city’s glittering outside the wide floor-to-ceiling window, and a plush couch waits like it’s part of the plan. 

you blink. “with you?”

he grins. “unless you’re still committed to bonding with that water bottle.”

you settle onto the couch, leaving a polite gap between you—respectful, casual, not too eager.

baekhyun drops down beside you a moment later. easy. relaxed. his knees part just enough to ground him, like he’s done this a hundred times, but somehow doesn’t feel rehearsed.

for a beat, he just sits there, sipping from his glass. then, gently, like he’s not sure if it’s too forward:

“so… what’s your name?”

you tell him.

he nods, eyes flicking down for a second like he’s committing it to memory.

a quiet pause.

then he glances over again, one arm resting along the back of the couch. his fingers drum lightly against the cushion, and there’s a flicker of something playful in his voice.

“do you usually show up at strangers’ after parties, or is tonight a special case?”

you let out a soft laugh. “you’re not exactly a stranger. i’ve seen you shirtless before. on a jumbotron.”

he huffs a small, nose-scrunching laugh. “ah, so we’re skipping introductions and going straight to shared history.”

“basically,” you say, lifting your drink. “we're practically close friends.”

he smiles wider, the boyish kind that starts in his cheeks before it reaches his eyes. “great. and here i am looking like i just rolled outta bed.”

your eyes flick over the hoodie and the slouchy beanie barely hanging onto his bleached hair. “you mean your softboy fit?”

“hey,” he says, mock-wounded. “this is premium downtime aesthetic.”

“sure,” you murmur into your glass. “total heartbreak fit.”

he grins, turns his body slightly toward you, eyes crinkling. “don’t say that like it isn’t working.”

you’re smiling before you even realize it. the banter flows easier than you expected—natural, not forced. and the longer he talks, the more you notice things. like how deep and calm his voice is when he’s not performing. how he pauses before answering, like he actually thinks about his words. how his fingers tap lightly against his glass, how he nods when you talk, really listens.

he starts telling you about this tiny bunsikjeom he swears by back home—some blink-and-you-miss-it shop tucked between a laundromat and a vet clinic. he goes on about how their tteokbokki is the best and how the ajumma there hates him, like genuinely scowls whenever he walks in.

“i always order, like, five portions of odeng. just for me,” he says, eyes wide, hands gesturing like this is life-or-death. “and she always yells, like—‘yah! save some for other people!’ but then she gives me extra anyway. she pretends she’s mad, but she totally likes me.”

he grins, ducking his head a little. “i think she worries i don’t eat enough.”

you raise a brow. “you’re ordering five skewers and she still thinks you’re starving?”

“exactly,” he says, mock-offended. 

you ask if fame ever gets lonely. he doesn’t dodge it.

“yeah, sometimes,” he admits. “but i’m used to being alone. i think i’m better at being with people now, though. or... the right people.”

you blink at that. it’s quieter than the rest of the conversation. unpolished. a little vulnerable.

and it hits you—he’s nothing like the stage version of himself. not the flirty idol who winks at cameras or sings with syrup in his voice. he’s calmer. sharper. grounded.

even the way he drinks feels different. slow. deliberate. not for show, just... because he’s thirsty.

you look at him again. really look.

and for a moment, you just sit with it. the quiet between you, the city glowing beyond the glass, the weight of something undeniably real blooming beneath the surface.

you don’t speak. you don’t need to.

because somewhere between the last laugh and the next sip of tequila, time starts to slip. the minutes blur, slow and easy, like the night’s decided not to rush. you’re both tipsy now—flushed, relaxed, limbs loose. the music plays soft in the background, and the suite glows warm and golden, like dusk frozen in place. it feels quiet. suspended. like everything outside of this cozy little corner of the suite has been paused.

he’s charming, but not in the curated way you expected. 

it feels private—like he’s peeling himself back one layer at a time just for you. less idol, more man. his voice is low, his stories surprisingly unfiltered, and he’s funny—actually funny, not just media-trained clever.

you find yourself leaning in before you realize it, pulled toward the gravity of his presence like he’s something your body already knew how to orbit.

he smells like warm skin and sugared spice—notes of something expensive laced with the earthy ache of man. every time he shifts, you catch more of it, and it’s dizzying.

you weren’t prepared for this. for him.

genuine. confident in a way that doesn’t beg for attention. grounded, but just enough ego to be dangerous.

not the distant, idolized version of baekhyun the internet likes to dissect in thinkpieces and fancams.

this version is real. present. and somehow even more disarming.

“so,” he says, glancing sideways, “tell me something that’s not small talk.”

his voice is low, unhurried.

you blink. “what, like… my credit card number?”

you smile, finally letting your shoulders drop a little. “okay, fine. i always cry during the last twenty minutes of ratatouille.”

baekhyun turns to face you more fully, brows lifting. “what gets you? the rat’s speech?”

“no, it wasn’t remy,” you say with a scoff, nudging his knee lightly. “his name is remy, first of all.”

he laughs—really laughs—and the sound curls warm in your chest. “ah, my bad. remy,” he echoes, grinning. “go on.”

you exhale, letting your gaze drift toward the glowing skyline beyond the glass. “it was the critic’s review. that part at the end where he talks about discovering something new, something unexpected, and how the world is always unkind to it.”

your voice softens, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “he says the new needs friends. and i don’t know—it hit something in me.”

baekhyun stays still beside you, his hand curled loosely around his drink, forgotten now.

“sometimes it just feels like... everything’s already been done. like no one’s waiting for what you have to give. and then this bitter old man eats a meal made by a fucking rat and suddenly he’s like—shaken. changed. reminded why he ever cared in the first place.”

you pause, then shrug, barely glancing at him. “i guess it reminded me that you don’t have to be expected to be meaningful. that you don’t have to be someone obvious to matter.”

baekhyun doesn’t say anything right away.

but something shifts in his expression. his jaw ticks, just barely. his lashes dip like he’s trying to hide the flicker of emotion behind his eyes, like he doesn’t want to give himself away.

because yeah—he fucking gets it. way more than you know.

not just the movie. not just the speech. but the whole aching truth of it.

he’s been living that risk lately—leaving the comfort of the company that built him, stepping out with nothing but belief and a dream that people might still show up for him. that what he has to offer—now, as he is—is still worth something.

he hasn’t said it out loud, not to anyone. but hearing you say it—watching you light up over something so honest, so deeply felt—it stirs something in him. makes him see not just the movie differently… but you, too.

you, sitting here in front of him, talking about hope like it’s something fragile and holy.

it makes him feel less alone.

and for the first time tonight, baekhyun forgets about being careful. about being cool.

he just looks at you like he’s seeing something rare.

something that might just change everything.

"you're not what i expected," he says, voice low—almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you glance over, one brow lifting as you tilt your head. “good unexpected?"

he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you—really looks—like he’s committing your features to memory one slow blink at a time. eyes scanning the curve of your mouth, the slope of your cheek, the way the light catches the side of your face. and then, finally, he nods. once. small, certain.

you smile, warmth curling beneath your ribs as you lift your drink and finish the last sip. the glass makes a soft sound as you set it down on the coffee table. “funny,” you say, easing back into the cushions. “i was just about to say the same thing.”

his lips twitch, curiosity sparking behind them. “yeah? how so?”

you hesitate for half a beat, choosing your words. “you’re… calmer than i thought you’d be. softer.” your voice dips, gentling. “more real. the version of you on stage is fun—electric—but it’s not this.”

his smile stretches slowly, not wide but genuine, like the words settle somewhere deep in him. like maybe they mean more than you know. “so what you’re saying,” he murmurs, “is that i’m not the guy i pretend to be when everyone’s watching.”

you bump your knee lightly against his, a tiny grin playing at your lips. “exactly.”

his gaze drops, lingers where your thigh presses to his. and when he looks back up, there’s something darker swimming there—something thick with heat.

your breath catches.

a strand of hair sticks to the gloss on your bottom lip, and before you can even lift a hand, his fingers are already there—brushing it away, tucking it behind your ear like it’s second nature. like he’s done it before.

the touch is soft. reverent. but it sets something off inside you, deep and molten. like your body recognizes him before your brain can catch up.

his gaze holds yours, gold and liquid in the warm afterparty lighting, and this time, neither of you look away. there’s no posturing. no pretending. just... him. and you.

he leans in, slow. lips brushing yours—barely there. testing the space between you.

you don’t move.

so he kisses you.

it starts soft. tentative. like he’s asking a question he already knows the answer to. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens too fast, mouths parting, breaths catching, lips dragging, tongues meeting like they’ve done this before. like they remember.

your knees hook over his thighs without thought, your hips shifting, sliding into his lap like you were meant to be there.

and the second you settle—flush against him—he groans into your mouth, deep and wrecked.

“fuck,” he exhales, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe, hands curling tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. like he needs to hold you steady or he might come undone.

you rock into him slowly, your skirt hitched high, the friction between your soaked panties and the heat straining in his sweats making your thighs tremble. your head tips back, a moan slipping out that you couldn’t hide if you tried.

his lips are on your throat now, jaw, collarbone—anywhere he can reach, desperate to taste more. his hands slide lower, gripping your ass with purpose, grinding you down like he’s starving. like this is the only thing that will satisfy the ache he’s been carrying all night.

“you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane,” he mutters, voice shredded, fraying at the seams. “you have no idea.”

you’re seconds from cumming—lips locked, skirt hitched high, his grip on your thighs desperate, like he’s caught between dragging you closer and anchoring himself from completely losing it—when a voice slices through the air like a bucket of ice water dumped on your head.

“uh, babe? you in here?”

you both freeze.

baekhyun’s mouth stalls against your jaw. your lungs forget how to work.

and then—

pure. fucking. chaos.

you scramble off his lap, nearly kneeing him in the balls in the process, tugging your skirt back down your ass like it’ll erase the last ten minutes. baekhyun shifts too, adjusting his sweats with hands that still shake a little. your lips feel kissed raw. your thighs ache. you don’t even want to know what your hair looks like.

mika stands just inside the doorway, one brow cocked, arms folded over her sparkly top like the mom friend she definitely is when necessary. her gaze sweeps over the scene—your smeared lipstick, baekhyun’s rumpled shirt, the space between you two charged and awkward, like the tension hasn’t quite settled. and you—frozen next to the couch like you forgot what to do with your body now that someone else is watching.

“meeks,” you squeak, trying—and failing—to sound casual. “hey.”

