#lisawrites

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

⟢ jongin

standing backshots. jongin doesn’t just fuck—he devours. he takes his time, lets the anticipation build, makes you feel every second of his attention before he finally gives you what you’re begging for. and standing backshots? it’s his favorite because it’s raw, desperate, and so damn deep.

his hands are firm on your hips, pulling you back against him as his chest presses into your back, his breath hot against your neck. he likes keeping you right on the edge, teasing, dragging himself along your slick folds, letting you shiver before he finally pushes in.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, voice thick, rough. “so tight—how are you always this tight for me?”

his grip tightens the second you try to move, holding you in place, forcing you to take every inch at his pace. his fingers dig into your hip, guiding you back onto him, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel just how deep he is. and when he finally pulls almost all the way out? he gives you one warning—one low, husky “stay still.”

and then he slams forward, knocking the air from your lungs, your palms pressing into the nearest surface to keep yourself steady. he’s merciless. deep, measured thrusts, grinding into you between each snap of his hips, making sure you’re stretched around him, taking everything he gives you.

“you hear that?” his voice is almost teasing, breathless. “hear how fucking wet you are for me?”

and when your legs start shaking, threatening to give out, he’s already there. one arm wraps around your waist, holding you up, keeping you locked against him as he drives into you from behind, relentless. his lips are on your neck, kissing, biting, whispering filth against your skin as he loses himself in you.

“uh uh, baby. don’t you run from me.” his palm presses into your lower stomach, feeling the way he fills you, the way your body molds around him. “stay your ass right here. i’m not done with you yet.”

he’ll make sure you don’t forget it.

⟢ chanyeol

cowgirl. omg congratulations to you for bouncing on it!!!!!!!!!! chanyeol loves the way you look when you’re on top. all of you—spread out for him, trembling above him, completely at his mercy even when you’re the one in control. he wants to feel you, watch you, let you take him however you want, but if you think for even a second that he’ll just sit back and let you have your way? you’re dead wrong.

his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, smoothing up your thighs, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he helps you move, his fingers digging into your skin as he watches you take him in, slow and teasing.

“fuck, baby.” his voice is low, wrecked, barely holding himself together. "you feel so fucking good—look at you, riding me so well."

he tries to let you set the pace, he really does, but the second you slow down, teasing, grinding instead of bouncing? his patience snaps.

his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he thrusts up into you, deep and sharp, knocking the breath right out of you.

“you think you can play with me?” his voice is a rasp, his head falling back against the pillows for a second before his dark, blown-out eyes find yours again. “nah, baby. you wanna tease me? you better be ready for this.”

he grabs you, pulling you flush against his chest, his arms caging you in as he plants his feet against the mattress and starts fucking up into you—hard. his grip is unrelenting, forcing you to take it, making sure you feel every thick, deep stroke.

“shit—you're gripping me so tight—fuck.”

he’s panting now, his lips brushing against your ear, his groans turning into deep, desperate moans as he loses himself in the way you feel around him. one hand slides up your back, threading through your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back as he leans in, lips hovering over yours.

“say my name, baby.” his voice is wrecked, pleading, demanding. “louder. let me hear you.”

and when you finally give him what he wants, his control snaps completely. he flips you over in one move, pinning you beneath him, his hands on either side of your head as he drives into you, raw and desperate, completely consumed by you.

“fuck, i need you—i need all of you—” his forehead presses against yours, his breath mixing with yours, his hips snapping faster, “you're mine, baby. you're fucking mine.”

and he’ll make sure you never forget it.

⟢ sehun

missionary (but make it intense). sehun might seem nonchalant on the outside, but don’t let that fool you. when he has you beneath him, pinned down, there’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. missionary with him isn’t just some slow, sweet affair—it’s raw, primal, and so deeply intimate that you can’t escape his gaze, even if you wanted to.

his hands are everywhere— fingers laced with yours, pinning your wrists above your head as he presses his body against yours, chest to chest, hips locked together. his thrusts are deep, measured, deliberate, each one hitting you right where you need him, each one dragging out a gasp, a moan, a whimper that only fuels him more.

his eyes stay locked on yours, dark and blown out, his breath mingling with yours as he leans in, his lips just barely brushing against yours with every thrust.

“you feel that?” his voice is a low growl, sending shivers down your spine as he grinds his hips against yours, making sure you feel every inch of him. “you’re mine—every fucking part of you.”

and he doesn’t just say it—he shows it. he shifts, angling his hips just right, making you arch up off the bed, your nails dragging down his back, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

his lips find your neck, teeth scraping gently before sucking a mark into your skin, claiming you in every possible way. his hands move from your wrists to your thighs, gripping, pulling you impossibly closer, deeper.

“look at me,” he demands, voice rough, almost pleading. “i want to see you. i want to see what i do to you.”

and when you meet his gaze, eyes wide and glassy, completely undone beneath him? he loses it.

his pace quickens, thrusts turning sharp, almost punishing, each one sending shockwaves through your body. but even then, he keeps his focus on you—watching every reaction, every moan, every tremble.

“fuck—just like that,” he breathes, his voice cracking, his control slipping. “let me feel you, baby. let me feel you come apart for me.”

and when you do—when your body arches into him, when you cry out his name, when you tighten around him so hard he sees stars— he doesn’t stop.

he keeps going, keeps moving, keeps fucking into you with everything he has, chasing his own release, needing to be as close to you as possible. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged, lips finding yours in a desperate, messy kiss as he finally lets go, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering groan.

even after, when you’re both panting, bodies tangled together, he refuses to pull away. his hands gently stroke your hair, his lips pepper soft kisses across your face, his voice a whispered promise.

“you’re mine,” he murmurs, a soft, possessive growl lingering in his words. “all mine.”

⟢ kyungsoo

doggy style. kyungsoo is a perfectionist, and that extends to the way he ruins you in bed. he likes control, likes watching your body react to every precise thrust, likes knowing that he’s the one making you lose yourself. doggy style is his ideal position—he gets to set the pace, decide just how deep he’s going to bury himself inside you, how hard he’s going to snap his hips until you’re trembling.

it starts slow, deliberate—his hands gripping your hips, spreading you open, taking his time to savor the sight of you arching for him. his voice is low, rough as he murmurs, “stay just like that.” and then the moment he decides you’re ready? his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he slams forward, knocking the breath right out of your lungs.

he’s ruthless with it—grinding in deep, pulling almost all the way out just to thrust back in and make you whimper for more. one hand presses into the small of your back, keeping you arched perfectly for him, the other wrapping around your throat as he leans over you, voice like a growl against your ear.

“look at you.” his tone is controlled, but there’s a dark edge to it. “taking me so well. you like this, don’t you?”

and the second he hears you gasp yes—or, even better, if you’re too wrecked to speak? he chuckles, slow and dangerous, pulling out just to leave you desperate, whining, arching back for him. his palm lands hard against your ass, the sting making you jolt before he drives back in, harder this time, setting an unforgiving rhythm that has your fingers clawing at the sheets.

but kyungsoo doesn’t just fuck you—he watches you fall apart. his grip tightens when you start shaking, when your legs threaten to give out, when your moans dissolve into nothing but broken gasps. and when you do collapse forward, body trembling, he’s right there behind you, pulling you back against his chest, his hand wrapping around your jaw to turn your face to him.

“we’re not done yet.” his lips brush your cheek, deceptively soft. “you wanted more, didn’t you? keep up, baby.”

he’ll make sure you do. again and again.

⟢ junmyeon

desk/tabletop. junmyeon has an air of sophistication, but behind closed doors? he’s anything but refined. he loves bending you over the nearest surface—his office desk, the kitchen counter, even the damn piano if he’s feeling particularly indulgent. his fingers press into your back, keeping you arched just the way he likes.

"you’re gonna take all of me, right?"

his tone is teasing, calculated—but there’s an edge of warning beneath it. because junmyeon isn’t asking. he’s telling.

his fingers curl around your hip, pulling you back onto him, slow, deep, stretching you open until your breath stutters. he watches your body react to him, watches you arch further, your back curving under his touch like you’re made for him.

and that’s when he loses the last of his patience.

his grip tightens, his control slipping as he thrusts in hard, knocking the air out of your lungs. the desk shakes beneath you, papers sliding to the floor, but he doesn’t care. he’s completely focused on you, on the way you gasp his name, on the way your body clenches around him.

“fuck, baby—” his voice falters just for a second before he catches himself, regaining that controlled, commanding tone. “so tight—taking me so fucking well.”

he leans over you, his hand pressing firm against the small of your back, keeping you exactly where he wants you. his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his breath warm, teasing as he whispers,

“don’t even think about running from this.”

he picks up his pace then, driving into you harder, sharper, until your nails scrape at the wood beneath you. he’s relentless, precise, the way only junmyeon can be—like he’s planned this down to the very last detail, like he already knows exactly how to ruin you.

and when he feels you start to break beneath him, when your moans dissolve into soft, breathless whimpers? he slows, dragging it out, making you feel every thick, deep stroke.

his teasing smirk is the last thing you register before he snaps his hips forward one last time, groaning against your skin as he finally, finally gives in.

and even after, when he’s still catching his breath, his body pressed against yours, his hands stay exactly where they are. because junmyeon may be composed in public, but behind closed doors? he’s anything but refined.

⟢ baekhyun

meeeeaaaann mating press. baekhyun is controlled, precise, and unbelievably strong—and he loves using that strength to keep you exactly where he wants you. the moment he presses you down beneath him, folding your legs up against your chest, pinning you beneath his weight, you already know you aren’t going anywhere.

his grip is firm, unyielding, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs as he pushes you open wider, making sure there’s nowhere to hide, no way to escape the way he stretches you out. his breathing is slow, measured, his dark eyes locked onto yours as he lines himself up, the head of his cock dragging along your slick folds, teasing you, making you wait.

"ready for me, baby?" he murmurs, his voice rough, dripping with quiet dominance. he watches your lips part, watches the way your body trembles in anticipation—and then he pushes in, slow and deliberate, filling you inch by inch until he’s seated deep inside.

and he doesn’t move.

he stays there, his chest flush against yours, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath mixing with yours as he lets you feel it— the stretch, the pressure, the way he’s buried so deep inside you it leaves you breathless.

"fuck—look at you," he groans, his voice low and wrecked as he pulls out just an inch before snapping his hips forward, making you gasp.

and then he starts moving.

his thrusts are slow at first, devastatingly deep, grinding against you in slow, measured rolls of his hips, making sure you feel every inch. his grip on your thighs tightens, holding you wide open, making sure you take all of him, making sure you don’t run.

but then your nails rake down his back. your moans turn higher, sharper, needier. your body clenches around him so perfectly, so tight—and whatever restraint he had? gone.

he snaps his hips into you, sharp and relentless, his pace turning brutal, his thrusts hard enough to make the bed frame creak beneath you.

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing firmly, feeling the way he moves inside you, feeling how deep he is.

"ya feel that, baby?" his voice is thick, breathless. "feel how deep i am? you’re taking me so fucking well."

his other hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze, forcing you to stay in this moment with him.

"don’t look away." his thumb brushes against your jaw, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath ragged as he fucks into you harder. "i wanna see your pretty face when you cum all on my cock."

and when you finally break—when your body tenses, when your back arches, when you sob his name and tighten around him so hard it nearly makes him lose his mind?

he groans, his pace stuttering, his own release hitting just as hard as yours. his grip on you tightens, his body pressing flush against yours as he buries himself deep one last time, letting go completely.

but he doesn’t let you go.

his arms stay wrapped around you, his hands soothing over your thighs, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to your shoulder.

"holy fuck, sweetheart," he sighs, his voice still rough, still breathless. "so fucking perfect for me."

and when you’re too wrecked to even move, to even speak?

he just smirks, shifting his hips just slightly, still buried inside you, still keeping you folded beneath him.

"mm, let’s go again," he murmurs, "i’m not done with you yet."

⟢ minseok

reverse cowgirl. minseok is all about control, but he also loves watching you lose yourself on top of him. he leans back, arms resting behind his head, looking effortlessly relaxed—but his eyes? sharp, dark, completely locked onto the way your body moves. he lets you set the pace at first, biting his lip as he watches you roll your hips, taking him in so beautifully, your back arching as you sink down on him again and again.

but what really drives him insane? the way your ass bounces with every move.

his jaw tightens, his fingers twitch against the sheets, his restraint hanging by a thread as he watches the way you take him—so fucking deep, so perfect. he lets out a low, appreciative groan, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

“shit, baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with arousal. “look at you—fuck, you’re so pretty like this.”

he watches, transfixed, letting you ride him at your own pace—until he decides he wants more.

the second he sees your thighs tremble, your rhythm faltering just slightly, his hands are on you. strong, firm, unrelenting.

his fingers dig into your waist, holding you still before slamming his hips up, driving himself deeper into you with a force that makes you cry out.

"getting tired, baby?" his voice is teasing, smooth, dripping with amusement as he watches you struggle to keep up. he pulls you back against his chest in one swift motion, his arms caging you in as he takes full control.

his hands slide lower, gripping your ass, spreading you open just to watch the way you swallow him up with every thrust.

"fuck—look at that," he groans, his voice dark with obsession. "you see how good you take me? how perfect you are bouncing on my cock?"

his fingers dig in tighter as he guides you up and down, slow, deep, precise, making sure you feel every inch. and when he hears that soft, wrecked whimper—when your body starts to tremble again, threatening to collapse—he just chuckles, breath warm against your skin.

“don’t worry,” he murmurs against your ear, his lips grazing your jaw as his grip tightens. “i’ll take care of ya.”

and then he does—grinding up into you, rolling his hips deep, making sure you feel every fucking inch of him. his fingers trail down your stomach, teasing where you’re already so sensitive, circling, stroking, pushing you closer to the edge.