“hey yourself,” she says lightly, voice dipped in that syrupy sarcasm only best friends can perfect. “your phone’s dead. figured i’d check you weren’t, y’know…” she pauses, eyes sliding between you and baekhyun, mouth twitching. “kidnapped. or eaten alive.”

baekhyun lets out something between a laugh and a choke. you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

and then her gaze settles on him.

his bleached blonde hair is a mess—textbook post-makeout chaos. cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, hoodie wrinkled like it’s been tugged in desperation. her gaze narrows. and you see it: the flicker. the click. the way realization sparks behind her lashes like a struck match. she knows.

of course she knows.

but mika? mika’s been around. she’s danced with indie film heartthrobs and ghosted rappers with stadium tours. she’s navigated VIP lounges and afters where NDAs are practically part of the dress code. she’s seen the famous, the infamous, and the almost-famous. and she’s never once made it weird.

so she doesn’t gasp. doesn’t scream. doesn’t say, “weren’t we just at his concert four hours ago?”

instead, she just raises an eyebrow—subtle, amused, dangerous—and shoots you a look that says i’m going to make you tell me everything.

then she shrugs. uncrosses her arms. casual as ever. “right. well. i’m heading out. you comin’ with or…?”

you look back.

and for the first time, really look.

bare skin—clean and fresh, faint traces of sweat still lingering at his hairline from earlier. his hoodie’s loose around his shoulders, the collar tugged slightly off-center, and his blonde hair sticks up in soft tufts where your fingers must’ve pulled through it.

he looks... manly like this. unstyled. real. almost heartbreakingly so.

and his eyes—they’re not teasing. they’re not flirty. not charming or rehearsed like they were earlier when he made you laugh into your drink. they’re quiet. open. like he’s asking something without saying it out loud.

you’ve never seen that look on him before.

not in music videos. not on stage. not even earlier tonight.

it’s not desire burning behind his gaze—it’s something softer. something closer to hope.

“stay a little longer, yeah?” he says, voice low. steady. like he’s giving you space to say no, but hoping to hell you won’t. “just for a nightcap.”

his thumb strokes your wrist again.

then, quieter—almost like he’s trying to make it casual, as if this isn’t something important—he adds, “i’ve got a charger for your phone you can use too.”

you don’t even realize you’re nodding until mika snorts.

“m’kay, text me when you’re done being ravished by kpop’s finest,” she calls over her shoulder as she turns to leave. “love you, don’t die.”

“mika!”

but she’s already halfway down the hallway, humming something that suspiciously sounds like ‘love shot.’

you glance back at baekhyun, cheeks burning, heart rattling behind your ribs.

he’s still holding your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse like he’s trying to soothe it—or match it. a crooked smile tugs at his lips, sheepish and flushed, whether from being caught mid-makeout or just the aftershock of it all.

like he hadn’t planned on you, but now he doesn’t really want to let you go.

his eyes find yours, soft and searching. there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t flash it like he does on stage or behind cameras. this one’s smaller. real.

he looks… relieved. maybe even a little stunned. like he’s not used to this—you. not just the kiss, not just the body heat, but the connection.

and there’s a flicker of something else in his expression too. not nerves exactly, but hesitation. like part of him is still processing that this is happening at all.

he rubs the back of his neck before reaching for you, voice low and careful. “i’m glad you stayed,” he murmurs, like it’s not something he says often. like it’s heavier than the words suggest.

his hand finds yours again, fingers brushing tentatively over your knuckles before he gently tugs you closer.

then he pulls you back into his lap, arms sliding around your waist, like it’s second nature—but his touch is more tender now. reverent. like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you might disappear.

you settle into him again, heart thudding, lips still tingling from the last kiss.

he exhales into the crook of your neck, voice barely above a whisper. “i-i don’t usually…” he trails off, his hold tightening slightly.

but he doesn’t need to finish.

you already know. 

and that truth—that rare, quiet truth—makes your chest ache in the best way.

you smile, and before you can say something to break the moment, he’s kissing you again.

but it’s different this time.

still hot, still messy, but it lingers. it asks. his mouth moves with reverence, his hands memorizing you, like he’s been starving for touch but terrified of being fed too well.

“woulda been devastated if you left,” he rasps, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks, voice rough and trembling with restraint.

then he nips—right below it. soft and precise. you jolt, hips twitching instinctively in his lap.

his hand moves like it has a destination. slow, deliberate, up the curve of your thigh, under the hem of your skirt. his fingers trail higher—light and teasing at first, but the moment he reaches the warm heat between your legs, everything sharpens.

you gasp.

his fingers still.

there’s a pause, heavy and humming.

you don’t have to see his face to feel the shift—the tension in his body, the hissed breath through his teeth, the unmistakable clench of his jaw when he realizes—

you’re not wearing anything underneath.

his fingers flex, knuckles barely grazing your slick folds.

“shit,” he breathes, almost to himself. “you’ve been sittin’ on me like this this whole time?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your chest is tight, lungs barely remembering how to fill.

he draws his fingers through your arousal, slow and deliberate, collecting the wetness before withdrawing. he brings his hand up, eyes locked on yours. his fingers glisten in the dim light, your slick catching the golden hue as he lifts them to his mouth.

you watch, helpless, as he slides his middle and ring fingers between his lips and sucks them clean.

his eyelids flutter, then flutter open again—gaze dark and fixed on you like he’s starving.

“where have you been all my fucking life?” he breathes, like it’s hurting him, like your taste is something he might never recover from. 

his cock twitches beneath you, hard and heavy beneath the soft cotton of his sweats, straining for more contact—more of you.

you don’t answer him—not with words.

instead, you take his hand in yours, slow and sure, like it belongs to you now. your fingers wrap tight around his wrist as you guide him back down between your thighs, the same fingers still slick from earlier. you spread wider, shameless, hips tilting forward like your body already knows what it wants.

he groans the moment you press his fingers into your soaked heat again—your cunt so wet and eager that he slides in without resistance. 

your back arches, lashes fluttering, a breathy moan spilling from your parted lips as he starts to move.

once.

twice.

a third time—deep, slow, curling just right, the pads of his fingers dragging against every spot that makes you whimper.

he’s watching you like he’s in a trance. like you’ve crawled out of some decadent, filthy dream with your lipgloss smudged and your hips rolling like you’re possessed by pleasure itself. 

his eyes don’t leave your face.

they can’t.

you keep your hand over his, guiding the pace, the depth—controlling him like a toy you know exactly how to play with. his fingers stretch you just right, knuckles brushing your dripping folds, your slick making a mess on both your hands.

then you whimper. soft. broken. 

it shatters him.

you lean in, your lips brushing his while you take those same fingers—wet and warm and still pulsing from where they were buried—and bring them to your mouth. your eyes lock on his, gaze steady, daring.

you part your lips and wrap them around his fingers slowly, deliberately, letting the gloss that still clings to your mouth coat his skin again. your tongue swirls over the pads, collecting your own taste, savoring him. his rings are cold against your lips—a metallic tease compared to the wet heat of your mouth.

his hips twitch beneath you, jaw clenching so hard you see the muscle tick.

he twitches beneath you. hips jerk. his jaw clenches so tight, you see the muscle flicker.

and you don’t stop.

you keep grinding down on him—slow, steady drags of your soaked pussy against his cock, your clit catching on the thick ridge of him through his boxers. the friction is perfect. devastating. addictive.

his eyes darken. voice drops.

“fuck,” he growls again, this time lower, more dangerous. “that’s it.”

suddenly, his grip tightens on your thighs, guiding you off his lap with shaky urgency. you stumble a little, knees weak, and he stands with you—his hand firm at the small of your back, the other sliding down to grab your wrist like he needs you moving now.

“can’t take it anymore,” he mutters, voice hot against your cheek, his breath a mess against your skin.

“i need you,” he growls, voice thick, fraying at the edges. “need to feel you wrapped around me. need to fuck the sweet, messy heaven you made on my fingers straight outta you.”

you whimper—helpless, already unraveling—and before you even register how fast you’re moving, you’re there. the hallway blurs. your hand is still locked in his, his grip unrelenting, like if he lets go now he might not get you back.

your pulse slams behind your ribs. you’re dizzy with how fast everything is unraveling. you follow him on unsteady legs, hips brushing, feet tripping over each other in the rush to get to the bedroom.

he’s not carrying you. he doesn’t have to. because he’s pulling you through the dark with a grip that says come with me. now. 

he reaches the door to his room, throws it open with one swift motion. his eyes burn when they meet yours—dark, wrecked, entirely gone for you.

the door clicks shut behind you.

baekhyun’s on you in the next breath—hands cupping your jaw, mouth crashing into yours like he’s starving for it, for you. there’s no prelude. no hesitation. just heat and teeth and breath, his lips pressed hard against yours as he walks you backward, blindly, toward the bed. he groans into your mouth, dragging you with him like his hands can’t bear to let you go for a second.

the beanie he had on earlier? abandoned on the couch. long gone. forgotten the moment your sweet mouth touched his. his sweater comes off first, pulled over his head with a grunt and tossed somewhere behind him. then his sweatpants, shoved down with one hand, the other still gripping your hip like you might disappear.

you whimper when your back hits the mattress, but he’s already climbing over you—pressing himself between your legs, kissing you like he’s trying to devour the moans from your throat. and fuck, you're giving them to him. whimpers and gasps and needy little sounds he swallows down like they’re fueling him.

you straddle his lap, feel him hard and hot beneath his boxers, the outline of his cock pressing into your soaked panties. your hands explore in desperate sweeps—his toned stomach, the cut of his hips, the way his muscles twitch when you grind down just right.

his hands are everywhere.

on your ass, kneading.

on your tits, squeezing, thumbs circling your nipples through your top until you’re arching into him, chasing the friction.

every stifled moan from your mouth makes him groan harder. every shift of your hips has him whimpering against your lips like he can’t believe this is happening.

you barely register the moment his hand slides down again. his fingers slip under your panties, push past the mess of slick already dripping for him.

two fingers, knuckle-deep, curling perfectly.

you cry out, hips jerking, grinding against the heel of his palm as his fingers fuck up into you—rhythmic, practiced, devastating. his palm rocks against your clit with every motion, and it’s too much. it’s all too much. he’s kissing you the whole time, tongues tangled, teeth clashing, spit messy between your mouths.

you ride his fingers like they’re his cock. pace quickening, hips stuttering, moans breaking against his lips as your thighs start to tremble.

“baek—fuck, i’m gonna!”

“cum for me,” he breathes, lips dragging down your neck. “cum all over my fingers, baby. wanna feel it.”

and you do—with a sharp gasp and a choked sob, your cunt clenches around him, gushing slick onto his hand. he holds you through it, lets you grind it out, rubs your clit as you shake and shiver above him.

he pulls his fingers out slowly, and you whine from the loss—raw, overstimulated.

but he just smirks, lifts his hand to his mouth, and sucks your release from his fingers like it’s honey. eyes on yours the entire time.

before you can catch your breath, he flips you onto your back and spreads your legs wide.

“need my mouth on you. now.”

you gasp as he drops to his knees, throws your legs over his shoulders, and buries his face in your pussy.

he devours you like a man starved—tongue dragging slow and unrelenting through your folds, lips sealed around your clit like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste. every flick is deliberate. every suck sends sparks skittering down your spine. and when he moans into you—low, guttural, wrecked—it vibrates through your core like a detonator.

his hands are ruthless on your thighs, fingers digging deep, spreading you wider like he owns the view between your legs. like he’s earned this. and maybe he has, the way he fucks you open with his mouth—relentless, greedy, like your pussy’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

you come hard. once. then again. and then again, your vision going white at the edges, your voice splintering around his name like a prayer gone hoarse. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s back on you, dragging you higher, refusing to let you fall.

he’s obsessed. addicted.

and he’s not hiding it.

he lifts his head just enough to speak, chin wet, lips swollen, eyes glassy with lust. “fuck,” he rasps, eyes locked on the mess he’s made of you. “you see this? see how you’re drippin’ for me? how the fuck am i supposed to stop now?”

his fingers slide back inside—two, then three—stretching you wide, curling deep. he finds your spot like it’s mapped in his muscle memory, like he’s been waiting his whole life to touch you like this. his mouth returns to your clit, licking with slow precision, sucking hard like he needs it to breathe.

“wanna fuckin’ die down here,” he murmurs against you, voice thick and ragged.

you sob his name, thighs trembling around his head, hips trying to jerk away from the overstimulation—but he groans at that. growls at that. hands dragging you closer, grinding his face deeper into your cunt like he’s chasing your next high through sheer force of will.

you cum again—this one violent, toe-curling, shaking so hard your hands can barely find his shirt. but they do. they grab, fist in the collar, tugging him up with desperation.

his mouth crashes to yours, wet and dirty, your slick still shining on his lips. the kiss is obscene. teeth, tongue, need.

and your hand’s already moving—slipping down between your bodies, palming the thick, aching bulge in his boxers.

“want it,” you gasp against his lips. “wanna feel you. want you inside me.”

his eyes darken, jaw clenched, a twitch of disbelief and desperate restraint cracking through his composure.

he exhales, like the words punch the air out of his lungs.

“how can i say no to you?”

his lips are still on yours when he lines himself up—boxers shoved down to his thighs, your legs draped open for him, panties tossed somewhere in the sheets. he strokes himself once, twice, teasing your entrance with the flushed tip of his cock, gliding it through your soaked folds.

“baby…” he groans, forehead pressing to yours. “fuck, you’re so wet.”

you nod, lips parted, eyes barely open. “please, baek. now.”

he pushes in slow—inch by inch, thick and deliberate—letting you take every bit of him, your walls fluttering from how sensitive you still are.

you cry out, spine arching, nails digging into his biceps. he groans, low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“oh my god,” he breathes, jaw tight, hips shaking as he bottoms out. “you’re fuckin’ squeezin’ me, baby—”

you whimper beneath him, completely overwhelmed—stretching around him, feeling every inch, the fullness dizzying. he stays still for a second, panting into your neck, like he's trying to pull himself back from the edge.

you clench around him again, needing more. needing movement.

he lets out a choked whine, lips brushing your skin, “fuck—feels like heaven,” he groans, voice wrecked. “you do that again and i swear i’m gonna cum just like that.”

your pussy tightens reflexively, and he moans into your throat—raw, helpless, feral.

you whimper again, your hips starting to move on instinct.

he matches your rhythm, slow at first—sensual, deliberate strokes that grind against every sensitive nerve inside you.

the room is humid with breath and want, skin against skin, the slap of his hips against your thighs growing louder as he fucks deeper, faster.

“such a good girl,” he rasps. “takin’ all of me like you were made for it.”

you fall apart again—loud, messy, clinging to him, heels digging in his lower back as your orgasm rips through you.

he fucks you through it, fingers tangled in your hair, kissing your tears away as you tremble and shiver beneath him.

round two hits different.

you’re pulled from sleep by warmth—his breath on your shoulder, the soft drag of his mouth kissing over your skin. 

you stir, barely, and feel his hand cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.

his other arm’s wrapped tight around your waist, fingertips trailing lazy circles down your stomach, then lower. he’s hard again—thick and pulsing against your ass, and he ruts into the curve of your body without even meaning to.

“awake?” he murmurs against your neck.

you hum. “barely.”

“c’mere,” he whispers, rolling you onto your back.

his face is soft in the low light. it must be five a.m.—still dark, sky a velvety blue beyond the hotel windows.

you reach for him, pull him down by the face, and your mouths meet again—slow, sleepy, sensual. he sinks into you with a groan, no warning, no teasing. just raw, aching need.

you gasp into his mouth. he starts thrusting in long, slow rolls, his pelvis grinding against yours at the perfect angle. every stroke sends heat curling in your belly.

he doesn’t say a word—just exhales against your lips like he’s trying to pour everything he feels into that single breath. like if he kisses you any harder, you’ll know what he can’t put into words.

but it’s not enough.

you want more. need more.

your body moves on instinct—pushing him back against the mattress, crawling into his lap with slow, purposeful grace. your knees settle on either side of his hips, skirt riding up, your cunt slick and aching where it hovers just above the thick line of his cock.

his eyes drink you in like he’s never seen anything more stunning. heavy-lidded, lips parted, throat working around a breath he can’t quite catch.

“you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers, voice low and reverent, his hands sliding up your thighs—gripping, kneading, tracing your skin like it’s holy.

you don’t answer. just sink down, slow and steady, taking him inch by thick, throbbing inch.

his breath punches out of him in a gasp, head thrown back, fingers digging into your hips. “shit—”

you ride him like you own him. hips rolling, bouncing, grinding down until your skin slaps against his with every thrust. the drag of his cock inside you is devastating—too good. too deep. and not nearly enough.

his moans grow ragged, sharp, the sound filthy in your ears. “fuck, baby—just like that. keep goin’. you feel so good—fuck, i’m gonna lose it.”

your hands brace on his chest, nails raking down the sweat-slick fabric of his shirt, chasing another high as your body trembles from the aftershocks. your pussy flutters around him, milking him greedily, overstimulated and still aching for more.

“cum for me again,” he groans, sitting up just enough to mouth at your tits, tongue dragging over your nipple through your top. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock. wanna feel you drip down my thighs.”

and you do. again. helplessly. a cry ripping from your throat as you fuck yourself through the release, dizzy from how much he fills you. from how deep you need him. from how much you know this is going to ruin you.

and god—he loves it.

“baek—don’t wanna stop,” you pant, nearly sobbing. “feels too good.”

“then don’t,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard they might bruise. “fuck—ride me, baby, don’t stop.”

he thrusts up into you, losing control. the tempo turns messy, hungry, animalistic.

“god, you’re perfect—this pussy, fuck—it’s got me fuckin’ obsessed.”

you throw your head back, mouth open, eyes rolling as he slams up into you.

your cunt flutters around him again—tight, soaked, relentless—and he nearly loses control.

he’s shaking now, jaw locked, muscles flexing under your palms. everything in him winds tighter, like he’s seconds from snapping.

because how the fuck is this real?

he’s never felt like this. never needed someone the way he needs you right now.

he’s obsessed—with the way you smile mid-moan, with the soft whimpers that leave your throat every time he grinds into that perfect spot. your eyes—god, your eyes—rolling back, lashes fluttering like you’re seeing stars. your throat exposed when your head tips back in pleasure, that pretty, vulnerable neck he’s dying to mark up and call his.

it’s too much. too perfect. too you.

and when you fall forward, mouth crashing into his, the kiss is frantic—tongues messy, teeth clashing, like neither of you can get close enough.

your bodies are slick with sweat, pulsing with need, every nerve screaming.

and then he’s cumming. deep, thick, hard. his whole body jerks as he spills into you, hips grinding through the release like he’s trying to brand it into you—his claim, his worship, his fucking downfall.

and in that moment, nothing else exists. just the feel of you around him, shaking and perfect. just the sound of your breath in his ear.

and the quiet, terrifying realization blooming behind his ribs: you’ve already got him.

completely.

the room is quiet now. the only sound is your breathing—shaky, soft, slowing. his, too.

the sheets are kicked halfway down the bed, twisted around your ankles. your body’s still warm, flushed in places, marked in others. the air between you is thick with sweat and sex and something heavier neither of you has named.

baekhyun lies on his side, propped on one elbow. just… watching you. like he can’t not.

he brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead, knuckles grazing your cheek. your lashes flutter, your lips part like you’re about to say something—maybe something dumb or playful or too honest—but nothing comes out. you just look at him.

and he’s struck silent all over again.

because fuck…

you’re so pretty like this. all wrecked and glowing, skin kissed raw, eyeliner smudged in the corners of your eyes. your lips are swollen from him, your pulse still visible in your neck where the marks are starting to bloom—places he’s already thinking about going back to. again. and again.

it wasn’t supposed to go this far. he was just supposed to party a little. blow off steam. it’s his first solo world tour—he’s been running on fumes and caffeine and pressure for weeks now. last night’s plan was to just fuck around a little, drink, unwind, and then move on to the next city like always.

but then you showed up.

the girl from the tenth row at tonight’s show. the one who danced like she didn’t care who was watching. the same girl he caught standing awkwardly at the bar at his afterparty, trying to act casual like she hadn’t just been screaming his lyrics a few hours earlier.

and now you’re here. in his space.

naked and tangled in his sheets, etched into the quiet of his night like you were always meant to be there. your chest rises and falls beneath blankets he never planned to share, in a city that meant nothing to him yesterday, and now feels like it’ll ache a little every time he thinks of it.

he exhales through his nose, slow and steady, voice soft against the quiet, “you good?”

you nod, lips tugging into a lazy smile, “don’t think i’ll be able to feel my legs for a few days.”

he grins, low and crooked, “yeah, me too. rehearsals are gonna be a bitch tomorrow.”

you both laugh—quiet, breathy, the kind that hums in your chest. and for a while, that’s enough. no words. no pressure to speak.

just stillness. skin against skin.

your fingers drift along the inside of his forearm, lazy and absentminded, like they’re just getting to know the shape of him. his hand rests on your hip like it’s always belonged there, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin—as if he's trying to memorize the curve of you before morning steals this softness away.

then your phone buzzes twice on the nightstand. sharp. insistent. a quiet jolt back to reality.

you glance over and notice the screen lit up, the charging icon glowing in the corner. he must’ve plugged it in for you while you slept.

something about that undoes you a little.

you shift, the weight of the moment settling over your chest. “i should probably go,” you murmur, not really wanting to.

but his hand doesn’t fall away. he just holds you a second longer—fingers tightening at your waist, like he’s still deciding if he’s ready to let you go.