"that's it," his voice turns husky, his breath ragged against your ear. "i want to feel ya come apart just like this. show me how good you can be for me."

and when you finally do—when your body locks up, your moans breaking into desperate sobs, your nails clawing at his arms— he just smirks, tilting your chin back for a deep, possessive kiss as he fucks you through it.

because with minseok? he doesn’t just let you ride him—he makes sure you fall apart on top of him.

⟢ yixing

with yixing, spooning isn’t just a position—it’s an experience. everything he does is slow, deliberate, and devastatingly deep. he loves the closeness of it—your body flush against his, your legs tangled together, your back pressed to his chest as he moves inside you, stretching you open with every slow, intoxicating stroke.

his lips never leave your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder, his tongue flicking out to taste, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. he murmurs soft praises between breathy groans, his voice low, heavy with pure, unfiltered want.

“you feel so good, baby,” he sighs, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer, like he’s trying to mold you against him.

his free hand is restless, exploring—fingertips ghosting over your stomach, teasing the softness of your skin, dipping between your thighs with an unbearable slowness. he’s not just touching you; he’s memorizing you, learning what makes you gasp, what makes your body tense, what makes you fall apart.

his voice is gentle but firm, rasping against your ear, “let me take my time with you, baby. i wanna feel all of you.”

and god, he does.

the way he rolls his hips is devastating—unhurried, deep, so precise it feels like he’s unraveling you with every slow thrust. he doesn’t just chase his own pleasure; he savors every little reaction from you, waiting, listening, learning.

he tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, and then… he adjusts just slightly, just enough to hit that perfect spot inside you, the angle making your breath stutter, your fingers digging into his arm. he notices immediately.

his grip tightens, his hand sliding down your thigh to hitch your leg higher over his, holding you there as he grinds into you, deeper, more deliberate, drawing out every shudder, every desperate moan.

“yeah, that’s it,” he breathes against your ear, his lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. “let go for me, baby. let me feel you.”

and the moment he feels your body start to tremble, your breath hitching, he doesn’t stop.

he pushes you through it, dragging you over the edge with slow, relentless precision, whispering something possessive, something sweet, his voice dripping with adoration as he holds you tighter, deeper, refusing to let you go until you’re completely undone in his arms.

even after, when your body is boneless, trembling against him, he doesn’t pull away. his lips graze over your shoulder, pressing soft, lingering kisses, his fingers drawing lazy patterns over your stomach.

“i could stay like this forever,” he murmurs, voice warm, his arms locking around you, holding you close.

and he means it.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ PHEEEWWWWW!

⟢ jongin

it always starts slow with jongin—planned, patient, like he’s savoring the space between seconds. 

his touch is a conversation in itself, quiet but insistent, as if he’s memorizing the map of your body by tracing it with reverence. every word he murmurs, every breath he exhales, is wrapped in velvet intent. and when he finally lays you back, your thighs instinctively fall open, framing his face like an offering.

you feel studied. cherished. like he’s reading the rhythm of your breaths and syncing his soul to yours.

your lips are already wrapped around him, his cock flushed and pulsing heavy against your tongue. but the moment his mouth meets your center—soft, wet, unbearably tender—he moans.

it’s not subtle. not gentle. just guttural and raw, a sound that rips straight from his chest like he’s been starving for this, for you.

his fingers dig into your hips, grounding himself, his thumbs stroking slow, anchoring spirals into your skin. and when his tongue finally flicks against your clit—quick, sharp, precise—you flinch.

he groans again, louder this time, like your reaction only spurs him on.

“fuck,” he gasps, lips hovering just above you. his voice is wrecked, reverent. “you taste like everything i’ve ever wanted.”

you’re already trembling—tiny, involuntary shudders that ripple through your thighs like aftershocks. your rhythm on his cock falters, lips slipping slightly, and of course jongin notices.

you feel him smile against your cunt before his tongue flattens against you, dragging up in one long, decadent stroke. slow. unhurried.

again.

again.

again.

it’s not teasing. it’s intentional. he’s methodical in his worship—taking his time, like he wants to feel every inch of you unravel under him.

you moan around him, quiet and wrecked, and he bucks up into your mouth with a sharp, choked hiss. “fuck, that—do that again.”

his voice is raw now, low and reverent, frayed at the edges. your thighs tremble around his head, and he’s gripping you harder, holding you steady as his mouth grows frantic—faster, wetter, more desperate with every flick of his tongue.

you try to focus. try to keep your mouth around him, but it’s impossible—jongin is relentless, fucking you open with his tongue like he’s starving. like your pleasure is his only religion. he licks you like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, eyes fluttering shut, lost in it, high on it.

when you cry out around him—hips jolting, thighs clenching—he moans so loud it echoes inside you, vibrates down your spine.

and just like that— you break.

your back arches, lips slipping off his cock as your orgasm tears through you, sharp and staggering. your whole body pulses against his mouth and he just groans into you, tongue still moving, holding you there like he needs this more than oxygen.

you barely catch your breath before he’s shifting you gently, lifting you off him with effortless strength, flipping you onto your back like you weigh nothing. his face is flushed. lips slick and glistening. eyes heavy, glassy—like he’s been somewhere sacred and barely made it back.

he looks like he’s seen god. but he’s not done.

“i know you just came,” he murmurs, crawling over you, voice a rasp against your skin. his mouth traces your jaw, reverent. “but i need to feel you around me.”

his cock presses against your thigh—thick and hot and twitching with restraint. and then he says it, low and hungry:

“not stoppin’ ‘til ya cum on my dick like ya did on my mouth.”

⟢ chanyeol

it’s messy from the jump with chanyeol—feverish, frantic, like the two of you are starved and this is the only cure. lips crash, teeth graze, tongues clash, and spit slicks the corners of your mouths. it’s all so loud—wet kisses, ragged breaths, low groans curling up his throat and into your chest like smoke.

he lets out a guttural moan the second your lips wrap around him, head snapping back like the pleasure sucker-punched him. but nothing—nothing—compares to the way he sounds when he buries his face between your thighs.

he growls. a full, deep-chested growl into your cunt like a man possessed, and the vibration makes your entire body jolt. his fingers dig into your hips on instinct, locking you in place like prey.

you’re already trembling—and it hasn’t even been a minute. he hasn’t even started.

“baby,” he pants beneath you, voice raw and reverent, “you’re already dripping all over me.”

you try to speak—truly—but he drags you back down, mouth open, tongue flat and feral. he doesn’t just taste you; he devours. long licks, tight sucks, and little flicks that make your legs twitch around his head.

your rhythm collapses. your moans start cracking, broken and breathless, and he knows—he knows. he hears it, feels it, drinks it in like gospel.

and then—his arms.

those big, broad arms wrap around your waist in one fluid, dominating motion. his elbows tuck beneath you like anchors, and one heavy forearm braces across your lower back, caging you in like you’re his final meal.

“where you goin’?” he mutters, voice thick, lips brushing soaked skin. “thought you wanted this.”

you let out a soft, strangled cry around him. your fingers claw at his thighs—desperate, shaking—but he doesn’t budge. not even an inch. he’s locked in, carved from stone, and ravenous.

you’re not going anywhere.

not until he says so.he’s eating you out like it’s his right—like your body was built for this, for him. his tongue moves with reckless hunger, all-consuming and purposeful, like he’s trying to leave his name carved into your nerves. your thighs are quivering, muscles clenching with every pass of his tongue, and your lips are slack around his cock—drool threatening to slip as your rhythm falters.

you can’t keep up. and he sees it. he relishes it.

“losin’ focus, huh?” he rasps, voice thick with cocky satisfaction, words muffled as his tongue drags in one slow, obscene stroke from your soaked entrance to your clit. “s’too much, sweetheart? already unraveling?”

his hips shift beneath you, gently thrusting upward into your mouth in an effort to help you find your pace again. but it’s no use. your whole body is shaking—wracked with tension, splintering at the edges. you’re coming undone in his hold, and he tightens his grip like he feels it.

those massive arms wrap tighter around your waist, muscles flexing as he plants his hands flat against your spine, pressing you down—forcing you closer, deeper, like he wants your body to melt into his face. like he wants to breathe through you.

your lips slip off his cock and you cry out, a ragged, helpless sound as your thighs twitch violently around his head. you’re gone. convulsing. hips stuttering while he keeps going, relentless, licking you through your orgasm like he’s already chasing the next one—insatiable, obsessive.

and then he moans—a low, filthy growl that vibrates straight through your core. it’s the sound of a man possessed, drunk on your taste, high on your pleasure.

“fuck, chanyeol—don’t stop—please don’t stop, baby, you’re so good, so fucking—fuck!”

your voice breaks. your mind blanks. and then, finally—finally—his arms slacken just enough to let you slide off him, legs jelly, cunt soaked, body reduced to trembling breath and fluttering heartbeats.

you barely catch a breath.

and then—he flips you. effortlessly. like a goddamn ragdoll.

your back hits the mattress and he’s hovering over you in an instant, dark hair clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead, lips kiss-swollen and glistening, eyes blown wide with hunger. unhinged. wrecked.

“that,” he pants, gaze dragging over your flushed, fucked-out body, “was just round one.”

his hand slides down your thigh, slow and lazy, fingers trailing like fire before he guides his cock—still rock-hard and glistening—right to your entrance.

“hold on, baby,” he murmurs, smirking as he sinks in with one deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. “not done with you yet.”

⟢ sehun

sehun’s hands start soft—just a lazy sprawl over your thighs, like he couldn’t be bothered to grip. like the act of letting you straddle his face is some kind of mercy. his fingers barely curl, the pads resting idle against your skin, a ghost of a touch.

his lips part slow. deliberate. eyes trained on your dripping cunt above him, like he’s done this a hundred times before and already knows how it ends. like this isn’t about to ruin him.

you wrap your hand around his cock, and that’s where his composure fractures. a twitch in his thigh. a hitch in his breath. he’s hard already—obscenely so. flushed and leaking, straining against your palm like he’s been aching for you for hours and just now got the relief of your touch.

you run your tongue along his length, slow and warm, like a warning. and that’s when his fingers dig in—not hard, not yet. but firmer. intentional.

his jaw clenches. his tongue flicks out, tentative at first, slipping between your folds like he’s testing the heat of a flame. he groans low against you, like he just got his first drag of something addictive. and once he tastes you? he’s fucking gone.

his grip climbs higher, tighter, no longer pretending to be composed. he pulls you down onto his mouth, and licks into you with slow, deliberate strokes—measured, almost clinical.

but it’s a front. because the second you take him deeper into your mouth, the rhythm shatters.

he breathes out—sharp, shaky. a whispered “fuck…” barely slips past his lips, muffled by your cunt. he’s trying not to lose it. trying not to whimper.

but when you suck harder, you feel it—his hips buck, helpless. his throat catches around a broken moan he didn’t mean to let out.

he pulls away from your pussy for half a breath, face soaked, voice a wreck. “don’t stop,” he pants, trembling. “just—keep doing that. please, baby—”

you hum around him, lips stretched into a sly grin, voice thick with teasing. “say please.”

his groan punches out between clenched teeth—low, strained, and guttural. his hips twitch upward before he can stop himself, cock begging for friction, but still… he holds his tongue.

you pull back. 

slow. 

cruel. 

he lets out a noise of protest that’s somewhere between a growl and a whine, head tipping back against the mattress like he’s trying to physically hold back the words.

but sehun’s pride runs deep. he won’t beg. not yet.

so he retaliates the only way he knows how—his tongue dives back between your folds with renewed desperation. sloppy now. hungry. he licks like he’s chasing high, like the taste of you is slipping through his fingers and he needs it back. he swirls around your clit, flicks and sucks and kisses like he’s spiraling—and he is. he’s unraveling right beneath you.

you gasp, thighs squeezing around his head like a vice, your moan muffled around his cock. but you’re not letting him win. you press your tongue to his tip and lap at him with light, fluttering strokes—kitten licks. cruel and calculated.

his hips jerk. his breath stutters.

“more,” he bites out against your cunt, voice rough, wrecked. and then he sucks on your clit—hard.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering, but you keep your composure. just barely. “good boys say please,” you purr, dragging your tongue from the base of his cock up to the tip, slow and sinfully thorough. then, wrapping your lips around the head, you flick your tongue just beneath the crown and coo, “you’re a good boy, right, hunnie?”

his whole body tenses under you.

he’s silent for a moment. barely.

then—voice hoarse, lips trembling—he whispers, “…please.”

your smile is slow and wicked, full of syrupy praise and something far more dangerous. “that’s it,” you murmur, gaze flicking down to his flushed, twitching cock. “good boy.”

then you sink your mouth over him—no teasing this time, no mercy.

you take him deep, all the way down, until his hips lift off the bed and his hands tremble on your thighs like he doesn’t know what to grab. you set a rhythm—steady, filthy, relentless—and the sound he lets out is ruinous.

his head tips back, jaw slack, and he gasps like he’s never been touched like this before. like you’re unraveling him from the inside out.

and you are. on purpose.

he asked so nicely, after all.

his grip is bruising now, fingers digging deep into your thighs to hold you steady as he devours you like he’s starving—like he’ll die if he doesn’t make you cum first.

and you’re close, fuck—you can tell he is too. his cock jerks in your mouth with every moan, every slick stroke of your tongue.

“shit—” he gasps, voice cracking, hips bucking hard. “gonna c-cum—fuck, baby, i’m—”

he spills without warning. hips locked, cock pulsing between your lips, throat punching out a groan so raw it sounds like it hurts.

his mouth never leaves your cunt. he keeps licking through it all—through the aftershocks, through your own release as it crashes over you in waves.

your thighs tremble violently against his face, and he holds you down, relentless. determined. like he needs to feel every second of you coming undone.

when you finally lift off him, your lips wet and swollen, breath ragged, you catch sight of him—face flushed, lips shiny, black hair sticking to his forehead.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares up at you like you just punched the air out of his lungs.

his voice is hoarse. quiet.

“…you’re the worst,” he mutters, trying for annoyed, but it comes out soft. dazed.

and then, like a pout curling on the edge of his tongue—

“but i just can’t fuckin’ stay away from you.”