“lemme get you a car home,” he murmurs, still breathless, hand grazing your hip like he’s reluctant to let go.

you nod, rolling onto your back, already feeling the loss of his warmth before he even moves.

he sits up, silent, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling his sweats back on. the soft sound of fabric, the creak of the mattress, the distant hum of the city outside—it all feels louder now.

you slide out of bed, slipping your top back on, fingers fumbling slightly at the hem. your panties are nowhere to be found. your heels are waiting by the door like they knew this was coming.

neither of you speaks as you both dress, the silence not uncomfortable—just full. full of everything unspoken. full of the way your body still aches from him.

you’re slipping your heels on by the door when something soft lands against your back.

you turn just in time to catch it—his hoodie. the same cozy grey one he wore to the afters earlier, still warm from his body.

you blink at him, lips parting, chest already tight with something you can’t name.

the hoodie smells like him—clean skin, faint shampoo, and something unmistakably you clinging to the fabric now. you pull it over your head. it swallows you instantly—the sleeves hanging past your hands, the hem brushing your thighs, heavy with the weight of the night still lingering in every thread.

his eyes follow the movement, lingering as you adjust it over your hips. 

he doesn’t say a word, but there’s a shift in his face—softened at the edges. like something quiet cracked open inside him.

he grabs the suite keycard from the nightstand and slips it into his back pocket like it's second nature. you’re still tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, swimming in it, heart doing something stupid and fluttery in your chest when he glances back at you.

you follow him toward the door, and your hand just—finds his. like it was always meant to. he doesn’t say anything, just threads his fingers through yours and squeezes once. you don’t need words. not right now.

the hallway is quiet. like 3 a.m. quiet. the kind that makes everything feel softer, heavier. the elevator dings, and you both step inside. you expect silence. maybe a head-tilt goodbye. instead, his mouth is on yours again before the doors even close.

it’s slower this time. deep. his fingers slip into your hair, tug just enough to tilt your face up so he can really kiss you. and god, he does. like he means it. like he’s trying to burn the shape of your mouth into his memory just in case this really is the last time. your hands fist in his tee, your knees go a little weak. you sigh into it, drunk off him again.

there’s so much in this kiss. things neither of you planned. things he’s not saying. things you’re definitely gonna spiral about when you’re home and alone in your bed.

the elevator chimes again. he doesn’t let go immediately. just bites down on your bottom lip—gentle but deliberate—before he finally pulls away, breath still catching in his throat.

he keeps your hand in his as you both walk through the empty lobby. his thumb rubs slow circles over your knuckles, and it’s so stupidly sweet you don’t know what to do with yourself. outside, the air is crisp. the city’s winding down, the sky a soft blur of navy and gold. and the ache in your chest? yeah. that’s definitely real.

there’s a black truck waiting at the curb, engine humming low, windows tinted. you kind of hate how real it makes everything feel.

baekhyun walks you to the car without saying much, still holding your hand like it’s second nature now—like letting go would feel too final. when you reach the door, he opens it for you himself, his palm brushing the small of your back in that quiet, anchoring way. like part of him still isn't sure he wants you to leave.

you’re about to climb in when he pauses.

“i’ve got a couple more shows in the city,” he says, voice low and unreadable. his eyes flick up to meet yours. “if you’re around… and feel like crashing another afters.”

your heart stutters.

you look at him—white tee wrinkled from where you had your fists curled into it in the elevator, blonde hair still messy from your hands, from his own. he looks like no time has passed at all. like he could pull you back upstairs right now and you wouldn’t even hesitate.

you smile. “maybe.”

he nods, once. quiet. like that one word told him everything he needed to hear.

then he helps you into the car, his fingertips grazing your bare thigh as you settle into the seat. a soft touch. a question he doesn’t ask out loud.

he shuts the door gently behind you.

as the truck pulls away, you lean your cheek against the window, breath fogging up the glass. you try not to look back.

but of course you do.

he’s still there.

hands tucked into the pockets of his grey sweats, white hoodie sleeves pushed up, mouth unreadable. watching you go like he’s trying to memorize it—just in case you don’t come back.

your apartment feels too quiet when you walk in. 

not peaceful. not calm.

just quiet in a way that makes the whole night feel like something you imagined. like you’re stepping out of a dream barefoot.

you toe off your heels by the door, ankles aching, thighs sore in the best, most sinful way. your lips are still tender—kiss-swollen, tingling—and you’re swimming in his hoodie. oversized and worn soft, sleeves covering your hands, the hem brushing your upper thighs with every step.

your bag slips from your shoulder and lands somewhere near the kitchen counter. you don’t bother picking it up.

your phone buzzes the second you set it down. the screen lights up with notifications in a neat little stack:

instagram story likes. 

a dm from some guy you danced near at gravity. 

a flurry of messages screaming “YOU WENT TO REVERIE?! SO JEALOUS”

and then, of course—mika.

meeks 🦋

BITCH WHEN U GET HOME I NEED A PLAY-BY-PLAY!!!!! i saw the way he looked at u omfg i am unwell

you laugh under your breath, thumbs hovering over the screen—still unsure how to even begin explaining what the fuck just happened.

but then another notification rolls in from a contact you don’t remember saving.

B.

your brows pinch in confusion. you don’t remember saving that contact. 

you tap it open.

the first thing you see is a photo. a crisp, perfectly lit shot of an all access pass for the next two reverie shows in your city… and a sleek black suite keycard resting beside it on hotel bedsheets you recognize all too well.

beneath it, a message:

thought you might wanna crash again

your stomach flips.

you stare at the image, your thumb hovering over it like it might disappear if you blink too hard.

he must’ve done it—added his number into your phone sometime between kisses, between rounds, when you were half-dozing on his chest, legs tangled in the sheets.

quiet. sneaky. baekhyun.

a laugh escapes—disbelieving, giddy, a little breathless.

you bring the phone to your lips and smile, heart racing all over again. not from the concert. not from the alcohol. 

from this.

from the realization that you almost didn’t go.

you were tired. you were going to call it a night. but mika had to talk you into one more stop—just one more before heading home.

if you’d said no…

if you’d gone to bed like you planned...

you wouldn’t be here now, wearing his hoodie, smelling like his sheets, rereading a text from him.

your fingers hover over the screen for a second longer before tapping the heart on the image. 

you type back:

guess i’m yours for the next two nights then

send.

you sink into the couch, the weight of the night finally settling in your bones. you bury your face in the collar of his hoodie, still warm, still smelling like him—sweet skin and sweat and something that clings.

and for the first time all night, you’re so fucking glad you didn’t go home.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ i think i've got my edge back 😭😭😭😭 this one's for my fellow delulu girliez, hope ya enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe <333333333

When you first brought up the idea to your boyfriend, he was reluctant and hesitant, almost downright refusing to even think about it because he was so worried about hurting you. It was cute and sweet, his attentive behaviour towards you and your wellbeing is a trait of Chanyeol’s you love and adore. Nothing is missed when it comes to him, and he always seemed to know your limits. But you wanted to push it so bad.

“Baby, I just… I don’t want to hurt you,” He had said, his voice soft. “I mean, what if I get too rough with you?”

You’re sitting in his lap, his palms resting on your hips and his thumbs pressing into the crease of your hips and thighs. He rubs your soft skin mostly out of habit, but partly just to soothe himself over the conversation. Your fingers pinch and bundle the hem of his shirt, nail just barely biting at his bare skin, maintaining strict eye contact with your boyfriend despite his constant fidgeting.

“I told you, Chanyeol,” you started firmly, bringing a hand up to his nape and letting your fingers brush the strands of his hair along his neck. “I trust you so much, I know you won’t hurt me… and I promise you if it gets to much I’ll stop you immediately” 

You can almost see him thinking, his brain processing and reworking his previous opinions about your idea in the first place, biting the inside of his own cheek. Slowly but surely, he lifts his hand up and sticks his pinky out, a simple gesture but carrying the weight of a meaning that makes you beam with delight, hooking your own pinky around his in a promise. 

That’s how you find yourself laying on your back against the bed sheets later that night, stripped of your clothing and your legs forced open by the body that sits between them. There's tears streaming down the sides of your face, mouth open wide with a pitched moan as Chanyeol plummets his fingers into your needy cunt, the lewd wet sound filling the dark room. It wasn’t a new occurrence, he loved spreading you open and keeping you that way to watch you writhing beneath him with no way of relieving yourself, surrendering completely to his fingers working you open to later fit his overwhelmingly thick length. 

The difference now was his hand clamped around your neck, his fingers and thumb applying pressure along the sides of your neck to effectively block your ability to breathe properly. It heightened every bit of your senses, choked moans and cries spilling from your mouth as his fingers curl and slam into you, occasionally leaning over to spit on your clit just to brush his thumb against the swollen bud, never giving you full satisfaction. You hated and loved it all so much. 

Chanyeol releases the pressure on your neck to allow you to breathe, slowing down the pace of his fingers and rubbing slow circles around your clit, thumb catching the hood, “Fuck, princess,” he coos, fingers curling inward as he presses down against the bud, the thumb on your neck caressing your skin. “You’re gorgeous like this, y’know. My good girl taking my fingers so well, even when you can barely breathe you just lay there and take it” 

You nearly cry out at his words, an overwhelming surge of arousal pooling in your abdomen makes you squirm and buck your hips against his hand, gasping as his hand tightens around your neck once more. “Dirty girl, you’re so filthy,” He whispers, his tone laced with sweetness and admiration. 

He slips his fingers out from your plush walls, observing your hole clenching around nothing but air, almost pleading to be filled again. 

The hand around your neck drags down along your torso, fingers gentle against your skin in contrast to his actions just moments ago. “On your stomach, doll,” He says, his hand finding your hip to urge you onto your stomach, humming at your easy compliance as he lifts you onto your knees, his fingers grazing your folds and teasingly spreading you open 

“Atta girl,” his voice is low and rough, his hand wrapping around his hard length and guiding the tip against your slit, hearing your muffled moans into the pillow as you push your hips back against his cock, watching it slip inside your hole. “My pretty girl is so needy”

Chanyeol's hands are suddenly cupping your breasts, fingers brushing against your perked nipples before hauling you up against his chest. He’s thrusting his cock into your greedy hole, curling his arm around your neck and trapping you against his chest, His bicep and forearm completely cutting off your ability to breathe, putting you in a headlock as he fills your pussy.  

Your mouth hangs open, choked moans slipping out as he drives his length into you, his free hand resting along your lower stomach, fingers sprawled out and pressing against where your belly bulges from his dick. The feeling makes him moan.  

“Fuck princess, I can’t get enough of you, you feel that? Just sucking me in and claiming every part of your insides, hm?” He groans into your ear, releasing the pressure around your neck for a moment, the high pitched moan coming from you has him speeding up his pace, slamming his hips against you. 

“You like being completely helpless, doll? You can barely even breathe and you’re still whining for my cock,” He suddenly slows his pace, dragging the thick length along your walls as the hand splayed across your belly slips lower between your thighs, fingers collecting the slick that leaks around his cock from your pussy and circling it around your clit. 

Chanyeol suddenly tightens his arm around your neck, slamming into you. “C’mon princess, cum just like this, dirty and pathetic all over my cock, just like you wanted too” 

Your vision becomes spotty, your body convulsing from the overwhelming pleasure ripping through your body. You aren't even able to moan, strangled whines being all you can conjure as you cum, feeling the spurts of his own release filling your pussy and coating your walls in hot white semen. 

You gasp as Chanyeol removes his arm from your neck, hands holding you firmly as he lowers you onto the sheets and slips himself out of you. His fingers are gentle, caressing your tender body and letting his hands cup your hips, then your waist. You take a moment to breathe and process everything, coming down from your high. 

“You’re alright, princess? Was I too hard on you?” He suddenly asks, feeling him sink into the spot next to you on the bed. His hand caresses the curve of your waist, and when you open your eyes to look at him there's a worrisome look on his face. You feel his fingers suddenly touch your neck, barely grazing the skin.

“That was perfect, Chanyeol,” you smile widely, eyes half-lidded and in a daze, “please do it more, with your arm– god, that was so hot, babe” 

You hear him chuckle, leaning in to gently kiss your cheek. “Okay princess, I’ll keep it in mind since you loved it so much,” the implication alone that he’d do it again makes you squirm. “But for now, please try to rest… I’ll clean you up”

“Don’t piss me off.” You overhear Kyungsoo say to one of the other line cooks, making you gulp nervously. “Who the fuck prepped these tomatoes?! They’re all crushed!” He continues cursing to his kitchen. 

You’re shitting bricks right now. You have to ask Kyungsoo a substitution question and you were guaranteed to be yelled at. You can feel your pits grow moist at the thought of confronting him. 

“Um, sorry. Kyungsoo?” You try to speak up but the dishes and sounds of pots and pans are deafening. You clear your throat. “Chef?” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Your lips fold into your mouth as you finally catch his attention. The very sight of you is enough to piss him off already. You can’t breathe. “What is it, princess? I better not hear the word substitution come from that mouth of yours.” 

Your lips press into a straight line before you take a deep breath in. 

“Um,” You hesitate. “Table 2 was wondering if they could change the eggs in the eggs bene to ham.” 

Fuck. 

Kyungsoo slowly looks up at you and fucking glares at you. You can feel the tears well up as he prepares to yell at you. You see his jaw tighten, trying to hold back the last bit of sanity he had before he goes off on you. 

“Are you a fucking idiot?” His brows are knit together. The whole kitchen has stopped or at least moved slower to hear the absolute chaos that’s about to ensue. “What the fuck is wrong with you that you would have the fucking balls to come here and ask me to sub the eggs in a fucking eggs bene. The answer is fuck off. Get out of my kitchen.” 

Your eyes are blurred by your tears. You run out of the kitchen, completely embarrassed. You run past your manager who seems genuinely concerned and speed straight for the bathroom. You hide in one of the stalls to fully let yourself cry. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” You swear out of frustration, covering your face with your hands. 

You loved this job but ever since they hired this new head chef; your life has been miserable. You weren’t able to think straight. You were making rookie mistakes all over again: forgetting to print tickets, forgetting to bring people their ketchup, and most importantly, forgetting that you shouldn’t take what the mean line cooks say to heart. 

You couldn’t afford to quit this job. Literally everything else at this job was fun. You love talking to customers. You love your manager. You love the people you worked with. It was just him. 

You hate to be dramatic but this man made your life a living hell. 

You pull yourself together and take a deep breath in. “You can do this.” You encourage yourself. “Only 2 hours left.” 

You head to Table 2 to apologize on behalf of the kitchen for not being able to accommodate their egg allergy. “I would like to apologize but our chef is unable to substitute the eggs for- Is that ham?” You point at the customer’s plate, completely confused by the sight of the piggy meat sitting on top of the english muffin.  

“Yes, thank you so much for making this happen!” The customer beams at you, happily shoving a piece of his ham into his mouth. 

“Oh, of course.” You fake a smile before refilling his cup with water. 

You look back at the kitchen door, unable to piece what just happened together. 

The rest of your shift goes smoothly as you avoid going back to the kitchen for anything, asking your coworkers to grab any extra condiments for you instead. You’re helping close the front, mopping the last bit of the dirty floor when you hear the door swivel open. You watch Kyungsoo leave the kitchen with the same unfriendly face he always has. He almost passes you before you stop him in his step, lightly grazing his arm.  

“Thank you for making the sub.” You say, doing your best not to make your voice waiver.  

“Next time, lead with the allergy.” He replies, watching your hand on his arm. You drop it like his jacket is on fire. “Have a good rest of your day.” 

What a jerk. 

————

The brunch rush was extremely hectic this Monday. It was a long weekend which meant that there were a lot more people going out to eat than usual. You did not waste a single minute, making sure to refill everyone’s drinks, get everyone’s orders, and check on your tables regularly. You were finally getting your groove back.  

Until you make eye contact with the six-top at Table 5. 

Your eyes widen. Your chest drops to your ass. Oh, fuck me. You rush to the computer and type in their order as fast as you can. They’ve been waiting for 15 minutes and — 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You wince when you hear Kyungsoo yell through the walls. You need to hide. Quickly, if you still liked working here. You find yourself shuffling around, unsure of where to go next. You just refilled everyone’s cups. You struggle to find an excuse to hide amongst the customers. 

“Y/N!”  

Shit. 

You walk in the kitchen like a guilty puppy with her tail tucked between her legs. Your hands are clasped together behind your back, sweating profusely. Kyungsoo looks up and locks eyes with you, sad little puppy you. 

“Well, what the fuck? Is this your first time working during a rush? When a group of six comes in, you warn us. Is that so fucking hard for your pea-sized brain to understand? Fuck, you’re hopeless.” Kyungsoo’s voice grows louder, stronger, angrier. He’s fuming, his eyebrows raising every time he finds a new way to insult you. His eyeballs look like they want to pop the fuck out of his face. If this were a cartoon, there would be smoke coming from his ears. 

You can feel the tears well up again. Before you can even let them escape, you run into the walk-in fridge. There were way too many customers for you to hide in your usual spot. As soon as the door closed behind you, you burst into tears, falling to the ground and covering your face once again. 

“I’m such an idiot.” You whisper to yourself. The cold air feels refreshing after a good tearful cry. You take a deep breath, ready to go back out when the door opens. 

“Are you really hiding here when I just said there’s a rush?”  

You pout at the man who made you cry. He followed you in here too? He really will be the death of you. 

“I just needed a minute.” You swallow the bubble stuck in your throat. You wipe the remaining tears with your sleeves as you stand up. Your head lowers immediately when your eyes meet his intimidating pair. 

He stares at you a little longer and nods slowly. His arms are crossed, judging you from above. You can see why he got this far in life to work in a fancy brunch spot in the heart of the city. His stance was demanding, powerful.  

“I’m sorry. I forgot. I should have told you as soon as they walked in.” You can’t do anything now but apologize.  

He studies you for a second. You prepare for the next insult, for the next reminder that you are incompetent. Instead, he exhales through his nose. 

"Don’t be too hard on yourself.” You look up at him, surprised. Are these words of comfort? “It happens. Just try not to piss me off again.” Ah, there it is. 

He exits the cold room, leaving you alone. It’s weird. You don’t feel like a complete idiot anymore but you don’t feel completely comforted either. What you do feel is that Kyungsoo might not be a complete asshole. 

————

Life is so much easier with the new line cook (not Kyungsoo). The balance had been restored. When Sehun first called you princess and offered you free fries, you almost fell in love. Finally, a line cook who is acting the way he should be.  

You can tell it kills Kyungsoo every time Sehun defends you and says, “she’s just a girl”. To which Kyungsoo responds with “a girl without a brain”. It’s become somewhat fun and playful working with the kitchen. You haven’t cried since Sehun joined the kitchen staff and you are planning on keeping it that way. It’s great. 

You were opening the front today and hoping to get free breakfast from Sehun at this early hour. You skip to the kitchen with a gleeful smile, excited to see your new work husband. You immediately frown when he’s nowhere to be seen.  

“Oh, it’s you.” You’re met with a very serious looking Kyungsoo prepping the fruits, brows furrowed in complete concentration. The angry gremlin seems to have a sense of humour as he scoffs at your little comment. Not once tearing his gaze away from his stupid fruit. 

“No breakfast for you.” He practically sings mockingly, playful smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. You hope he doesn’t see you mock him, mouthing ‘no breakfast for you’ in the most condescending way. Sehun would’ve found it funny. 

"Devil’s spawn.” You mutter under your breath as you walk back to the front of the restaurant. 

You miss the way Kyungsoo chuckles as he continues to prep the ingredients. 

“Good morning my princess!” Sehun comes in through the front door right on time. Your eyes gleam, waving at him excitingly.  

“Morning Sehun!” You greet him happily. You look at him expectantly and flutter your lashes exaggeratingly. He laughs as he heads to the kitchen. You pout dramatically as he passes you. 

“Give me 5 minutes. I’ll make your burrito once I settle in.” Sehun peeks his head out the door. Your pout quickly turns into a bright smile.  

It grows a bit bigger when the small gap before the door closes reveals Kyungsoo glaring at Sehun. No breakfast for me, huh? You scoff to yourself before you start your day. You start by removing the chairs from the table. Then move on to cleaning and setting the tables.  

There has never been a better opener, you smile to yourself and admire your work. You head to the coffee station and start brewing the coffee. Sehun comes out just in time with two burritos in hand.  

“Oh thank you,” You practically moan. You’ve been craving this ever since he made it for you the first time you opened together. You take a bite. “Marry me?” 

“I already set the date, baby.” He beams, happy that you enjoy his cooking. He cheers his burrito with yours and takes a bite of his own. And you two eat peacefully together, standing behind the counter in fear of making a mess anywhere else.  

The peaceful bubble is burst when the angry gremlin walks in.  

He doesn’t say anything, just eyeing you two before he moves past you to get to the coffee machine. He sighs when he sees it’s not ready yet. “What do you even do here?” He shoots you a glare for not having the coffee brewed in time for his morning routine.  

“You can wait 10 minutes.” Sehun defends you. Kyungsoo eyes you both, shifting from one to the other. Until they set on you.  

He leans in closer and lowly whispers in your ear, “Don’t involve yourself with my kitchen staff.” 

You try to bite back a rebuttal when your breath suddenly catches, realizing how close he actually is. This is the closest you’ve ever been. You step back to expand the space between you. You would never even think to date a line cook. As a waitress, you’ve seen that burn way too many times. What you and Sehun had was just harmless flirting.  

You can feel yourself grow hot in anger. Kyungsoo had no business to forbid you from seeing anyone. You hate him so much. And you loathe the way he’s just lingering near you while you eat your burrito.  

The coffee machine is hissing while Kyungsoo waits like he didn’t just whisper the most infuriating threat in your ear. You’re frowning at him, in complete disbelief that he would even say something like that to you. Who did he think he was? The machine calms down, indicating that it was ready. You watch as Kyungsoo pulls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. He reaches for a mug near the machine. His fingers grip the mug and flip it upright with ease. He pours the coffee into his cup, you notice the sharp line on his forearm for the first time, so toned and defined.  

Your breathing is becoming heavier as you observe all his movements. You can feel yourself getting hotter each second passes that he calmly sips on his coffee. Your eyes can’t help but follow the movement of his throat when he swallows. He looks up from his cup and eyes you instead. That one look is enough to have you forgetting how to breathe but most importantly, you’ve forgotten all about the burrito in your hand. 

When Kyungsoo returns to the kitchen, you catch Sehun take a bite of his burrito, unable to suppress the grin forming on his face. He knows. He just watched you thirst all over his boss. Over a cup of coffee. You couldn’t believe it either. 

“What the fuck?” You mouth quietly to him, brows raised, surprised by your own actions. 

"Babe, we’re going to have to cancel the wedding.” 

You throw a piece of tomato at him. 

————

There’s another rush and this time Kyungsoo does not hold back. Unfortunately for you, Sehun took the day off so Kyungsoo was being relentlessly mean to you and only you. Everything you did was wrong, wrong, wrong. He was nitpicking, nagging, all of the above. He took it all out on you. And you just had to take it.  

“Sure, take the whole fucking day to grab your food. All this counter space is all for you, princess.”  

Again, he was being such an asshole.  

“You wanna ease up a bit, huh?” You channel your inner Sehun and get the confidence to talk back to him. His jaw tightens, clearly bothered that you would stand up to him. He doesn’t say anything. You quickly grab the food for your table before he decides to go off on you again. “Ass.” You mutter under your breath, low but loud enough for him to hear. 