⟢ kyungsoo

you’re already trembling when he guides you up his chest, palms warm and sure as they slide along your thighs.

he doesn’t speak. not yet. he just lays back, dark eyes dragging up your body, lingering between your legs like he’s admiring something holy.

when you hover over his face, unsure, your breath catching—

his voice cuts through the air, soft and low.

“sit.”

you hesitate. he looks up at you.

“i said sit.”

his hands wrap around your thighs and he pulls you down, firmly, smoothly, until you’re seated on his face—legs trembling, heat flushed across your skin.

then his lips meet you.

and fuck, those lips.

pillowy. slow. precise.

he kisses your pussy like it’s your mouth—like he’s seducing you from the inside out. each lick of his tongue is deliberate. lingering. he parts your folds with his tongue and moans, barely audible, like you’re the most decadent thing he’s ever tasted.

his full lips wrap around your clit and suck.

you cry out, thighs tightening, but he just groans into you—like your reaction fuels him.

“fuck! kyungsoo—”

his hands grip tighter.

“keep goin’, angel,” he murmurs, voice muffled and filthy, lips brushing your slick. “don’t stop now.”

you lower your head, take the tip of his cock into your mouth—and he exhales sharply, almost like a warning.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “that’s my good girl.”

you swirl your tongue around him, and in return, he eats you like he’s starving. like your pussy is the only thing that matters. like he wants to memorize how you come apart on his lips.

he savors every reaction—the stutter in your breath, the twitch of your thighs, the moan you try to stifle when he tongues you just right.

and when you start to tremble above him, moaning around his cock, he pulls back just enough to speak.

“you’re going to cum in my mouth,” he says, lips still brushing you. “and then you’re going to do it again on my cock.”

your mouth slips off him as you gasp, and he drags his tongue up your cunt, lips plush and hot, sucking your clit into his mouth like he’s addicted.

you fall apart with a cry—loud, desperate, full-body release as his hands hold you down and his mouth drinks you in.

and even as you twitch, overstimulated and panting, he doesn’t stop. his tongue slows, but it doesn’t leave. not until you’re whimpering his name like a prayer.

you slide off him on shaking limbs, but he’s already pulling you close, his cock hard and leaking, his voice low and gravelly in your ear.

“that was just the first course.”

⟢ junmyeon

junmyeon reclines against the pillows like a man carved from confidence, his body stretched out in clean lines and quiet command.

one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other draped across your thigh—fingers grazing skin in slow, indulgent circles. every inch of him is calm, composed, devastatingly in control. he looks at you the way he does at closed-door meetings and black-tie events: with that same smooth voice, rich and precise, meant for sealing million-dollar deals or undressing someone with just a word.

“c'mere,” he murmurs, his gaze trailing down your body like a drop of hot honey. “lemme take care of you tonight.”

the words curl around your spine, pooling between your legs.

you crawl up his body with purpose, your chest grazing his stomach, the heat between you building with every inch. your hands slide up the insides of his thighs—slow, steady—until your knees settle on either side of his head, framing his face like an offering.

his lips part, just barely, the anticipation tightening his jaw. but he doesn’t move.

not yet.

he watches you—intently, possessively—as you reach down to take his cock in hand. your grip is slow, deliberate, like you're testing him. your lips press to the tip, tongue teasing just beneath the sensitive ridge, and then he breathes in.

sharply. almost silently.

but it’s there. the tiniest crack in his composure.

the first sign that the man beneath you—the one who always plays it cool, always stays in control—is beginning to slip.

and then, the moment your hips begin to lower… the second your delicious wet heat presses against his waiting mouth he breaks.

a guttural moan breaks from his chest, raw and sudden, as his hands fly up to grab your thighs. his fingers dig in, pulling you flush against his face like he’s starving, like he's thirsty, like your cunt is the only thing that can save him.

his tongue drags through your folds with ravenous intent—sloppy, unrestrained, almost reverent in its desperation. there’s nothing careful about it. nothing curated. gone is the polished control, the calm precision you’re used to. this isn’t the composed man who always seems ten steps ahead.

this is primal. 

this is a man unraveling—starving, possessed, and lost in the taste of you.

he groans when your hips roll over his mouth, the sound wrecked and half-muffled in your wet heat. you moan around his cock in response, sinking lower, your mouth stretching to take him deeper—and he bucks up into you with a force he didn’t mean to use.

“baby—please,” he gasps, voice cracking open, threaded with need. 

his thumbs spread you wider as he sucks your clit with a rhythm that borders on brutal, his tongue flicking so fast, so relentlessly, it’s cruel. his hips grind up into your throat, chasing the tight warmth of your mouth like it’s the only thing that matters. he’s panting now, losing rhythm, breath hot and erratic against your dripping cunt.

you pull off him for just a second, needing air—but he growls.

fucking growls.

“keep fucking sucking,” his tone is raw. desperate. unlike anything you've heard from him before.

and still, his tongue never stops.

you moan softly, obedient, your mouth returning to him as your thighs quiver. you can feel the restraint slipping from his body—see it in the way he trembles beneath you, feel it in the way his cock throbs against your tongue, hot and heavy and leaking.

his voice is broken now, cracking open in confession.

“ya wanna cum?” he pants, licking up into you so deep your eyes roll back. “do it. fuck—cum for me, baby. please—i need it, need to taste you—please—”

you unravel with a sob, your orgasm crashing through you like a flood. your thighs lock around his head as you shake and cry out, and he devours you thru it, sucking and moaning like your pleasure is the only sustenance he’s ever known.

he comes a second later—spurting hot and sudden into your mouth with a choked sound, his body arching, head thrown back, his grip still bruising your thighs.

when you finally collapse beside him, ruined and breathless, it takes a moment before either of you can speak.

he turns to you slowly.

his hair’s a mess, lips swollen, chest still rising fast—and his eyes?

wild.

there’s nothing corporate about him now. nothing curated. just a man undone.

he laughs, hoarse and stunned, one hand smoothing down your thigh.

“…told myself i’d be a gentleman tonight,” he says, voice ruined.

he pulls you in with shaking arms, kisses your temple like a secret, and murmurs, “but you make me forget how.”

⟢ baekhyun

the second your body shifts above him, baekhyun groans like he’s already cumming. his hands slide up your thighs with devotion, like he’s unwrapping the most forbidden gift. like he’s about to make a meal out of you. because he is.

you barely settle into place when he moans against you—loud, hungry, like the scent of you alone has him feral. his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down like he’s afraid you’ll float away. or worse—leave before he’s done worshipping you.

“fuck,” he rasps, lips already brushing over your folds. “y’have no idea what ya do to me.”

you’re trying to focus—really, you are. his cock is twitching against your tongue, oh-so-pretty, flushed and dripping, but the second his mouth seals around your clit, you swear your thoughts short circuit.

he sucks once—hard. purposeful. like he knows. you moan around him and he shudders underneath you, hips jerking up.

“fucking christ,” he pants. “do that again.”

you do. you swirl your tongue around the tip, spit dripping down his shaft as your hand wraps around the base—and he’s eating you like a man starved. messy, breathless, groaning so loud it vibrates through your whole spine.

he’s licking you in slow circles one second, then sloppily fucking you with his tongue the next. no rhythm. no mercy. just need. his fingers slide between your thighs to spread you wider, and you whimper against his cock.

“you're fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles against your soaked folds. “so wet for me. so fuckin’ good. i could stay down here all night.”

you try to grind against his face—try to take more of him into your mouth—but he holds you steady, pulls you flush against his tongue, and groans deep from his chest.

“oh you want more, baby?” he asks, voice muffled and filthy, “don’t mind if i do.”

and you don’t. not when he’s moaning like that. not when you can feel how close he is, twitching against your tongue, thighs trembling beneath you.

he eats you through your orgasm like a demon, like he’s high off your taste, like he’s going to lose his mind if you stop grinding into his mouth.

you’re still gasping, still shivering, when he pulls back just enough to rasp, “don’t stop. fuck—wanna cum while you’re fallin’ apart on my face again.”

and you do.

you both do.

shaking, wrecked, covered in each other’s sounds and mess and breathless curses.

you collapse beside him, limbs trembling, face flushed, your mouth still tingling with the taste of him. baekhyun turns toward you like he’s magnetized, one hand trailing lazy circles on your thigh, the other still damp from where he held you down.

his voice is low when he speaks, hoarse from groaning your name.

“you ruined me,” he says. not in a playful way. like a confession. but like a fucking blessing.

you glance over at him, lips parted, eyes glassy, and his gaze drops to your mouth—like he’s already craving it again.

“sun’s almost up, princess. we should be sleeping,” he mutters, leaning in, brushing his lips along your jaw, “but all i can think about… is how fast i can flip you over and make you cum on my tongue again.”

he kisses the corner of your mouth. then your jaw. then your shoulder.

“let me,” he whispers, voice hot against your skin. “just once more. promise i’ll be gentle this time.”

he won’t be.

you know he won’t be.

and you let him anyway.

⟢ minseok

you start on top.

because that’s how he lets you.

it’s a silent permission, not a gift—one you understand the weight of the moment your knees settle on either side of his head. your thighs tremble from anticipation, nerves, need. your breath catches in your throat as your fingers brace on the headboard, trying to hold onto composure you never really had. at the same time, your lips wrap around the thick, flushed head of his cock—velvety-soft and hot against your tongue, already leaking, already twitching at the first teasing stroke. he groans low beneath you, but his hands don’t move. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t push, doesn’t grab—not yet. just lies there, the picture of patience, like a man who already knows exactly how this ends.

minseok is still.

like stone. like fire waiting to burn.

because he’s not just patient. he’s dangerously patient.

his control has never been for show—it’s a weapon. and tonight, it’s pointed at you.

when his tongue finally rises to meet you, it’s not frantic. not desperate. it’s one slow, excruciating lick from your entrance up to your clit, the kind of stroke that makes your back arch without warning and your breath stutter on his cock. but instead of continuing, instead of indulging that rising wave inside you—he stops. completely.

he pauses like he has nowhere else to be. like the way your body twitches above him is simply data to record. his gaze flickers up, eyes half-lidded, gleaming with smug restraint as he listens—really listens—to the way your breathing falters, the quiet gasp that leaves your throat.

your hips twitch. he watches. his grip on your thighs tightens just slightly—like a leash being shortened.

and then he licks again. slow. deliberate. still not giving in.

there’s no urgency to his mouth. no sloppy hunger. no groaning desperation. every flick of his tongue is calculated, measured—controlled to the point of cruelty. he’s not trying to make you fall apart quickly. no. he’s dragging it out. drawing it longer. like he’s rationing your pleasure inch by inch, second by second, sip by devastating sip.

and when you try to grind on his mouth, desperate for more, his hand slides up between your legs and he smacks your pussy.

hard.

you yelp around his cock, and he doesn’t stop licking. doesn’t say anything.

just slaps your pussy again, tongue circling your clit lightly—just enough to keep you on edge.

you moan, try to focus, mouth sinking back over his length—but your thighs are shaking.

“still can’t follow directions, huh?” he mutters, voice low and calm against you. “brats don’t get to cum.”

you try to argue—try to take more of him into your throat to prove something—but he groans, a warning, hand tightening around your thigh.

“don’t.”

you ignore him.

you keep sucking, stroking the base, tongue flicking around the tip, and he loses control for the first time. his hips jerk. his cock twitches.

“stop,” he growls, voice sharp now. “i’m gonna—fuck—stop.”

you don’t.

you moan around him, mouth full of his cock, and seconds later he’s groaning—deep, head tilted back, teeth clenched as thick, hot spurts spill down your throat.

“fuckfuckfuck, you little—”

his hand slips between your thighs again—swift, deliberate—and this time the slap lands hard. the sharp crack of skin-on-skin echoes through the room just before the sting blooms, deep and immediate, a flash of pain that arcs straight through your core.

your whole body jolts from the impact. the moan that tears from your throat warps into something raw—a cry, high and broken, half-pleasure and half-punishment.

and then—before you can even catch your breath—

his tongue is back.

he licks your clit once. sharp. stinging. a single flick that makes your spine seize.

then again. and again. and again.

not gentle. not loving.

punishing.

his hands clamp down on your hips, holding you in place like he’s bracing for a storm you’ll never escape. your legs are trembling, useless now. your breath comes in ragged bursts. his tongue doesn’t relent—it drags, flicks, circles, presses. over and over. cruel. relentless.

“ya don’t listen,” he growls, voice breathless, ragged at the edges but still dripping with venom. “ya never fuckin’ listen.”

you try to pull away—hips twitching, thighs jerking, stomach clenching so tight it aches—but his grip is iron. there’s no space to escape. no room to breathe. it’s too much—too sharp, too intense—tongue and pressure and heat building so fast it feels like you’re coming apart at the seams.

he licks your clit like he wants to break it. like his only mission is to unravel you completely, to force the sobs from your throat and keep you strung out on the edge until you're ruined.

and then it happens.

your orgasm hits like a car crash—sudden, violent, and messy.

your thighs lock around his head, a desperate reflex, and your whole body seizes above him. your mouth falls open in a strangled moan, no sound escaping at first—just the tremble of your lips, your back arching as your release crashes through you.

you soak his chin, your body thrashing, crying out, shaking—but he doesn’t stop.

he licks harder.

meaner.

his hands don’t loosen. they tighten. anchoring you down like he’s not done pulling orgasms out of you. like your tears don’t matter. like your cries only fuel him.

“not done,” he snarls, lips dragging across your swollen clit. “ya wanted to misbehave? then fuckin’ take it.”

your vision tunnels. your brain blanks. all that exists is the devastating pressure between your legs and the vicious pleasure riding your spine like a curse.

you’re crying now.

real tears, sliding hot down your cheeks.

you’re twitching—babbling through sobs, breathless moans, slurred whimpers of please and i can’t—but it doesn’t matter. not to him.

because he’s still licking.

still devouring you like your body is a lesson and he intends to teach it thoroughly.