To your surprise, he actually does ease up. Well, he doesn’t talk to you at all after that. It’s enough to get you through the day. You haven’t made a single mistake. And you managed to get Kyungsoo to shut up on your own, all without Sehun’s help. You might treat yourself to some ice cream on the way home.  

“Y/N” Kyungsoo’s low voice catches your attention before leaving for the day. He’s standing near the door to the kitchen. His expression is dark and unreadable to you. You swallow nervously. You wave at your coworker who was closing for the day before you walk to meet Kyungsoo in the kitchen. 

You walk inside his workspace and stand in front of him. He’s leaning against a counter, arms crossed. He’s looking at you like he’s trying really hard to form his next thought. You’re holding your breath for what he’s about to say, prepared for whatever he has to throw at you. 

“I’m sorry for my behaviour today. It was unfair to release my frustrations onto you. I have no excuse.”  

He’s apologizing? You stare at him, surprised. You were fully bracing yourself for a screaming match, ready to defend yourself against him.  

“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know I’m sorry.” He continues. His eyes never leaving yours. He doesn’t look nervous at all. If anything, it looks like he actually means it.  

He gives you a small smile before he pats you on your shoulder and moves to exit the kitchen.  

Your body moves faster than your mind, your hand shooting out to grab Kyungsoo’s forearm. Seeing him smile and pat your shoulder stirs something inside of you. Something that was encouraging you to act irrationally.  

His gaze drops to your fingers wrapped around his arm before lifting back to you. “What are you-” 

Kyungsoo doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before you crash into his lips, kissing him hungrily. You have no idea what’s come over you. But you are so fucking happy when his hand finds its way around your hips while the other naturally finds its place at the back of your head. You thank the heavens that Kyungsoo takes over the kiss, immediately deepening it. 

Before you know it, you were hoisted up onto the counter that he had just cleaned. His hands are gripping your hips firmly, massaging your sides. You can feel yourself getting wetter with his every touch. His lips move against yours with ease and without pause, barely giving you any room to breathe. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding himself back. And maybe you were too. 

Your fingers play with the neckline of his white t-shirt, wanting to take it off him entirely like it’s personally offending you for being in the way of you and his bare chest.  

“Don’t,” His mouth hovers yours, tickling your lips. Your mind goes crazy, anticipating what he’ll say next. “stretch it.” He kisses you again. 

You roll your eyes. Of course he would criticize you even with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Take it off then.” You snake your hands under his shirt, attempting to help him take it off. He shakes his head, grabbing your wrists and pinning them back to your sides.  

“Jongdae’s outside.” He says lowly, peppering your jaw with kisses. You tilt your head, giving him more access of you. 

Like that’s supposed to stop either of you. 

“So?”  

You hear him groan frustratedly in your ear before he grabs your ass and carries you in the direction of the fridge. “Wait.” You say, panicking. You don’t want to freeze your tits off. “It’s cold in there.” 

He grabs the handle with one hand. “You’ll live.” He says before yanking the door open and carrying you inside the cold room. He sets you down on a cold, empty shelf, before he continues to tackle your lips. A soft whimper escapes your lips when you feel the coldness of the metal seep through your jeans. He starts massaging your inner thigh as if to warm you up. 

“These jeans fit you so nicely.” He doesn’t even glance down to look at your jeans, sucking on your neck instead. The realization hits you all at once. He's been checking you out all day. And suddenly his anger and frustration start to make sense. Why he got so mad at you for ‘flirting’ with Sehun, the random ‘pep-talk’ he gave you in this very room the impossible substitution exception he made for you. All these moments begin to merge into one big blob of realization that oh my god Chef Do Kyungsoo has the hots for you. 

Your hunger for him deepens. You don’t even know where to start. Without thinking, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. His eyes are hooded, overtaken by lust and fixated on you like you are the only one he wants.  

“I want you, Kyungsoo.”  

Kyungsoo hears you loud and clearly, moving quickly to slide your jeans off. You gasp when you feel his cold fingers against your bare skin. “It’s so cold.” You whine again. He gets on his knees and looks up at you. “I’ll warm you up in a sec.” 

Your jeans were cast off somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You catch him smiling at the sight of you, legs wide open for him, shivering, waiting for him. His cock twitches just thinking about it.  

He blows a warm breath between your legs, sending shivers down your spine. Then, sliding your underwear to the side, gives you a long lick. You gasp at the sudden heat of his tongue. “You taste so good.” He says before returning to your folds and lapping his tongue up and down the split. You can hear how wet you’ve gotten. Kyungsoo is drinking you in like he’s been thirsty all day and you are the first taste of water. 

Your thighs clamp instinctively when he decides to add his fingers, fucking you as he continues to swirl his tongue around you. He has to use his free hand to move your thighs apart, massaging you instead. Your eyes shut as you feel your climax approaching. Kyungsoo immediately catches on, applying a lot more pressure onto your clit, sucking, licking, doing whatever fucking magic he was doing to get you there. He hooks his fingers so he’s now hitting your sweet spot. You moan his name breathily to let him know. You can feel him smile at the sound of your pretty voice and increases the speed of his fingers.  

“Kyungsooooo fuuuuuuuckkk” You groan, gushing all over his face. Your hands grip his hair, pulling him closer to you as you ride out your climax. He doesn’t stop sucking, wanting to drink all the juices spewing out of you. Your clit throbs, overstimulated, now sensitive to every flick of his tongue.  

Kyungsoo finally pulls back and presses a hungry kiss to your lips. “I’m not done with you yet.” He wipes the small tear from the corner of your eye with a gentle swipe of his thumb 

“I’m not either.” You’re staring up at him with the same amount of desperation. As promised, you reach for his belt buckle and undo it hurriedly. Kyungsoo pets your head, running his fingers through your hair as if to tell you what a good job you’re doing. You bite your lip when you pull down his pants to reveal the tent growing in his boxers. You look up at him before you descend to your knees. Kyungsoo stops you mid-way before grabbing something from the shelves. He drops it to the ground. “Towels?” You tilt your head, unsure what they were for. It can’t be a makeshift bed, you chuckle to yourself. 

“I don’t want you to hurt those pretty knees of yours, princess.” Kyungsoo smiles, flicking your chin ever so slightly. This was the most romantic shit that’s ever happened to you. The usually condescending pet name for you has softened, blossoming into something almost tender. The realization that Kyungsoo was on his knees not too long ago and he didn’t grab those towels for himself is making your heart race. 

You immediately get on your knees and rush to work, eager to return the favour. You feel like it's Christmas morning the way you are unwrapping him like he’s your present. You pull down his boxers to reveal his girthy length. In awe, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze, in disbelief that this belonged to Kyungsoo. He raises an eyebrow at you, amused; you’ve definitely stroked his ego with that reaction.  

You snap yourself out of it and lick the precum off his tip, earning you a sharp hiss from Kyungsoo. His hand grips your hair ever so slightly; you feel yourself grow surprisingly wetter. You drag your tongue across your palm and spit on his dick before wrapping your hand around him, slowly stroking him up and down. You tilt your head sideways and run your tongue along one of his balls.  

“Oh fuck” Kyungsoo swears at the sudden touch.  

You tease him for a bit longer with your tongue before you taking one side in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue while your hand keeps pumping him up and down. You feel his cock twitch in your grasp.  

“You’re driving me crazy, fuck.” You glance up at him. Kyungsoo is looking down at you with pure adoration. You smile with your eyes as you continue to slobber over his ballsack, switching from one to the other. Saliva spewls out of your mouth as you take your time with him.  

“Fuck, slow down, princess.” 

You don’t slow down. 

Kyungsoo desperately needs you to suck his cock now. You were only at his balls and he already feels close to losing it. He grips your hair and forcefully removes you. You meet his gaze, out of breath, yet still smiling up at him like a brat.  

“You don’t listen.” He tsks, wiping the drool from your chin. He leans down to kiss you gently, his apology for yanking your hair. You didn’t mind it. It turns you on a lot more than you expected.  

“Now suck me off.” He murmurs lowly against your lips before straightening again and guiding your head back to him. Your eyes don’t leave his as you open wide and slide his length into your mouth slowly. Kyungsoo groans the moment you take all inches of him.  

“You’re so good to me. My princess.” His hand begins to move again, stroking your hair in slow, approving strokes. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his shaft, stroking him slightly as you bob your head up and down, swirling your tongue and sucking him in unison. The hum of the fridge fills the room, mixing with Kyungsoo’s moans and your slurping sounds. You were seriously hoping this fridge was as soundproof as Kyungsoo made it seem. You pick up your pace to Kyungsoo’s content. He’s close, his cock is twitching in your mouth. You’re a slobbering mess, drool spilling out of your mouth and leaking from your hand.  

Kyungsoo’s a moaning mess. “Fuck, princess. I’m so close.” You take your other hand and massage his balls. He groans, pushing your head closer to him as he empties himself in your mouth. You swallow every single drop. He releases his grip around your hair. Immediately, you show off your tongue to him, letting him know that you didn’t spill a single drop of him.  

“Ugh, you’re perfect, princess.” Both his hands fly to the sides of your face as he crashes his lips onto yours. He brings you back up to your feet and turns you around. He presses onto your back, lowering you so that you’re now bending over for him on the not-so-cold-anymore shelf. You look back at him, finding him stroke himself hard again as he stares at the view of your ass. 

“I can’t believe I get to fuck this pretty little pussy of yours.” He mutters, catching your gaze. He swipes his cock against your folds. “Shit, you’re still so wet.” You stare as he shows you wet you’ve become. You bite your lip when he shoves his fingers into his mouth to taste you. 

Without warning, he thrusts into you. You gasp at the sudden fullness, bending over so you were no longer facing him. 

His size was so thick. This was the first time you’ve felt like you were actually being stretched out. “You’re doing such a good job, taking me.” Kyungsoo praises you, hands massaging your ass and moving your hips back and forth as he fucks you. “Why can't you ever do a good job like this at work? Hm?” 

“Tell me you’ll do a good job next time.” Kyungsoo thrusts harder into you. You whimper, clenching around him out of surprise. “Answer me.” 

“I’ll do a good job next time.” You repeat after him. He pushes into you again, this time deeper. He halts, pressing his lips gently onto your shoulder.  

“Good girl.” He starts pounding into you desperately, recklessly. You squeal at the pure ecstasy. Kyungsoo has to wrap his hands around your mouth to shut you up. Maybe it wasn’t so soundproof.  

Kyungsoo is snapping his hips so quickly. Your eyes begin to well up in tears from how good he feels inside of you. He reaches down to your clit and applies pressure, rubbing you in circles in the same rhythm as he’s fucking you.  

You’re clenching around him, unable to take the overstimulation. “Cum for me, princess.” He practically growls in your ear, encouraging you to reach your end. You come undone to the sound of his voice like it was the password to your climax, walls clenching around him.  

“Kyungsoo” You moan, tiredly but Kyungsoo doesn’t stop fucking you. He continues, chasing his own. Not too long after, you feel him pull out of you and spill all over your ass. “Fuck.” He takes your chin in his grasp and kisses you so tenderly and so deeply. You forget where you are. You stay like that for a minute. 

“Is anybody still here?” Jongdae shouts out to no one in particular. “I’m closing the front!” 