“one more,” he rasps, voice low and final. “you don’t get to stop ‘til i fucking say.”

and god help you—

you cum again.

harder than before. helpless. your body convulsing, jaw slack, no air left in your lungs as you fall apart in his grip—again and again, until all that’s left is the sound of your sobs and the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth claiming every last drop you give him.

⟢ yixing

you barely make it thru the front door.

yixing drops his bag somewhere near the entryway, kicks off his shoes, and pulls you into him like his body’s been aching in your absence. like the three days apart were three months, not hours. like every cell in his body is wired toward yours and he’s finally—finally—allowed to touch again.

his kiss is soft at first—searching. his lips brush yours like he’s reminding himself how you feel, how you taste.

but it changes quickly.

turns hungry.

he presses you against the wall, his hands sliding up under your shirt, like he needs skin to breathe. he exhales through his nose, ragged, whispering against your mouth between kisses.

“missed you so much.”

and god, you can feel it.

in the way he lifts you effortlessly, carries you to the bedroom like it’s instinct. like his arms were made to hold you. you’re pulling at his clothes, he’s tugging yours off piece by piece, but not once does he stop touching—stroking, kissing, feeling.

when he lays you down, it’s gentle. like worship.

but the moment you settle on top of him, thighs on either side of his face, your lips wrapped around the head of his cock—

he’s gone.

yixing moans.

not loud, not showy. just this deep, aching sound from his chest that makes your heart stutter. his hands slide up your thighs slowly, reverently, before gripping your hips and pulling you down to meet his mouth.

and the second his tongue touches you—he’s lost in it.

he devours you. not rough, not rushed—but intense. like he hasn’t eaten in days and your body is the only thing that’ll fill him. like he needs to memorize you again. like he can’t believe he’s finally home.

his mouth is all tongue and lips and breathless praise between licks.

“fuck—missed how you taste…”

his hands hold you steady, but his mouth moves like it’s starving—lapping up your slick, tongue dragging through your folds, then circling your clit with slow, unbearable precision. he’s not teasing.

he’s cherishing.

beneath you, his cock twitches in your hand as you stroke him, the weight of it pulsing against your tongue when you take him back into your mouth. you moan softly, and he groans in return, lips still wrapped around your clit, like your pleasure feeds his.

he mouths at you like he’s making love with just his tongue. like he’s thanking you with every kiss.

you try to stay composed—but his tongue finds that perfect rhythm, his hands spreading you open, tilting your hips just so, and you feel your whole body start to unravel.

“yixing—oh my god—” you gasp, voice breaking.

he pulls back, just enough to breathe, his lips slick and swollen.

“cum for me, pretty,” he whispers, voice trembling. “please. i missed you—need to feel you fall apart.”

you do.

your orgasm hits like waves breaking all at once—hot, slow, overwhelming. your thighs tremble. your moan turns helpless. your body curls over his as you ride it out, clenching around nothing, soaking his mouth—and still, he doesn’t stop.

he licks you through every pulse, every twitch, every breathless cry.

and only when your body starts to go limp does he ease you off, rolling you onto your back, his hands stroking gently down your sides.

his hands stay on your hips, thumbs stroking the trembling curve of your waist. his lips kiss your inner thigh, then again, higher this time—closer to where he wants to be still.

and he’s still hard.

achingly hard.

his cock rests heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking, untouched—but not forgotten. not for a second.

he helps you off him, lays you back like you’re glass he’s about to break again, and leans over you with his hand pressed to your chest—feeling the way your heart races.

“that was just to start,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips swollen. “ya think i waited three days just for one taste?”

you blink up at him, dazed, throat dry, body twitching from aftershocks.

“yixing—”

he grabs his cock and strokes it once—slow, teasing—and his jaw clenches.

he smiles, soft but feral, “you’re not leaving until i’m done with you.”

his cock nudges at your entrance now, slow, slick, throbbing. “and baby?” he rasps, kissing you like he means it. “i’m nowhere close to done.”

and really—who are you to object?

your body arches into him. your arms wrap around his back. your mouth parts in surrender as he pushes in—

slow.

deep.

possessive.

and he fucks you like he’s never letting go.

⟢ jongdae

it happens like most things do with jongdae—too easy.

you’re half-laughing, half-arguing over something stupid. legs tangled on his couch, bare skin brushing a little too often to pretend it’s nothing. and maybe it’s the way his eyes flick to your mouth when you smile. maybe it’s the way your hand lingers on his thigh without thinking.

either way—suddenly, you’re kissing.

it’s not rushed. not explosive.

it’s natural.

like the tension’s always been there, low-burning beneath your jokes and late-night hangouts, and now you’re both just giving in.

you’re on top of him before you realize it—his shirt off, yours somewhere on the floor, your lips swollen, his cock already hard against your stomach. he’s smirking, breathless, but his voice stays soft.

“ya sure?”

you nod, already reaching for him. and just like that—he shifts, laying back, and pulls you up gently.

“then c’mere.”

you settle over his face as your mouth wraps around the flushed head of his cock, and everything goes still for a second. his hands squeeze your thighs, eyes half-lidded as he exhales hard through his nose like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’ll ever admit.

then he starts to lick.

slow. focused. tongue dragging up through your folds like he wants to memorize you from the inside out.

you moan softly, lips parting around his cock—and he groans. low. real. the sound of someone who just got exactly what they wanted.

he doesn’t speak. not yet.

just licks again, firmer this time, mouth locking onto your clit with the kind of pressure that makes your hips twitch. you try to stay focused, stroking him, taking him deeper—but his mouth is too good.

he’s too good.

his grip tightens. his tongue gets messier. more open-mouthed, more intentional. he licks like he wants to pull the moan out of you before you can fight it.

and then he groans into your pussy—actually moans—and your thighs start to shake.

“you okay?” he breathes, voice raspy, mouth still wet and right beneath you.

you nod, but it’s shaky. your rhythm falters around his cock, “yeah, dae. just—fuck. keep goin’.”

he does.

he doesn’t tease. doesn’t talk.

just keeps licking you like it’s instinct. like he needs it. his nose brushes your clit, his tongue circles again, and your moan slips out thick and broken, vibrating against his cock—and that’s when his hips jerk.

you weren’t trying to be hot. you weren’t trying to ruin him.

but now he’s gasping. cock twitching against your tongue.

and then he speaks again—quieter this time, raw: “don’t stop.”

he’s close. you feel it in the way his cock twitches in your mouth. hear it in his trembling voice.

and the second you hollow your cheeks and suck him deeper, he loses it. one hand clenches around your thigh, the other grips the sheets, and his voice breaks as he spills into your mouth with a sharp gasp.

“fuck—shit—”

you swallow every drop, breath shaking, body still throbbing above him—and the moment he feels you start to slow, he gets right back to work.

tongue on your clit. hands gripping tighter.

“don’t think you’re done,” he mutters into your cunt, voice low and hoarse. “ya didn’t even cum yet.”

your whole body jerks.

“jongdae—”

he doesn’t stop.

you’re already close. already overstimulated from the way his mouth never lets up, and when he pulls you down harder against his face, tongue flicking faster—

you break.

your orgasm hits hard and sudden, your thighs clamping around his head as you grind down on instinct, mouth falling open as a moan tears out of you, wet and breathless and real.

he licks you thru it.

every wave. every twitch. every breathless tremble in your spine.

only when you go limp does he slow down, one hand rubbing up your back now, grounding you, soft again.

you collapse beside him, your face flushed, chest heaving.

he doesn’t say anything at first—just smiles, lazy and wrecked, reaching for you with fingers still damp.

“...well,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. “guess we’re those kinda best friends now.”

and somehow, the most dangerous part?

you don’t wanna go back.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ PHHHEEEEWWWW! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 it's been awhile since i've done an exo scenario :') hope y'all liked it!!!!!!

it’s the way you tighten around him, the way your breath stutters in his ear, the way your nails sink into his back like you’re trying to mark him up, brand him, ruin him. he loses himself so fucking quickly, he doesn’t even realize he’s already fucking into you like he’s starved, like he needs you more than he needs air.

his moans are breathless, broken, completely wrecked—he sounds more desperate than he should, given that he’s the one in control. but is he really? when he’s like this? when his hips snap forward with reckless abandon, when he’s trembling, when his lips are everywhere, panting praises and curses against your skin like he’s praying?

his voice is shaky, already high-pitched, already pleading.

“f-fuck, baby, i can’t—” his breath hitches as he buries himself deep, forehead pressing against yours. “fuck, i can’t stop, y'feel too good, y'feel so fuckin' good, please—”

please? like he’s the one begging? like he’s the one at your mercy?

he doesn’t even realize how insane his stamina is. doesn’t think about how most men would’ve been tapping out by now, whining about needing a break. but baekhyun? oh, he doesn’t stop. he can’t stop. not even when his body is twitching, not even when his muscles are screaming at him.

not even when he’s already cum once. twice. thrice.

he lets out a choked sob when he spills inside you for the first time, hips stuttering, body shuddering from the force of it. but instead of slowing down—instead of doing the sane thing—he just keeps going, cock still throbbing, overstimulated to hell but refusing to leave your warmth.

his jaw is slack, moans turning into whimpers as he thrusts through the sensitivity, eyes squeezed shut like he’s suffering from how good it feels.

you gasp, feeling him still rock into you, still desperate, still needing. “b-baek, you— you already—”

his hand clamps around your throat before you can finish, not squeezing, just resting there, keeping you exactly where he wants you. his eyes crack open, dark and insatiable.

“ya think i care?” he breathes, voice hoarse. “fuck, baby, i’m not— ’m not stopping ‘til you’re fucking full. ‘til you can’t take anymore. ‘til i can’t move.”

your head spins. his body is trembling, jaw slack, breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushes through the pleasure—too much, too good, too overwhelming, but he doesn’t fucking care. he likes the way it burns, likes the way his overstimulated cock throbs inside you, likes the way his mind goes blank except for the feeling of you wrapped around him, taking everything he gives.

he moves faster. harder. rougher. his hand slips down to press against your lower belly, groaning loud when he feels himself inside you, feels the way he’s filling you.

“ya feel that, baby?” he gasps. “feel how deep i am? fuck, you’re gonna look so pretty when you’re full of me. so fuckin' pretty, aren't cha?”

he’s already close again, doesn’t even care if he’s supposed to last longer. what does it matter? he’ll just keep going until he physically can’t.

“gimme one more, pretty,” he begs, voice cracking on the plea. “just one more, baby, please—fuck, i need it, need to feel you cum around me again, please, i—i fucking can’t—”

his words cut off with a sob when you tighten around him, dragging him under, pulling him apart. his body seizes up, mouth falling open, a wrecked moan punching out of his chest as he cums again—shaking, ruined, unraveling completely inside you.

but even then, even as his body trembles, even as his cock throbs, still pulsing, still spilling inside you, he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow. doesn’t even think about pulling out.

he shudders against you, forehead pressing to yours, breath hot and broken. still rocking his hips, still sinking deeper, still clinging to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“one more, baby,” he whispers against your skin, voice so desperate, so utterly pathetic. “j-just… one more.”

A FUCKING LIE.

because one more doesn’t exist with baekhyun. one more would mean stopping. means catching his fucking breath. means giving his body time to recover, to ease out of the mind numbing, all consuming need for you.

but baekhyun doesn’t do stopping. doesn’t do restraint. doesn’t fucking know how to stop—doesn't fucking know to act—when it comes to you.

not when you’re still wrapped around him like this. not when you’re still warm and wet and so, so fucking perfect. not when he can still feel the way your perfect gummy, needy walls throb around him, overstimulated, aching, but still taking it—still loving it.

not when he’s still hard. still needy. still so fucking obsessed.

you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again, mouth on your shoulder, lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses to sweat-damp skin. he’s still inside you—still—cock twitching, still throbbing, still needing. his arms tighten around your waist like you’ll slip away if he lets up for even a second.

you shudder. overstimulated, sore, shaking from the way he’s already rolling his hips again, slow, lazy, but deep. your whole body jerks with every movement, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still crackling through your nerves like static. you’re so sensitive it hurts but fuck, it’s a good kind of hurt. the kind you never want to end.

your fingers tangle in his damp hair, tugging weakly. “b-baek, s'too much, baby. hah—i c-can't!”

he whimpers. actually whimpers. buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans so pitifully it makes you clench around him just from how fucking pathetic he sounds.

“yes, you can,” he pleads, voice wrecked, completely ruined. “baby, please. please, don’t make me stop, i can’t fucking s-stop—”

his body trembles. he sounds broken. like stopping would kill him, like it would physically hurt him more than his overstimulated cock already does, still hard, still buried inside you.

he moves again, pressing deeper, grinding against that spot that makes your vision blur, that makes your nails dig into his back, that makes you gasp because holy fuck, you can’t stop either.

you don’t want to stop either.

you tilt your head back, lips parted, moaning so pretty for him, letting him hear just how fucking gone you are. he loses it. groans your name like a prayer, a plea, a curse, hands grabbing at you like he’s trying to memorize your body with his fingers.

“oh my god, i love you,” he gasps against your skin, his breath hot and unsteady, his voice breaking like he’s about to cry. “i love you, i love you, i fucking love you—”

he’s not even fucking you at this point. just rutting into you, slow and deep, like he wants to crawl inside you, live inside you, make himself a part of you forever. he grips your face, forces you to look at him, his eyes blown wide and glossy, pupils swallowing every ounce of sanity he had left.

“you’re mine, pretty,” he whispers, voice shaking. his hips roll forward, slow, intentional, and you feel him everywhere. “mine. mine, my pretty baby, please, say it. please say it.”

your body aches. your nerves are fried. your mind is so blank, so foggy, so fucking completely consumed by him, by the way he’s looking at you, by the way he’s begging for you—like he needs this just as much as you do.

your fingers slide up to cup his cheeks, and you feel dampness there—tears. he’s crying.

and fuck, you love him. you love him so much it aches, so much it drowns you, so much it feels like there’s no end to it, no bottom to this fall. you didn’t think it was possible to love him more than you already did—but right now? right now, you swear you’re sinking deeper, past the point of return, past the point of ever wanting to be free.

you let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against his, whispering against his lips. “yours.”

“say it again,” he begs. “again, baby, again, please, i needa—”

“yours, baekhyun. ah, f-fuck!—yours. always. forever.”

he lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard and breaks.

his hands slip under your thighs, dragging you impossibly close, pulling your legs around his waist. and then he moves—slow and deep and so fucking needy, so fucking desperate, rocking into you like he’s got nowhere else to be, like this moment is all that exists, like this is the only thing that matters.

your entire body burns. your skin, your muscles, your heart. the overstimulation makes your nerves spark, the pleasure tangled with something sharp, something aching, something too much and not enough at the same time.

and fuck, he smells so good.

his sweat, warm and heady, clings to his skin, mixing with the lingering traces of his cologne—dark, expensive, dangerous. the deep musk of it blends with the sinful scent of sex, thick and intoxicating, flooding your senses, making your head spin. every inhale is him, all-consuming, dizzying, addictive.

his forehead presses to yours, damp strands of hair sticking to his temples, and you swear you could drown in the heat of him, in the scent of him, in the weight of him pressing you down, holding you here, refusing to let you slip away.

he inhales sharply, breath shuddering, like he’s just as drunk on you as you are on him.

his lips brush against yours, barely a kiss, more of a claim. his voice is nothing more than a whisper, raw and ruined:

“how long d’ya think ya need 'til we can go again, pretty?”

you and baekhyun had once been the epitome of college sweethearts—late-night study sessions that bled into spontaneous adventures, laughter, and whispered dreams of a future together. you were inseparable, his drive to become a doctor and your quiet dream of building a life with him making everything feel so perfect. you could picture it all—the home, the life, the love, knowing you’d be together forever.

during those years, you moved in together. things got serious quickly. talks of marriage, kids, and a future you’d both start building when the time was right were always at the forefront. but as much as you both wanted to dive in right away, you both agreed that you’d wait until baekhyun had at least finished his schooling and residency. it made perfect sense—his dream of becoming a doctor came first, and you were happy to support him, knowing you’d have a lifetime to make it all happen.

you’d completed undergrad together, then post-grad, and now, with your master’s behind you, baekhyun was finishing med school and applying to residency programs. everything seemed to be unfolding just as it should.

but life, as it tends to do, shifted unexpectedly.

when baekhyun’s acceptance letter arrived—the one from his dream residency program across the country—your world tilted, skewed into something unrecognizable. this was his number one pick, the culmination of years of sacrifice and determination. you should’ve been ecstatic, screaming with joy for him, for his future. but instead, a foreign weight settled low in your stomach, twisting into something unnameable.  

you’d only just found out, barely two days ago. pregnant. the word clung to you like a vice, heavy and suffocating. you hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t even considered it a possibility. and yet, here it was—undeniable. that stupid test, its second line blaring back at you like a neon sign, mocking the life you thought you had under control.  

you stared at it, willing the line to fade, to disappear, to become a cruel trick of your imagination. but it didn’t. and the next test didn’t either. nor the one after. five little sticks, five blaring truths. undeniable. inescapable.

you didn’t want to hold him back. not when his dreams were so close. not when the future he had worked so hard for was finally within his grasp.

so you made a decision. you couldn’t tell him. you couldn’t bear to see the guilt and the pain in his eyes as he would undoubtedly sacrifice his dreams for you and the baby. you thought it was the right thing to do, that you were doing him a favor by disappearing, by cutting off all contact. 

you had moved to a new city—far from the places where memories of baekhyun lingered, far from the shadow of the life you’d carefully unraveled. it wasn’t easy; untangling yourself from him had felt like pulling threads from a tapestry until it barely resembled what it once was. but over time, you found a rhythm. a life where thoughts of him became a quiet hum rather than a deafening roar, where the love that had once consumed you slipped quietly into the recesses of your heart.  

and now, three years later, you stand here as someone completely transformed: a mother.  

raising your daughter alone had its challenges, sure, but you couldn’t deny the sense of purpose it gave you. you were made for this. or maybe it was her—the tiny miracle who had made it all feel so natural. from the moment she came into the world, she was an angel, a light so radiant it softened even the hardest days.  

sure, she had her moments. she was a toddler, after all, still learning how to navigate big feelings in a little body. but her resilience—the way she could fall apart one minute and bounce back the next—made everything easier. she was your shadow, your little mimic, always wanting to copy everything you did.  

the love she gave you was pure and boundless, something you hadn’t realized could exist until she was in your arms. it was a love that filled the spaces in you that you didn’t even know were empty, a love that made the sacrifices and sleepless nights worth it.  

you often found yourself wondering if she was a gift straight from the universe, a little piece of heaven sent just for you. every smile she gave, every tight hug, every soft ‘i love you, mommy’ felt like proof that you were the luckiest soul alive.

and as you watched her now, her tiny fingers curled around her favorite stuffed bunny, a swell of overwhelming gratitude washed over you. life had twisted and turned in ways you never could’ve anticipated, but somehow, in her, it had gifted you everything you’d ever need.

maybe it was the depth of love she gave, the way she radiated warmth and light, that made the thought of telling baekhyun even more terrifying. she was everything—the way her laughter could turn any bad day around, the way her eyes sparkled with innocence and curiosity. a fragile little soul, so beautiful it almost hurt. and you knew, deep down, that baekhyun would’ve adored her. loved her more than words could describe.

the thought of it—of him finding out, of him knowing you’d kept her from him, hidden this piece of him, this precious life from him—it twisted something deep inside you. it made your chest tighten, your thoughts spiral. the guilt, the shame—it felt like a constant ache, one that only grew the more you thought about it.

you and baekhyun talked about it, after all—the future you both dreamed of. lazy nights tangled together under blankets, whispering about what life would look like years down the road. marriage, a house filled with warmth and laughter, children.  

he wanted a family with you. he was so sure of it, so sure of you. he used to say that he couldn’t imagine anyone else being the mother of his kids. the way he looked at you when he said it—it was as if his soul had reached out, seen yours, and said, there she is, the one we’ve been waiting for.

he was a dreamer. he’d mapped it all out in his head—two girls, two boys. his perfect little quartet. the oldest, a girl, to set the tone, to be the leader of the pack. then a boy to balance things out, another boy to roughhouse and make the middle feel less lonely, and finally, the baby of the family, a girl to soften the edges of the chaos. he laughed at the improbability of it all, at how life doesn’t work like that, but he loved dreaming about it anyway.  

you still remembered the way his face lit up when you’d asked him, teasing, what he’d name his first daughter.  

he didn’t even hesitate. he looked up at you, that smile you used to know better than your own, and said, minji.  

your little girl, minji, was the brightest star in your universe, her laughter a melody that softened every hard edge of your world. her smile—warm and golden—was like sunlight spilling into the corners of your heart, chasing away the shadows that lingered from the life you left behind. she was growing so fast, each day a reminder of how fleeting these moments were, and how much you wanted to hold onto them.  

sometimes, though, when the house was quiet and the weight of the past crept in, you allowed yourself to think about baekhyun. it was never for long—just a passing thought, a wondering what if. you didn’t dare to linger, didn’t dare to stir up the bittersweet ache of old feelings and lingering regrets. he had his life now, and you had yours.  

but still, he had been the love of your life, and that kind of love doesn’t just disappear. curiosity tugged at you from time to time. late at night, when minji was fast asleep, you’d catch yourself wondering what he was doing, where he was, if he ever thought about you, too.  

yet no matter how strong the urge, you never gave in. you wouldn’t let yourself open his socials, wouldn’t let yourself peer into the window of the life he was living without you. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to know—it was that you couldn’t. because knowing might hurt more than not knowing, and the delicate balance you’d created would come crashing down.

you hadn’t blocked him, not on anything. instead, you deleted every account, wiped your digital footprint clean, and changed your number. you made sure there was no way for him to reach you, no thread he could pull to unravel the wall you’d built between you.  

you never allowed yourself to dwell on how hurt he might have been—how confused he must’ve felt, waiting for a call or a text that never came. the promises you’d made to him echoed in your mind, haunting you. i’ll tell him when the time is right. but the right time never came.  

and then she was born. tiny fingers curling around yours, eyes so full of life. she reached milestones—her first smile, her first steps, her first word—and with each one, the weight of telling him grew heavier. how could you? how could you drop this truth on him after he’d already missed so much?  

you imagined his reaction: the sharp edge of his disappointment, the rawness of his hurt, the anger that would burn in his chest. he’d ask you why—why did you wait? why did you let so much time pass? and you’d have no answer, nothing that could make it right.  

as the years went by, the truth turned into a mountain too steep to climb. every day that passed felt like another brick in the wall separating you. every moment you stayed silent made it harder to imagine breaking that silence.  

you told yourself it was for the best. you told yourself he deserved better than someone who had made this choice, this mess.  

because deep down, you believed it: you didn’t deserve him. not anymore. not after this

the sound of tiny sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor filled the pediatrician’s office as you followed your daughter toward the nurse’s station. she clutched her favorite stuffed animal tightly in one hand while the other reached back for yours, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the colorful murals on the walls.  

it was a routine check-up for minji, nothing out of the ordinary. she had been a healthy, happy child since birth, and today was just another appointment to ensure that everything was progressing as it should.

you had scheduled the appointment weeks ago, not knowing who the pediatrician was going to be. when you walked into the small, sunlit office, minji tugged excitedly on your sleeve, her eyes wide with curiosity at the brightly colored walls and the small toys scattered around the waiting room.

“mommy, look!” she gasped, pointing to a painted giraffe. her excitement momentarily eased the nervous flutter in your stomach. “a giraffe!”

“yes, it is, bun! good job!” you smile down at the little girl, holding your hand tightly.

it had been over three years. three years since you’d left your old life—and him—behind. baekhyun was supposed to be a part of your daughter’s story, but you made the impossible choice of keeping him out of it. his dreams had always been so big, and you didn’t want to weigh them down with your own.  

a medical assistant called your name, her warm, practiced smile cutting through the haze of your thoughts.  

you scooped your daughter into your arms, her tiny hands clutching her stuffed bunny, and followed the nurse into the examination room. she wriggled slightly but settled on your lap, the bunny tucked snugly under her chin as she began the usual routine.  

height. weight. temperature. the nurse kept up a cheerful, steady rhythm of chatter, her voice a soft hum in the background as your daughter giggled at the stickers offered to her.  

“dr. byun will be in shortly,” the medical assistant said with a final smile before leaving the room.  

your heart stopped.  

'dr. byun'?

no. it couldn’t be him. it had to be a coincidence. it was a common enough name, wasn’t it? but the sound of it crashed into you, unraveling the calm façade you’d so carefully built.  

you told yourself you were being ridiculous. you told yourself to breathe. but the name echoed in your head, louder with every passing second, until you could barely hear your own thoughts over the roar of panic rising in your chest.  

then came the knock.  

soft. polite.  

the door creaked open, and time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl as he stepped inside.  

your breath caught in your throat.  

it was him.  

fuck.  

no.  

this wasn’t supposed to happen. not like this. this wasn’t how he was supposed to find out. there were plans you never made, conversations you never had.  

this was a complete and utter nightmare. and there was no waking up from it.  

“hi, i’m dr. byun—” his voice wavered, the words barely leaving his lips before they caught in his throat. his eyes found yours, wide with recognition, a spark of disbelief flashing like lightning in a storm.  

his gaze drifted downward, landing on the little girl perched on your lap. her tiny hands clutched your sweater, her curious eyes meeting his with unfiltered wonder.  

for a moment, the world seemed to stop turning.  

his lips parted, and your name slipped out, soft and breathless, as if saying it might make the moment vanish. “it’s you,” he murmured, a mixture of shock and something deeper lacing his tone.  

you couldn’t find your voice, couldn’t push past the lump forming in your throat. it was as though every nerve in your body had frozen, locked under the weight of his stare.  

your daughter, oblivious to the tension coiling around you, tilted her head with a sunny smile. her voice rang out, bright and pure, shattering the silence like glass.  

“hi, dr. byun!” she chirped, her words sweet and unassuming, a small anchor of innocence in the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to pull you under.

baekhyun’s eyes widened instantly, flickering between you and her. you could see the cogs in his mind turning, the pieces falling into place far quicker than you were ready for.  

his gaze lingered on her—studying, comparing. the resemblance was impossible to ignore. the same dark, expressive eyes that had once melted your heart, the same warm, radiant smile that mirrored his own.  

“is…is she?” his voice was barely above a whisper, as though he wasn’t asking you but trying to make sense of the impossible himself. his eyes never left her, as if every second he stared brought him closer to the undeniable truth.  

her delicate features were a perfect blend of you both, like a portrait painted with pieces of your souls. the curve of his nose graced her face, paired with the flush of your rosy cheeks. his silky black hair framed her tiny head, while your lips formed the gentle pout she wore even in sleep. your eyes shone through hers, but her ears—those were unmistakably his. she was everything you were, everything he was—woven together into this perfect, fragile little person, carrying pieces of a love that felt both timeless and out of reach. and now, looking at her, there was no denying it.

your mouth opened, but the words didn’t come. you tried to speak, to explain, to say something—anything—but all that escaped was a breath, shallow and lost in the silence that filled the space between you. the truth hung there, thick and fragile, like a thread that could snap at any moment, leaving you exposed.  

you could only nod, slow and uncertain, as the weight of everything pressed down on you. the guilt was suffocating, heavy like a stone lodged in your chest, threatening to spill out in the form of tears you couldn’t afford to shed. but there was no escaping it anymore.  

she was his.  

baekhyun sank to his knees in front of her, his movements tentative, as if afraid that any sudden motion might make her disappear. he leaned in, eyes soft with a mixture of awe and something deeper, something unspoken.  

“so, tell me. what’s your name, sweetheart?” his voice was gentle, tender, the words falling from his lips like a promise he wasn’t quite ready to make.  