“Yeah! In the fridge.” Kyungsoo shouts back. “I’ll take care of the back.” 

Using up what’s left of your energy, you turn back to look at him, surprised at how clear his voice was because you don’t think you can even croak out a sound. He laughs at you, kissing you sweetly on the lips. 

“Okay! Have a good rest of the day Chef!” Jongdae says his goodbye, interrupting the moment 

“You too!” Kyungsoo responds as he peppers kisses onto your back. 

“Fuck. Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” He pulls you up and helps you put your jeans back on. Your body was now sweaty, and it was a lot harder to put it on than to take it off. 

“Let me guess. Since the day you started here.” You scoff at him, having pieced together everything minutes ago. 

“Yes, fuck. And it didn’t help that you kept fucking up.” He presses his lips onto you again, never wanting to let a minute pass that he wasn’t kissing you. 

“Does this mean you’ll go easy on me now?” You ask sweetly, batting your lashes, hopeful. 

“Why?” He smirks, zipping his pants and fixing his belt. “You don’t like it when I make you cry?” 

“Oh, I love when you make me cry.” You say. “Just not when we’re working.”  

Kyungsoo chuckles. 

“Suck me off like that again and we’ll see.”  

You never knew that your emotions, sadness and tears could mean so much to someone. That it could matter, worry and concern someone this much.

But that was probably only because you hadn’t met Baekhyun in your life earlier. Because now, you felt like you always had someone to lean on, a chest to cry to, and a guiding hand to pull you out of whatever pit of sadness you seemed to fall into often.

It started small.

Only a couple of months into dating Baekhyun, when you started to come over to his place for sleepovers, he slowly discovered about your extremely restless sleeping habits, your sleepless nights.

The first time it happened, you sat up in the bed, heaving and gasping quietly to yourself to catch your breath—seriously trying not to accidentally awaken him because then you were worried that he’d see just how much of a pathetic loser you were.

But it wasn’t easy, you just couldn’t seem to calm yourself down and the tears weren’t stopping either, you just wanted a good night’s sleep with your boyfriend but your brain had other plans.

You swore your breathing froze when he stirred beside you, then he was suddenly sitting up, eyes squinting in the dark to stare at your shaking form.

“Baby…?” The words left his lips in such a soft and quiet manner as if you were some scared wounded animal that he didn’t want to startle anymore. Without any questioning or demanding explanation from you as to what happened that lead you to hyperventilating at 3 in the morning, he just moved closer to you.

You opened your mouth to tell him that it was okay, that he should just go back to sleep, that you didn’t want him to see you in such a pathetic state but all the words got stuck in your throat and the only sound that left your lips was this small wet whimper which made you shut your eyes tightly in shame.

Baekhyun didn’t need anymore words, not that you had said anything, he just took you in his arms, your head tucked under his chin as he tugged you closer—almost on his lap as you sobbed against his chest, wetting his shirt. He held you so… tightly, so firmly, so lovingly, as if trying to shield you from whatever was going on in your head.

“Breathe, baby, breathe…”

He didn’t even question you, just held you. His lips pressed to the shell of your ear as he whispered sweet nothings to you, calling you every pet name imaginable while rocking you back and forth.

After your tears had dried down a little, he pulled away, softly asking you if you wanted to talk about it, when you shook your head, he didn’t push at all.

Instead, he grabbed you and just skipped over into the kitchen, smiling softly as he just told you easily, “let’s make a chocolate cake, hm? You can add the star sprinkles on top, pretty girl.”

Like he wasn’t in the kitchen at 3 in the morning, on top of when he clearly had a lot of work the next day, you tried protesting against it but he pressed a finger to your lips while you both got to making the cake, he licked off the frosting off your fingers, blowing some flour on you, just messing around with you, making you giggle.

Being with him like this made all your problems fade to nothing, the devastatingly big amounts of love and adoration in his eyes as his gaze zeroed in on you whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice and was busy whisking the eggs—it seriously made you feel so scared, being loved so intensely and intimately.

You often found yourself questioning if you even deserved such love from him, but then Baekhyun would wipe those thoughts away from your head with the reverent way he held your face while he kissed you, the way he touched you like you were made of the most precious porcelain and deserved to be cherished and worshipped.

Sometimes after a particularly hard day, after you’ve had some problems with your friends—Baekhyun would try his best to cheer you up, ordering your favourite milk cake from the bakery down the road, playing you a love song on the piano, watching your favourite reality show even though he had never really liked it.

He’d do everything just to take that look of utter hopelessness away from your eyes.

But the truth is, sometimes nothing really worked and Baekhyun understood that, he understood that your emotions weren’t like a light switch that he could turn on and off with just a couple of his loving actions.

He always waited patiently, waited for you to open up, crack out of your shell, climb up and out of the tall walls you had built around yourself, sometimes not even letting him in. He understood why, maybe you’d been scarred similarly in your past and that was why you were so wary now to let people in easily.

And when you’d let finally him in, Baekhyun’s heart in his chest felt like fireworks.

It was late and you both had gone to bed, he didn’t push you to talk of it. But maybe you just couldn’t take it anymore.

And as Baekhyun laid there on the bed, wide awake beside you because he was worried about you, he heard you sniffling, your back was to him and he couldn’t exactly see your face but god, did Baekhyun’s heart dropped to his stomach.

He didn’t say anything to you, just moved closer and enveloped you loosely from behind—giving you room to pull away from him if you didn’t want him or his warmth right now. He’d understand.

But when you leaned back into his chest, your sniffling turning into small sobs that twisted his heart, Baekhyun almost felt a sort of relief that you were leaning onto him, instead of just shutting him out and wallowing in your problems all by yourself.

“I’m here for you, sweet girl, hm?” He felt the need to word it for you, for you to really understand that he was here for you and will always be.

When you answered by twisting and turning to face him, your face all teary and red, holding back the sobs. Baekhyun winced at the sight of your absolutely wet face.

He couldn’t help but tug you even closer to him, you buried your head in the crook of his neck immediately and he wrapped his arms your whole body firmly, anchoring you to him.

“Oh, baby… it’s okay, I’m here for you,” was all the words he could get out of his mouth while you trembled and sobbed into his chest heavily. God knows what lead you to be like this and he felt helpless and almost a tiny bit frustrated as he thought about how reserving you were with your emotions, so he knew he couldn’t even ask you about it, afraid you’d only pull away and retreat back into yourself.

Imagine the level of surprise and relief flooding through him when you began speaking, rambling to him through your sobs, “I saw them at the café… the same one that I told them about, the one I wanted to go at with them but they’d told me they were busy… but then they were there, without me.”

“Who, sweetheart? Slow down, it’s okay, tell me,” he spoke in a hushed tone, hand rubbing up and down at your back to soothe you even further.

“My friends.”

“You saw your friends at a cafe? The one you wanted to check out with them, but they went there without you?” He countered softly, trying to get the picture of what you were going through and trying to tell him.

You sobbed and nodded, but then tried to catch your breath to speak a little more clearly to him, you started again, voice shaky, “yes, then they proceeded to be… passive aggressive when I walked up to them and asked them about it? They were weird towards me, said how they thought I weren’t free that’s why they went without me. I… I don’t think—Baekhyun, they don’t like me anymore.”

You fell into a fit of small whimpers and sobs again while you blamed yourself, words muffled into his chest, “maybe I did something wrong,” and a mix of “i always go and ruin all of my friendships.”

“No, baby. What? Are you kidding, it’s not your fault at all, you are the best and the nicest friend they could ever have. That’s clearly wrong from their side,” he was quick to reassure you and made you didn’t fall into the pit of self-blame.

Baekhyun didn’t like that one bit.

How dare your friends make you feel this way and how could you even blame yourself for this, you were the sweetest and nicest girl he knew. You were not a bad friend—far from it actually, but your friends. Well, he never liked them much from the start. Too many red flags.

But he never said it to you, never wanted you to feel that he didn’t like your friends because of his personal reasons, and also knowing how impressionable you were to his words, he didn’t say it to you because he didn’t want you to cut all your friends off and then stop being the outgoing girl you were.

He spent the night holding you and wiping your tears, telling you with that firm voice of his that he only used when he was really worried or serious about something—that it wasn’t on you at all. How you were the best girl ever and you didn’t wed such jerk friends anyways, how you can go and make more friends and perhaps better ones this time.

When you were finally out from it all and Baekhyun had insisted you on a change of your clothes—considering how wet and snotty you had gotten, he finally voiced the idea he had in his mind ever since you started, “so this café you were speaking of? Where it it?”

You replied to him, now feeling better as you pulled the loose t-shirt down on your torso and smiled. It was fairly new and had opened in the downtown.

Baekhyun smiled at you so tenderly while you spilled details and facts about the place, how you’ve heard such great things about the strawberry cheesecake from their menu and wanted to try it, you were so adorable and all he could do was smile as he presented his offer to you, “So, me and you then, this Saturday afternoon? How’s that sound?”

“What? You’ll go with me?”

He nodded sweetly and had to hold back a laugh at how surprised and taken aback you were at his question, though he also didn’t enjoy it much. Why would you be even surprised? He was your boyfriend, your lover. Of course, he’d be at your every whim and request. He’d take you everywhere you wanted to go to and he’ll tag along with you everywhere.

You suddenly ran to him and threw yourself into his arms. Baekhyun let out a chuckle, soft and warm, coming from the depths of his heart as you buried yourself in his arms, thanking him sweetly.

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for, silly girl. Of course, I’ll go with you. What do you take me for, huh? I’m your man.”

You beamed up at him as you settled back into the bed beside him, “I don’t know, I just think it’s sweet of you. I’ll love to go with you, you’ll love their caramel latte for sure!”

Fuck your friends if they didn’t want to go with you and hang out with you, Baekhyun would do all the things with you that required a friend—because he wasn’t just your lover, he was your best friend, your biggest supporter, your everything and every relation in life that you’d ever lacked.

He’ll be your man, your lover, your best friend, your father figure—whatever it takes for you to feel loved and cherished.

True to his word—like always, Baekhyun was there with you and you both found yourself sitting in a cozy dimlit cafe, munching on cheesecakes and cookies while sipping on your coffees.

Even though it might sound wrong, but Baekhyun didn’t—couldn’t hear a single word of what you were saying, something along the lines of how the place was so great and you’d buy their this and that.

“Let’s take one slice of that for home, too,” he just said easily, referring to the slice of New York styled cheesecake in your plate—he seemed to notice that you liked that one the best.

You nodded mindlessly and fell back into conversation while all he could do was just stare at you, the slice of chocolate cake in front of him long forgotten as he memorised all the little details about you—the way your lips tend to curve in a downwards smile when talking about desserts specifically.

“So… did you like the place, too?” You questioned, almost excited to know what he thought of the food and all that.

What an angel, he smiled at you like you were the center of his universe—you were. He reached across the table, intertwining his fingers in yours and he nodded, “of course, I did. You have the best taste, my pretty girl.”

His words gave you a rush like no other, it went straight to your head and you looked down, going lost in your thoughts—thoughts about Baekhyun.

At this exact moment some sort of epiphany occurred to you—you were so in deep, so far deep in love for him. You felt like a woman who had been lost and wandering meaninglessly your whole life and Baekhyun was the guiding hand who held you tightly and never let you go, like he was the one who could soothe the emptiness aching so intensely inside of you, every inch of your body—your existence, your very being, felt like it was made for him. Like he was meant to be your salvation.

Baekhyun looked at you with extreme levels of love and devotion in his eyes as he gestured the cashier to bring over the cheque. You shivered under his gaze, like you always did, helpless to the effect he had on you.

“I love you so much,” he almost whispered like it was something sacred yet the words came out easy and smooth, like he knew you needed to hear it and he said them often anyways.

“I love you more.”

You finished up quietly and just stared into eachother’s eyes in silence.

He’d take you home after this, giggle on the way home as you tell him some funny knock knock joke. Maybe once you’re both home he’d pepper you in kisses, talk stupid shit about how this painter was better than that painter, play chess though he’d let you win even if you suck at it, hold you close after you win, make out with you then maybe fuck you on the couch—slow and deep, before you’re both falling asleep right there in the living room.

And Baekhyun could and would live for eternity like that, that was all he would ever want in his life. Cry, laugh, fight, and do everything with you—even if it was baking a cake at 3 in the morning or just listening to your rant for hours about your favourite song.

He would choose you, over and over again. Always. In this lifetime and in any other one he existed in.

It was you and all you, the meaning to his life, the sunshine after the thunderstorm, the daisies on a warm summer afternoon, the cold breeze drifting through a hot summer night.

You were everything he had ever wanted and more.

And he was your everything, too.

“Please, don’t make me think of it now” you hummed, expressively taking a sip of wine from the glass you were holding, and Baekhyun let out a warm laugh that drew some eyes to the two of you.

Baekhyun’s acquaintance, Jongdae, stood next to the two of you, his own smile never ceasing, although more relaxed as he only listened to the exchange. You wondered if, after knowing Baekhyun all these years, he could see through the politeness and only chose to disregard the signs. Or maybe it was just you thinking there was any way to see through Baekhyun – maybe his politeness was unbreachable. That would explain why, after all this time, the two of you remained unnoticed.

The truth, however, was that your relationship was much deeper than just acquaintanceship. Although, in a way, there was nothing deep about it – only a bit of inappropriateness, one that you were happy to keep away from the public eye. But, truthfully, it was nothing that special. Nothing one of a kind.

You would never call your meetings hook-ups. That term didn’t suit Baekhyun – the gentleman, the prince, always so well-behaved, always on top of his game, sending polite smiles to the by-standers and more enthusiastic ones to the people he entertained with a small talk. He held the wine glass with practiced elegance, never too lavishly, maintaining the perfect balance between modesty and confidence. It drew people in – it made everyone fall in love with him. And you weren’t any different.

But his fondness of you did differ from the one he showed to other people, and you were hyperaware of the lingering glances while the two of you entertained other guests during the fundraising party held in the old mansion that had been currently serving as a museum.

These were parties like this that the two of you met at the most often – a neutral ground, never raising anyone’s suspicions, never inappropriate.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if the two of you had been acknowledged by the public. But it wouldn’t feel right. As if it would mean expecting too much, creating a vision that neither of you wanted to take the responsibility for.

But the parties? They were a playground. They were something you looked forward to. You knew what to expect from him. It wasn’t emotionless; quite the opposite. The fondness was genuine and mutual. And it burned hot.

Every party or gathering, fundraising or not. Every time the fate brought you two together – somehow it happened frequently, the city’s socialite circle not being as broad as one would think. Finding a spot that nobody could find you in, making out until your bodies craved more, indulging in each other as if the two of you were lovers. Maybe you were, in a way. Being called a lover despite these being only fleeing moments seemed far more suitable for the elegant man Baekhyun was.

You wondered, however, if it felt any suitable for you. You lacked the confidence, the elegance that he oozed with. It wasn’t the first time you opted for being casual with someone, avoiding the arrangement that would require thinking too much, sacrificing too much. There was nothing special about you – you weren’t pure, or particularly beautiful, or notably skilled at making others feel good, despite your best efforts. Sometimes, you wondered why, of all people, Baekhyun sought refugee in your embrace.

But then you thought that, if nothing else, you prided yourself in always taking what he was giving, in always being honest about what you were willing or not willing to do, in being sincere with him at all times the two of you spent together.

This, for once, was not an act – even if the scenes or plays that the two of you engaged in sometimes were, just for the joy, for the variety of it, there was something genuine about the two of you never pretending to be something you were not. Maybe that was what the two of you needed – the safe place to act out the fantasy without wondering what the other may want from you at the end of the day. The trust. The compatibility that was not based on restraining yourself or hiding the true needs and wants, but on accepting what the other needed or wanted at the moment, and giving yourself to each other – without a worry or shame.

And there was, truly, no room for shame, because, despite the gentleman that he was, Baekhyun’s pace was always relentless. And, although you could predict the deed itself, you were still awestruck by the fact that of all places, he guided you to the art curator’s office and had you bent you over the desk of the kind elderly man that, less than twenty minutes ago, talked to you about the vegetables he was growing in his backyard. Carrots and pumpkins.

He chose this place deliberately, you knew. It wasn’t accidental. It couldn’t be, and Baekhyun was never accidental. Because right ahead of you, behind the curator’s leather office chair, hung an oil painting of a middle-aged lady looking at you with disdain and borderline disgust. Judging you. But never ceasing to watch.

Your stomach coiled with something feral, something that made you clench around Baekhyun’s cock as he moved at a fast, but deliberate pace, fingers tangled in your hair that surely didn’t hold the shape of the elegant updo that you entered the estate with. His other arm was wrapped around your waist, preventing you from falling against the desk – making sure that you never stopped the eye contact with the painting.

“Look at you… You’re going to go out there in that fancy dress and with cum leaking down your thighs. What a slut you have to be to get fucked at a fundraising party?”

His voice pierced through your very being. The meaning of it, the tone of his voice matched what you imagined the painting to think. Shameless. But careful all the while, so conscious of your comfort, making sure to never pull your hair in a way that would hurt, holding you well so that your pubic bone wouldn’t bruise against the desk you were pressed to.

“That’s what you’re good for. Being used like that…” His voice trailed off when you clenched around him, his own body quivering ever so slightly. “You’re so good for me” he all but moaned, his tone softening so suddenly that it gave you a whiplash. It was so him. Praise overlapping with degradation, the mood shifting but the pace never ceasing. And you swallowed up every single drop of it. He knew how to have you wrapped around his finger.

There was something cleansing about the way Baekhyun degraded you. About the ways he found to humiliate you, making the gap between of you grow to the size where it no longer mattered. Not trying to make you feel better about yourself. Making you feel so pathetic instead, so lowly and unworthy, that with his single touch, he made you ascend, setting your soul ablaze, giving your existence a purpose.

And then something utterly blessing in the way he praised you. As if only his approval mattered, as if of all things in the world, only his acknowledgement made any sense.

All these words tangled together with your own thoughts, mending so much that you no longer remembered what your insecurity was. A mush of perception, now commanded by him, last bits of your autonomy – gone without a trace.

Your mind melted away and you didn’t even realize you forgot to hold back on the sounds you were making until Baekhyun’s hand let go of your hair and clamped around your mouth instead, two fingers pushing between your lips, too frantic for you to even focus on anything but the salty taste on your tongue.

“Stay quiet, angel. I don’t want them to hear how much you like being ruined.”

You loved every bit of him. And he, undeniably and sincerely, loved every bit of you.

And as the world right outside the door continued to run, the two of you took the sweet time to indulge in the moments you allowed yourself to feel.

“Where did you learn to braid?”

Baekhyun’s fingers combed through your hair with practiced ease, untangling the knots and making sure nothing stood out as he tried to recreate your previous updo to his best capability. It surely wouldn’t look like straight from the hairdresser you visited earlier today, but he still seemed pretty comfortable in the way he brought the strands together, and, spotting yourself in the reflection of the glass cabinet nearby, you were certain no one would even notice the change.

“I used to share an apartment as a student” he admitted, a hue of shyness lacing his voice. “Me and two girls. It just came handy.”

You blinked.

“You? Shared an apartment?” You turned around to face him, now genuinely curious.

Baekhyun let out a small giggle. The sound was precious in your ears.

“I rebelled against my family a lot when I was younger. I moved out to study arts. Unimaginable in my bloodline. But it worked well for me.”

You nodded slowly, but still stared at him in awe, pondering over what you just learned.

“I’m not done yet” he suddenly scolded you, gently putting hands on the sides of your head and turning you to face away from him again.

His fingers worked so gently, so carefully. They massaged your scalp as they went on, and the sensation made you melt a little. For a brief moment, you thought that this is even nicer than any sex the two of you had. That you wouldn’t mind feeling this every day.

“I want to learn more about you” you suddenly announced.

Baekhyun’s fingers stilled. In the glass cabinet’s reflection, your eyes met. You stuttered, looking down at your hands, folded neatly in your lap.

“I- I mean, just, you know, out of curiosity.”

Slowly, uncertainly, he resumed the work. A silence fell upon the two of you. You let it last.

Somewhere in the middle, Baekhyun stood up to close the window he left ajar to refresh the office air. Nobody still found you here, and you wondered if it was just a matter of time or if the curator was simply not going to come. Not like anyone else had any business coming in here.

Giving your renewed updo the last glance and pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, Baekhyun patted your shoulder.

“Here you go, pretty girl. Are you cold?”

Your thoughts hung onto the casual praise for a moment before you replied.

“Just a little.” You turned around again, facing him, more confidently this time, with more certainty and intent. Your head tilted to the side, wordlessly inquiring, asking him the unspoken question. The tension between the two of you was sharp. Baekhyun’s lips parted for a moment, taking you in with hesitation.

“We can meet sometime.”

This, for once, sounded unpracticed. Baekhyun’s eyes slipped to your lips for a brief moment before moving back up, not in the usual way that made you weak in the knees, but rather yearning softly, as if his control slipped for a moment.

“If you would like.”

For a few moments, he sat there, bared from the usual demeanor, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him be. Real. Like he was doing it for the first time and worried about messing things up. You cherished this moment in your heart for as long as it took before you realized that his gaze, searching yours, pleaded for an answer.

“I would love that. Anytime you want. Anywhere…” He hushed you, pressing his lips against yours.

Like a lover. Like he usually did. Only now, it meant just a little bit more.

You broke the kiss, feeling your face burn up and covering the shyness with a cough that made the corner of Baekhyun’s lips lift smugly as he pressed the last, chaste kiss into your cheek.

“We should probably return to the party,” you spoke quickly, “someone might be looking for us.” Hopefully not the curator.

“It should be warmer there” he nodded.

He helped you to your feet and his hands smoothened the fabric of your dress.

The party continued throughout the night. Things that sprouted during, however, lasted much, much longer.

A/N: Please reblog if you enjoyed and follow if you would like to read more in the future. By the way! I will have the next Baekhyun fanfic coming out on 14th December. I will not be collecting tags for that one specifically so if you would like to be tagged, make sure to join my Taglist!

EXO Masterlist || SVT Masterlist || ATZ Masterlist || Taglist Form

The beautiful dividers are by cafekitsune