“minji,” she said proudly, her tiny hands holding up her stuffed bunny, as though it were the most important thing in the world. “this is sonny. she’s a bunny.”  

the moment her name reached his ears, something shifted in baekhyun’s chest. his heart skipped, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, soft and amazed. for a brief second, he was lost in the memory of a quiet conversation—the one where you’d asked him what he would want to name your daughter, and how that moment, so simple, had felt like a lifetime ago.

“hi, minji,” he said softly, his voice trembling as his eyes locked onto her small, curious face. he crouched slightly, lowering himself to her level, and the words caught in his throat. “i’m…” his gaze flickered upward to yours, and in that brief second, the weight of it all was laid bare. his expression faltered, his eyes glossing with unshed tears, carrying the unspoken words and unresolved emotions that hung heavy between you.  

you saw it then—the man he was before, the one you fell for, unchanged and yet altered by time and pain.  

“…a good friend of your mommy’s,” he finally managed, the words shaky but kind.  

minji giggled, her laughter light and carefree, like a burst of sunshine breaking through a storm. “mommy has lots of friends!” she chirped, her innocence unknowingly twisting the knife in baekhyun’s chest.  

he nodded with a soft smile, his lips barely curving, as if the weight of her words was too much to bear. “she does, doesn’t she?” he murmured. his hands moved carefully as he began preparing for her exam, every motion deliberate, like he was trying to steady himself through the task.  

but his eyes… his eyes stayed rooted to the ground, skirting around yours as if meeting your gaze would undo him entirely. and as you stood there, watching him avoid you, something inside you cracked. you knew why. you knew he wasn’t ready yet—not to face you, not to confront the flood of everything that had been left unsaid.  

as baekhyun began the check-up, it was as if the floodgates of your heart had been ripped open. memories surged in, overwhelming you like a tidal wave—those plans you had once woven together, the future you had dreamed of, the life you thought you’d build before everything crumbled. nearly four years had passed since you disappeared without a trace, but those dreams now felt like fragile, delicate threads, tangled in the web of secrets you’d spun to protect him. 

baekhyun moved with the same calm professionalism that you remembered—his hands steady and sure as he worked. but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, from the way he interacted with minji—his touch soft and deliberate, his voice lilting with that same soothing cadence. it was a tenderness that sliced through you, sharp and immediate, a reminder of everything you’d lost. how could you have let him slip away? how could you have convinced yourself that walking away was the right choice?

watching him, gently checking minji’s ears, his voice quieting her in the way he once did for you, something inside you twisted painfully. you couldn’t run from him anymore. not now. not ever again.

the exam ended far too quickly. minji bounced off the examination table, her bunny clutched in her small arms, and baekhyun handed you a stack of papers—educational handouts, visit summaries, the usual paperwork from a child’s wellness check. his fingers brushed yours as he passed them to you, and the brief touch left a burning trail that lingered long after.  

minji’s small hand tugged at your sleeve, warm and insistent, her voice a soft melody that cut through the heavy air. “mommy, mommy! can we go play now?”

you forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. the weight of the moment pressed on your chest, and you fought to keep the tears from falling. “sure, bun. we’ll go in just a minute.”

the word bun hung in the air between you, and baekhyun flinched. his eyes flickered with something raw, a mix of pain and recognition. that name. it was something he used to call you— a relic of a past that felt both distant and achingly close.

his gaze didn’t leave you, like he was trying to unravel the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. there was a quiet intensity in his eyes, as if he was searching for something buried deep within you. the space between you both thickened, heavy with unspoken words. it felt suffocating, like the air was being stolen from your lungs. this was it. the moment that would change everything.

after what felt like an eternity, baekhyun cleared his throat, his voice thick with restraint. “we need to talk,” he said, the words heavy and laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “please… i just… i have so many questions.”

you nodded quickly, the anxiety twisting your insides into knots. “um, sure… i can meet you after i drop her off at daycare?” your words rushed out, frantic, as your brow furrowed in uncertainty.

"there’s a coffee shop nearby," he murmured, his voice soft yet steady, the words deliberate. his hand moved to pull out a notepad, pen poised above the paper. with a few swift strokes, he jotted down the name of the place before folding the paper and handing it to you. "i have a couple more patients to see this morning. do you think you can meet me there in an hour?"

his voice was calm, but his eyes—those eyes—told a different story. they flickered with something raw, something desperate, like a storm fighting its way to the surface.

you took the slip of paper, your fingers brushing his, a small shock of warmth shooting through you at the touch. you glanced down at the paper, his handwriting still familiar, though now slightly uneven, as if his nerves had bled into the ink. beneath the coffee shop's name, his number was written—neat but hurried, a subtle tremor in the lines.

you looked back up, and his gaze met yours—quiet, intense, full of unspoken things. without a word, he nodded toward the paper, his voice steady but laced with something fragile, something that didn’t quite fit with the man you knew. "that's my number, bun. just in case you're running late or something."

you nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but it felt tight, strained. his nickname for you—a small, tender thing—lingered in the air like a spark. you felt it in your chest, but the words caught in your throat. too much. too many emotions swirling. your hands moved on instinct, gathering minji’s things, offering him a tight, polite smile before ushering your daughter out of the room.

but just as you turned to leave, you swore you heard him whisper—barely audible, a plea caught between his teeth, "please, don't leave me hanging this time."

it hit you like a blow to the gut, leaving you breathless. the weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating. 

and in that moment, you knew with brutal clarity—you deserved that.

you sat there, the weight of your nerves pressing down on you, each breath feeling too loud in the quiet of the café. baekhyun chatted casually with the barista, ordering drinks like it was any other day, like nothing had changed between you two. his voice was light, unbothered, but it only made the tension in your chest heavier. you gripped the strap of your bag so tightly your fingers ached, heart pounding in your ears, drowning out the soft hum of conversation around you. your mind raced in circles, desperately searching for the right words—something to apologize for the years you took from him, for keeping his daughter from him, for all the lies. but no matter how hard you tried to form the apology, the truth hovered over you: what you did was unforgivable.

when baekhyun finally returned, he slid your drink in front of you, his movements slower than usual, almost tentative. you brought the cup to your lips, the warmth of it familiar, the taste exactly as you remembered—comforting, like a quiet reminder of everything you'd tried to bury. 

"i remembered how you liked your coffee," baekhyun murmured, his voice softer than before, tinged with uncertainty. "i hope it's still the same." 

you met his gaze, your throat tight as you forced a small smile. "it is. thank you."

baekhyun exhaled a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair, his fingers snagging in the tousled strands. his eyes drifted away from yours, unable to meet your gaze, as if the weight of this moment was pressing down on him just as much as it was on you.  

"so..." you began, your voice hesitant, but before you could find the right words, he interrupted.  

“i’m engaged,” he blurted, the words sharp and sudden, like a slap to the face.  

it hit you in the chest, the shock stealing the air from your lungs. the room seemed to tilt, the ground beneath you crumbling, and you couldn’t find your footing. as if this day wasn’t heavy enough, this new weight crushed you under its force.  

"oh," you whispered, the word tasting hollow, barely escaping as your heart constricted. "congratulations. i'm sure she's... amazing."  

"mhm," he hummed softly, a brief flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it faded. his eyes dropped to his coffee cup, watching the steam rise like he was searching for something in the shifting mist, anything to avoid the tension between you.  

you couldn’t find the strength to say more. words seemed pointless now. instead, you sat there, biting your lip, your gaze fixed on the table as jealousy and heartbreak clawed at you from the inside. you knew you had no right to feel this way, no right to be hurt after everything that had happened. but still, the ache lingered, a quiet, relentless sting.

his fingers raked through his hair again, the tension in his jaw unmistakable as he exhaled sharply, frustration thick in the air. when he finally met your gaze, his eyes were raw with hurt, every unspoken word between you now painfully exposed. "so why didn't you tell me? about minji?"

you'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times in your mind, each word crafted carefully, but now, sitting across from him, it all felt empty, hollow. "you had just gotten into your residency program," you said softly, voice shaky. "it was your dream. i…i didn’t want to hold you back."

his eyes darkened, the hurt twisting into something sharper. "so what? you thought you could decide for me? you think i wouldn't have wanted to be there?" his voice cracked with emotion, rising. "do you have any idea how much i waited for you? how many nights i sat by the phone, praying you'd call?"

the weight of it hit you, hard. you'd known, of course—he'd been dropped from the program. he'd fought tooth and nail to get into a second-choice school, one that brought him here, to this city. and now, here he was, sitting across from you, the remnants of his sacrifice hanging in the silence between you.

his gaze faltered, dropping to the steaming cup in front of him. he stared at the swirling mist as if it held the answers, as if the rising steam could ease the hurt, the questions, the ache that had settled between you.

you didn’t know what to say anymore. words felt pointless, insignificant in the face of everything that had unfolded. instead, you sat there, biting your lip, unable to meet his eyes, while jealousy and regret clawed at your chest. it wasn’t your place to feel this way—not after everything you had done. but the sting of it, sharp and biting, wouldn’t fade.

the tears you had spent so long holding back finally began to break free, each drop feeling like it had been waiting a lifetime to fall. you didn’t want to keep apologizing, but the words slipped out, hollow and fragile. "it wasn’t an easy choice, baekhyun. i thought i was doing the right thing." 

“‘the right thing’?” his voice softened, but the hurt in his words still rang out like a chord being pulled too tight. "you didn’t even give me a chance. i missed everything—her first steps, her first words. you took all of that from me." 

your throat tightened, each breath harder to catch. you swallowed, and your voice cracked under the weight of the truth. “i know,” you whispered, the regret clawing at you. “i regret it every day.” 

baekhyun’s hands were curled into fists, white knuckles pressing into the table like they could anchor him in place. he didn’t look at you—his gaze was lost in his coffee, the silence hanging heavily between you both. and then, after what felt like an eternity of stillness, he spoke again, his voice quieter, as if the question had burned him from the inside. “does she know?” 

you shook your head slowly, feeling your chest tighten. “i haven’t told her. i didn’t know how... but she’s been asking. she sees the other kids with their dads and wonders why she doesn’t have one.” 

baekhyun covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase the raw pain. "i can't believe this. i can't believe you." 

"i know, baekhyun," you whispered, tears spilling down your face without control now. "you have every right to hate me... and if you want, you don’t have to see either one of us again—" 

his voice sliced through your words, thick with disbelief, tremoring as if he couldn’t comprehend what you were saying. "are you... are you serious right now? you’d leave? again? how is that supposed to fix anything? did you not think i wanted her? wanted you? we’ve talked about this, bun... you knew what it meant for me to be a dad."

the sobs broke free from you then, impossible to hold back, your chest aching with each desperate breath. you wiped at your face, but your hands trembled too violently, the tears just wouldn’t stop. all you could choke out were broken apologies, fragments of regret slipping between your breaths. "i knew you’d drop everything for her. for us. but... you becoming a doctor, that was your dream... and i was just so scared."

he leaned forward, his expression softening, but there was still a fire in his eyes. “i want to be in her life,” he said, his voice firm, steady, eyes red from the silent tears streaming down his face. “she’s my daughter. and i want to know her. i want her to know me. her father.”  

you looked at him, your heart heavy with guilt. “i wasn’t planning to keep you away,” you said, your voice cracking. “i just... i didn’t know how to tell you after all this time.”  

baekhyun’s gaze softened, his voice quieter but resolute. “we’ll figure it out. but i’m not letting you push me away again.”  

you paused, biting your lip, anxiety clawing at your chest. “but what about your fiancée? you already had a life of your own before today…i can’t help but feel like i’ve fucked everything up for you, baekhyun.”  

he shook his head, a soft, bitter laugh escaping him before he quickly suppressed it. his voice faltered, the nickname slipping out before he even realized it. “don’t worry about that, bun—” he stopped mid-sentence, the word tasting strange and wrong on his tongue after your mention of his fiancée. it was as if, in that moment, he’d completely forgotten about her. he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “i mean… just let me handle that. but for now... please, promise me you won’t disappear again. promise me you won’t take her away from me. i’m begging you... let me in. i feel like you owe me that much.”

you nodded, the promise catching in your throat. “i promise.”

you scrolled slowly through your camera roll, fingers grazing over the images of your daughter, sharing them with baekhyun—each one, a snapshot of her life, a memory you’d held in secret for so long. each photo was like a tender piece of your soul, each moment a quiet confession of everything that had unfolded without him. there was a rawness in it, a vulnerability that felt like you were unwrapping your heart for him, and it was overwhelming. for both of you.

he sat there, eyes scanning the photos, and a storm of emotions swirled within him. there was anger, sharp and bitter, that you’d kept minji hidden from him. all those years, a secret that was both yours and hers to carry. betrayal lingered in his chest, not from you, but from the truth that he hadn’t been there, that he’d missed out on so much. and yet, despite it not being his fault, guilt settled heavy in his heart—guilt that you had to raise her alone. guilt for every moment you’d carried the weight of motherhood without him by your side.

but baekhyun, the man who had always been able to push past the shadows of the past, found something in the photos—something bright, something he could hold onto. minji’s smile, sweet and dimpled, was a beacon of hope. it was everything he needed to see, to ignite a fire within him. it wasn’t just a reminder of what was lost—it was the fuel that would drive him to make up for every single moment he’d missed.

the weight of the conversation shifted slowly, and before you even realized it, the words spilled out. you couldn’t stop yourself—you had to ask about her. his fiancée.

he told you her name was soo. they met during his residency, he said, when she helped pull him from the darkest corner of his life—the place where your absence had left him, broken and barely breathing. she was the one who stitched him back together, the one who healed the wound you’d left, a wound that, it seemed, only she could mend.

and yet, even as he spoke, despite the rawness of his confession, he wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. he didn’t want to hurt you. but the words hung there, thick with unspoken emotions.

then, he showed you the photos. of her. oh god, she was beautiful. radiant, in a way that seemed to glow from within. they looked like they were made for each other, perfectly matched, intertwined in a way you could never hope to be. he spoke of her with awe—how brilliant and kind she was.

and as he spoke, something tugged at the edges of your thoughts. his eyes, usually so bright and full of warmth when he spoke of someone he loved, were different now. softer, distant. the sparkle that once lived there had dimmed, as if the affection he had for her wasn’t as alive as it once had been. you told yourself not to read too much into it, to not dwell on the subtle shift. it had been years. people changed, didn’t they? he wasn’t the same baekhyun you remembered. especially not after everything you had put him through.

it stirred a jealousy in you, sharp and bitter, but deeper than that, it left a dull ache settling in your chest. you longed to be the one he spoke of with such adoration, the one he admired in every way. you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if he ever spoke about you like that—if he ever felt for you the way he now seemed to feel for her. it burned like poison in your veins, a vile and familiar ache that made you sick to your stomach. you hated it. hated how it made you feel so small, so unimportant. the weight of it made you want to vanish, to slip out of your own skin, anything to escape the suffocating reality of it all. you should be happy for him. happy that he had found someone who could make him feel whole again. but all you could feel was the hollow ache of your own failure to ever be enough.

you tried to smile, tried to hold yourself together, but each compliment, each story, each glowing word about her, hit you like a dagger to the chest. you couldn’t listen anymore. you didn’t want to.

it was too much. before you even realized it, you were standing, your throat tight as you forced the words out. “i... i need to go. um, i have to make dinner…and pick up minji from daycare. i’ll text you. we can figure out a time for you both to meet properly.”

before he could respond, you were out the door, the bells above the café door jingling as you fled. 

but you didn’t make it far. a few seconds later, you heard the hurried footsteps behind you, his voice calling out. “bun—fuck, wait! slow down!”

you could feel the tears streaming down your face again, hot and uncontrollable. you wiped them hastily, hoping he didn’t see. but of course, he did. he always did. 

“look,” baekhyun began, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t place. “i never thought i’d hear from you again. and now you just—pop back into my life, on a random friday, with a daughter i had no idea about. i’m sorry if you’re upset that there’s someone else in my life. but please... don’t punish me for finding myself again after you completely destroyed me.”

his words hit harder than anything you could’ve prepared for. your knees felt weak, your heart shattering with every syllable. because it was true. every part of it. you had done this. you’d pushed him away, and now you had no right to feel this way, no right to demand anything.

"baek," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, trembling under the weight of everything you couldn’t say. "you’re right. i don’t have the right to feel this way. i just... when i saw you again, it was like everything came crashing back. all those old feelings—things i thought i’d buried—flooded back in an instant. but i swear, i won’t keep minji from you. i won’t. and... i’m honestly so glad you’ve found happiness. and soo—she... she seems amazing. i can see why you’re with her. and... i’m genuinely looking forward to co-parenting with you both. really."

you swallowed hard, the words like sandpaper against your throat. the lie at the end tasted bitter, clinging to the back of your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. you needed him to believe it. needed him to let you go so you could retreat to the quiet of your own space, where you could curl up and weep in the solitude of your own shame.

his expression softened, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “hmm…okay.” he reached into his pocket, pulling out your phone. “you left this on the table. and, uh… you promise you’ll stay in contact?”

you nodded quickly, unlocking your phone and typing your name into the message. “you have mine now, too.”

a small relief flashed in his eyes when he saw your name on the screen. he nodded, his voice steady. “thank you. let me know when you’re both ready. we’ll make this work.”

you nodded, your throat tight as you wiped away the last of the tears. you offered him a half-smile, barely managing to hold it together, before turning away. your feet felt heavy as you walked to your car, the silence between you louder than anything.

when you finally arrived home, everything came crashing down at once, a tidal wave that hit you full-force. the weight of everything you’d been holding inside pressed into your chest, suffocating, like your lungs had forgotten how to breathe. you collapsed, body trembling, as sobs wrenched their way through you—soft, guttural cries that seemed to echo in the emptiness of your apartment. tears streamed down your face, thick and relentless, each one heavier than the last, as if they were washing away more than just your sorrow. how had you managed to mess everything up this badly?

the feeling of being lost in your own failure was dizzying, a dark spiral that threatened to swallow you whole.

chanyeol, your next-door neighbor, was more than just a friendly face. he was a single parent too, his daughter nari being the same age as minji. from the moment you’d moved in, the girls had been inseparable—like they were two halves of the same whole, constantly together, sharing everything from toys to whispered secrets. and over time, you and chanyeol had become something more than neighbors. you were lifelines to one another, navigating the chaos of single parenthood side by side. daycare pickups, late-night texts for advice, emergency contact calls—they were moments that built trust, moments that held you both up when the world felt too heavy.

but then there were the other moments. the ones that neither of you had planned, yet they happened all the same.

on nights when the girls had sleepovers, tucked under either your roof or his, the house would fall into an eerie stillness, a quiet so profound it felt almost alien. no toys scattered across the floor, no giggles or whispers. just an empty house, and the faint hum of the world outside. in those moments, the bottle of wine always made its way to the table—deep crimson liquid swirling in your glass, catching the soft light in a way that felt too intimate, too inviting. the scent of it lingered in the air, rich and heady, like a secret waiting to be shared. one glass became two, then three, until the words flowed freely, unguarded.

laughter bubbled between you both, light and carefree, mingling with the quiet sounds of the night. and somewhere, in the subtle space between casual conversation and shared history, something shifted—unspoken, but impossible to ignore. it wasn’t deliberate, not in the beginning, but it was undeniable. a quiet tension hung between you both, the kind that hummed just below the surface, like a chord waiting to be struck.

in the warm, dim light, the lines between friendship and something more began to blur. his lips brushed yours—not quite a kiss, but not exactly innocent either. the taste of wine lingered on his mouth, mingling with something darker, something deeper, something unspoken. your hands—almost of their own accord—found their way to each other, fingers tracing the outline of familiar paths, not quite daring to go any further. the touch was careful, deliberate, like a dance on the edge of something you both knew was dangerous, but too tempting to resist.

each kiss lingered just long enough to leave you wanting more, but never deepened enough to cross the line you both feared. the weight of unspoken rules hung between you, pulling back every time either of you tried to cross the line. clothes were the only barrier between you, a fragile wall that you both clung to, even as the urge to tear it down grew stronger.

but even in the silence, the weight of your unresolved feelings for baekhyun settled heavily in the room, a ghost that neither of you could escape. and chanyeol—he carried his own baggage. the loss of his wife, a wound that had never fully healed, leaving him to raise nari on his own, balancing grief and fatherhood in a way that only he understood. he wasn’t looking for more. not from you. not yet.

the timing was all wrong, the space between you wasn’t yours to claim. but in those rare moments, it felt as if maybe, just maybe, it could have been.

it was never spoken aloud, but you both knew the truth. chanyeol knew you still loved baekhyun, and that truth hung between you like a quiet weight. neither of you disturbed it. the unspoken agreement between you was that your daughters came first, no matter what. whatever might have blossomed between you, if it ever did, had to come naturally, unburdened by guilt or pretense.

but in those moments, when the air between you grew thick with something more, a quiet voice inside you would pull you back. it reminded you of the messy knots still holding your heart in place, the wounds that hadn’t yet healed. you couldn’t move forward—not yet. not while your heart was still tangled with baekhyun.

chanyeol, always the gentleman, never pushed. he was patient, always aware of your needs, always respectful of the boundaries you set. when you needed to talk, he listened; when you needed space, he gave it. but in the quiet of his own heart, he couldn’t help but feel more for you than he allowed himself to admit. how could he not? you were beautiful, strong, and a devoted mother. you embraced nari as your own, and in doing so, you made his heart ache in ways he couldn’t express. even knowing your heart was still tethered to someone else, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, one day you’d find your way to him.

he carried that silent ache with the kind of grace only he could muster, never letting it slip, even as it quietly wore at him, just a little more each day.

so when you texted him—asking if he could pick up minji, keeping the explanation vague, not wanting him to worry—he was there. barely ten minutes later, a soft knock at your door echoed through the silence.

when you opened it, his wide eyes met the mess that was you—mascara streaks trailing down your cheeks, a crumpled tissue clenched in your trembling hand. you tried to muster a smile, but it felt paper-thin, your voice weak and brittle. “yeolie? what’s up?” 

the words barely left your lips before he froze in place, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm. “a-are you okay? what’s going on? did someone—did something happen? is minji okay? are you sick? do you need me to take you to the hospital?” his voice cracked, the flood of questions spilling out in rapid succession, his panic tangible.

you stepped aside, pulling the door open wider, silently inviting him in. he didn’t hesitate, stepping through, his gaze glued to yours like he was searching for answers in your tear-stained face.

he trailed behind you to the couch, his presence steady and grounding as you collapsed onto the cushions, tears streaming freely. through shaky breaths, you unraveled the tangled mess of your day—the awkward reunion, the jumbled emotions, the weight of everything that seemed to be crumbling all at once. you didn’t dare admit the jealousy clawing at your chest, the hollow ache that filled you when baekhyun spoke about his fiancée with such love. that part you kept tucked away, too raw, too humiliating to expose.

chanyeol sat beside you, his towering frame a comforting shadow as he listened. really listened. his hand moved in soothing circles along your back, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

your words poured out, no longer confined to just the events of the day but expanding into everything—the years that had passed, the guilt that had burrowed deep and refused to let go. every regret, every misstep, every weight you’d carried alone spilled out in a torrent of tears and confessions. and chanyeol just sat there, unwavering, holding space for you in the way only a true friend could.

“hey,” he began, his voice soft yet steady, as if anchoring you in the storm of your own thoughts. that signature dimpled smile appeared, warm and reassuring, carrying a kindness that made your chest tighten. “no one’s perfect,” he said, his gaze locking with yours, as though he could see the weight of your regret. “it’s okay to have moments you wish you could take back. you don’t need to have it all figured out right now—just take it one step at a time, yeah? what matters is where you go from here, and i know you’ll choose the right path.” 

his hand brushed against yours, grounding you further. “no matter what, nari and i will always be here. for you and minji. you’re not in this alone.”

you swallowed hard, his words cutting through the mess of emotions tangled in your chest. the sincerity in his voice, the unwavering warmth in his eyes—it was almost too much. you nodded slowly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. 

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard it. “i don’t even know if i deserve this kind of support... but it means everything. truly.”  

your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, the weight of his reassurance settling over you like a safety net. the corner of your lips lifted into the faintest smile, a flicker of gratitude breaking through your doubt. “and…thank you, yeollie. for always being here for us.” 

he pulled you into a hug, the kind only chanyeol could give—one that made you feel like you were wrapped in the coziest, softest blanket on the coldest day. his size alone made it impossible not to feel safe, like he could shield you from the entire world.  

"stay put," he murmured, his voice low and soothing against your hair. "i’ll go pick up the girls. how about we pick up a pizza on the way home? maybe a bottle of wine to go with it?"  

you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, the weight on your chest lifting just enough to let it out. "yeah... i’d like that. thanks, yeol."  

he grinned as he stood, his steps sure and familiar as he moved to the fridge. the sound of the door opening and bottles clinking against each other filled the room. when he returned, he handed you one of the water bottles, twisting the cap off for you with ease.  

"drink up," he said, flicking a finger gently under your chin to tilt your head up, a playful glint in his eyes. "don’t need you passing out on me from dehydration."  

his teasing tone, coupled with the affection in his gesture, made your heart feel a little lighter. you took the bottle from him, your fingers brushing his briefly, and for the first time all day, you felt a spark of comfort.

later that night, minji lay tucked beneath her soft quilt, her favorite bunny held close to her chest. the warm glow of the nightlight painted her face in soft hues, the shadows dancing gently across her room like a lullaby. you leaned over her small form, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "i love you," you whispered, your voice a soothing murmur. "sleep tight, bun."

as your hand hovered over the light switch, her voice stopped you in your tracks, delicate yet filled with curiosity. "hey, mommy," she called, her tone innocent and thoughtful. "why does that doctor from earlier call you that, too?"

the question struck a chord deep within you, freezing you for a moment as your heart stumbled over itself. turning back toward her, you forced a smile, smoothing the sudden tension coiling in your chest. walking slowly to her bedside, you perched at the edge, meeting her wide, trusting eyes. "well," you started softly, your voice steady despite the fluttering unease within. "like dr. byun said, he's a really good friend of mine. that’s where i got your nickname, too."

her face lit up, her small smile so pure it made your heart ache. she nodded slowly, processing your words in that way only children can, her gaze thoughtful yet brimming with trust. "he was nice," she said, her tone sweet and certain. "i really liked him."

"yeah?" you asked, crouching down so your eyes were level with hers, the warmth of her sincerity wrapping around you like a blanket. her simple joy tugged at something tender within you. "would you like to see him again?"

her smile widened, blooming like the sun breaking through clouds. excitement sparkled in her eyes, her whole face lighting up in a way that mirrored her love for ice cream on hot afternoons. she nodded vigorously, her enthusiasm bubbling over. 

"uh-huh!" she chirped, her joy infectious, spreading a flicker of warmth through your own heart.

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and full of love. "okay, bunny," you said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, your voice tender. "sleep tight, 'kay?" you pressed another soft kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment, before turning off the light. the door clicked shut softly behind you.

standing in the hallway, your back against the cool wall, you let out a long, shaky breath, the weight of the day settling heavily in your chest. the silence was broken by a ping from your phone, pulling you out of your thoughts. you stared at the screen, the light illuminating your face as a new message appeared.

baekhyun:

thank you for today. let’s talk soon about how we move forward—together.

your chest tightened, the words settling over you like a heavy blanket. this was the beginning of something you hadn’t seen coming, something that made your pulse race with equal parts fear and exhilaration. 

you responded quickly, almost without thinking:

you free tomorrow to go over details?

the path ahead was a little scary and clouded with uncertainty, but one thing was for sure: baekhyun was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

baekhyun and minji bonded quicker than you ever imagined. their first playdate was a sunny afternoon at the park, where baekhyun seemed completely absorbed in her. every giggle, every burst of energy as she dashed between slides and swings, every scrunched-nose smile lit up his face. it was as if he was trying to memorize every little detail about her, committing her essence to memory. minji, ever the social butterfly, welcomed him without hesitation—just as she did her classmates, her teachers, and even chanyeol.

chanyeol.

his name slipped into your thoughts uninvited, a shadow that tugged at your focus. why were you thinking about him now? you blinked hard, shaking the thought away. the last thing you needed was to let another layer of complication invade your already chaotic emotions.

then came that afternoon. baekhyun had come to drop minji off at your place, the usual familiarity of the moment interrupted by the unexpected. when the door swung open, it wasn’t you standing there—it was chanyeol.

“baekhyun, right?” chanyeol greeted him warmly, his easy smile bright enough to momentarily disarm. his dimple pressed deep into his cheek, as if it was carved there just for moments like this. snapping his fingers in playful recognition, he added, “i’ve heard so much about you.” he gestured casually over his shoulder, as if to invite baekhyun in. “i’m chanyeol. and that’s nari over there.”

baekhyun froze, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like an invisible force. for a split second, his expression faltered, eyes flickering to the cheerful little girl in the background, her laughter filling the air. then, his gaze shifted back to chanyeol, studying him with a quiet intensity. there was something unspoken in the air between them, subtle yet impossible to ignore—a tension that lingered like a low hum.

his eyes darted past chanyeol, chest tightening as they landed on you. you were seated on the floor, cross-legged, a radiant smile stretching across your face as you and nari played with minji’s toys. the sound of your laughter, bright and unguarded, hit him square in the chest, stirring something raw and vulnerable deep inside him. you looked so at ease, as if the joy spilling from you was effortless, untouched by the weight of the past.

“hi, chanyeol!” minji’s voice rang out, cutting through the fog of his thoughts. her tiny arms stretched toward the tall man, her excitement spilling over in a cheerful squeal.

chanyeol didn’t hesitate, scooping her up with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. “i missed you!” minji giggled, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck.

“i missed you too, bun,” chanyeol replied with a wide grin, holding her close.

baekhyun’s stomach twisted, the word hitting him like a slap. bun. his nickname for her. no—their nickname. a sharp possessiveness surged through him, hot and consuming. did chanyeol call you that too? the thought crept in like a poison, making his jaw tighten. it was irrational, and yet it burned, carving out a hollow ache in his chest.

you stood then, walking toward them, your smile warm and glowing like the softest light. chanyeol still had minji perched on his hip, cradling her as if she were his own. he leaned in, planting an exaggerated, playful kiss on her cheek, earning a burst of delighted giggles from her.

the sound, the sight of it all—your ease, minji’s trust, chanyeol’s familiarity—brought baekhyun to the edge. his chest tightened, his breathing shallow, and for a brief, unsteady moment, he felt like he might collapse under the weight of it. the life he wanted was right in front of him, his life, and yet, it felt just out of reach.

“i missed you, bunny,” you murmured, your fingers tenderly brushing through her soft, dark hair. minji tilted her head up to you, her eyes glittering like tiny stars. then she turned to him, her small hand waving eagerly. “bye, baekhyun!” she chirped, her voice bright and pure, her little toothy grin so heartbreakingly innocent it nearly brought him to his knees.

baekhyun’s chest tightened, the pressure unbearable. how could something so sweet hurt so much?

you stepped closer, and for a fleeting moment, baekhyun forgot how to breathe. your smile was warm, easy, and devastatingly familiar—a smile that used to be his. it softened the tension hanging in the air, but to him, it cut deeper than any blade.

“thanks for picking her up from daycare,” you said, your voice gentle, almost apologetic. the sincerity in your tone slipped past every defense he’d tried to build since that day you walked back into his life. “did you wanna come inside for a bit? we usually do taco tuesdays with chanyeol and nari. you’re more than welcome to join us.”

your words were casual, but the invitation felt anything but. “i think it’d be great, actually,” you added, your voice bright with optimism. “since chanyeol’s been in minji’s life for a little over a year now.”

the floor seemed to tilt beneath him. his body stiffened, and a violent twist gripped his heart. chanyeol. a year. the words echoed mercilessly in his mind, louder and louder until they drowned out everything else. he wanted to tell you no, to scream it, to tell you he’d rather rip his chest open and claw his heart out than walk into that house and see the life you were building without him. a life that looked so perfect. a life where he was nothing but a footnote.

instead, he forced a smile—thin, hollow, the kind of smile that only deepened the cracks in his façade. it was nothing more than a mask, a feeble attempt to conceal the storm raging beneath his skin. “i’m actually in a hurry,” he said, the words stiff and unnatural as they stumbled off his tongue. “gotta get to the clinic.”

a lie, plain and simple. it came too easily, slipping past his lips like second nature. the instant it escaped, he felt the sick churn of regret twisting in his stomach, his voice betraying him with a clipped edge he couldn’t quite hide.

your head tilted slightly, confusion flickering across your face like a shadow. “didn’t you guys already close for the day?” you asked, your brows knitting together in that subtle way that always made his chest ache. “it’s past six.”

his pulse stuttered, a silent curse tumbling through his mind as he fumbled for an answer that wouldn’t shatter the fragile distance he was desperately clinging to. but nothing came. nothing convincing enough. nothing that didn’t feel like quicksand.

his feet shifted instinctively, retreating before his resolve could crumble further. “charts and prescriptions and... you know, stuff,” he mumbled, taking an awkward step back. “i’ll see you later.”

before you could say another word, he turned, walking briskly toward his car. his steps were measured, his pride refusing to let him break into a full-on sprint, even as his heart hammered like a war drum. every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his lie and your confusion pressing down on him like a vice.

he didn’t dare look back. if he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to keep going.

from behind him, minji’s giggles rang out like music, the sound breaking through the thickness in the air. you were pressing playful kisses to her cheeks, your exaggerated smooches sending her into a fit of laughter.

it was almost too much. the scene—the two of you together, so natural, so perfect—made his knees weak. he gripped the handle of his car door and paused, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to look back. to stay.

but he didn’t. he slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away, leaving behind the ache that followed him everywhere you and minji weren’t.

as baekhyun drove away, his grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned a stark white. the image of you standing there with chanyeol and the two girls—your girls—seared into his mind, an indelible mark he couldn’t shake. you looked like a perfect family, like something pulled straight out of a dream. but for baekhyun, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

every mile he put between himself and your door pressed harder on the ache in his chest. his thoughts roared louder than the hum of the engine, drowning out everything but one relentless truth: that should’ve been me.

he couldn’t keep doing this—living in the fragile shell of a life that barely held him together. pretending he was fine without you, without minji. pretending that every day apart wasn’t hollow, wasn’t agony. each moment away from the two of you felt like a wound he couldn’t heal, the kind that gnawed at him constantly, leaving him restless and raw.

he dragged a trembling hand through his hair as the silence around him became unbearable. pacing the length of his living room later that night, his mind was still trapped back at your doorstep. he could hear your laugh echoing in his ears, the way it always lit up every corner of his world. the memory of your voice, soft and full of meaning, saying his name. minji’s tiny hands gripping his, her trust as effortless as her love. every memory sharpened the longing, the undeniable knowledge that you were his. you always had been. and yet, here he was—stuck in a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

it wasn’t fair. not to him. not to you. and certainly not to her. the woman waiting for him at home, wearing the ring he had slipped onto her finger when he was too weak to face the truth. she deserved more. she deserved better. she deserved a man who wasn’t haunted by another woman’s smile, another child’s laughter.

his fists clenched at his sides as the weight of his choices bore down on him. guilt dug into him like a blade, twisting with every second. and yet, beneath it all, one truth burned brighter than anything else: he needed you. he needed you and minji, your warmth, your chaos, the life you had created without him.

he could feel it unraveling, the lie he was clinging to. every passing day stretched it thinner, threatening to snap. and when it did, he wasn’t sure what would be left of him—only that it wouldn’t be enough without you.

after a few more park playdates, you invited baekhyun over for dinner. when he arrived, he held two bouquets—one vibrant and blooming for you, and a smaller, delicate arrangement for minji.  

minji’s face lit up as she clutched her flowers, her excitement spilling over as she helped baekhyun carefully arrange them in vases. you watched from the kitchen, your hands busy with dinner but your heart quietly swelling at the sight of them together. 

dinner came and went in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. afterward, baekhyun insisted on helping clean up, minji trailing behind him like his little shadow. yet through it all, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze lingered on you—soft, almost yearning. and every time you caught him, he’d quickly look away, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink.  

you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself it was nothing. that the bouquet meant nothing. but your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat every time your eyes met. your cheeks warmed under his gaze, though you told yourself it was absurd. he’s engaged, you reminded yourself firmly. he’s in love with someone else. it’s not you anymore. it hasn’t been for years.

later, baekhyun offered to get minji ready for bed, his enthusiasm lighting up the room. he approached each part of her bedtime routine with such care—a playful splash during her bath, patient encouragement as she brushed her teeth, and a warm smile as he read her a bedtime story.  

you stood in the hallway, listening to her giggles and his gentle voice, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

you walked back to the kitchen, the soft hum of the house wrapping around you as you reached for the wine bottle. the deep red liquid swirled as you poured it into two glasses, the rich aroma curling in the air. baekhyun had worked magic tonight, easing a rowdy toddler into sleep as if it were the simplest thing in the world. the image of him tucking minji in still lingered in your mind—a quiet smile on his face, his touch gentle but sure.

you thought about all the time you and minji had been spending with baekhyun lately felt like something out of a dream. it was everything you’d ever wished for but never thought you’d have. he slipped so seamlessly into her world, as if he’d always been there. their bond was undeniable—tickle fights that left her squealing with laughter, quiet moments where she leaned into him with absolute trust. watching them together only deepened the ache in your chest, the one that whispered how foolish you’d been to keep her from him for so long.  

you told him as much one late afternoon, after a long stroll through the park. minji had fallen asleep in his arms, her little body spent from an afternoon of running through the playground while he chased her, pretending to be some silly monster. her tiny cheek squished against his shoulder, her breath soft and steady as she drooled onto his jacket. the two of you had laughed quietly, careful not to wake her.  

“guess she’s making up for all the times it was you she drooled on instead,” he teased with a smirk, his voice warm and low.  

it was in that fragile, golden moment that the words you’d been holding back tumbled out. “baekhyun, i... i’ve been feeling so awful. i’m not saying this for pity, i just—every time i see you with her, the guilt claws at me. i can’t believe i kept her from you for so long…i’m so sorry.”  

your voice cracked, and then there were tears—hot, stinging, relentless.  

baekhyun stopped in his tracks, his steps crunching against the gravel path as he gently grabbed your arm. his touch was firm but steady, grounding. he turned you to face him, his gaze steady, unwavering.  

“hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. “what matters is now. and the future. i trust you, and i know you won’t keep her from me again. i’ve forgiven you... but maybe it’s time you forgave yourself.”  

his words settled over you like a balm, soothing and unyielding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of your guilt began to feel a little lighter. 

you’re pulled from your thoughts by the soft click of her bedroom door, the quiet shuffle of baekhyun’s steps filling the silence as he makes his way toward you. you know the sound of his walk so well, even after all these years. it’s comforting, familiar—the same measured rhythm, the same ease. in so many ways, he hasn’t changed. his laugh, his warm personality, the way his eyes crinkle into crescent moons when he smiles.  

“she’s out,” he announces from the hallway, his voice soft but tinged with satisfaction as he spots you at the dining table.  

you hand him the glass of wine you’d poured moments before, holding it out like a peace offering. “this is for all your hard work,” you tease, a light grin tugging at your lips.  

he chuckles, the sound low and warm as he takes the glass from your hand, his fingers grazing yours for a fleeting second. the touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, unexpected but unmistakable, and you quickly avert your gaze, staring down at the table like it holds all the answers.  

he settles into the chair beside you, close enough that you can feel the faint warmth radiating from him. you sip your wine, trying to steady yourself, before speaking. “so... have you and soo talked about setting up a time to meet her?”  

his face shifts at the mention of her name. the change is subtle but telling—a flicker of discomfort, the kind you can’t unsee once you notice it.  

“yeah,” he says after a pause, his fingers fidgeting with the stem of the wine glass. he takes a sip before continuing, his tone quieter now. “i actually wanted to talk to you about her.”  

your heart sinks, unease settling in your chest like a stone. “oh?” you ask, cautious. “is everything okay?”  

the worst thoughts swirl in your mind, a storm of possibilities. maybe she doesn’t want baekhyun spending time with minji. maybe she’s uncomfortable with you being part of the equation.  

he exhales sharply, his thumb brushing against the rim of the glass. “yeah... i mean, i guess.” there’s a pause, a weight to his words that makes you hold your breath. “the engagement’s been called off.” his voice is steady, almost too steady, as if rehearsed.  

your jaw drops before you can stop it. the shock is written all over your face, and baekhyun winces at your reaction, his gaze darting away. you quickly compose yourself, snapping your mouth shut as heat rises to your cheeks. “what happened?” you blurt, the words spilling out before you can think twice. “you seemed... so happy.”  

your voice falters, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped. the weight of your question lingers between you, heavy and unspoken, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next. 

“i was. or... at least, i thought i was,” he says, his voice low and almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid to admit it even to himself. his hand moves to his hair, ruffling it in that familiar way he always did when the weight of his thoughts pressed too hard on him. a reflex, a habit you never forgot.

“and then you walked back into my life.” his voice is quiet, but there’s a rawness to it, like he’s pulling the words straight from the deepest part of him. your breath hitches, the air between you growing unbearably still as his gaze locks onto yours. there’s something in his eyes—something aching, desperate, like he’s trying to hold himself together while unraveling all at once.

“with her,” he continues, his voice breaking just enough to make your chest tighten, “this little girl who’s... everything. everything i didn’t know i was missing. she’s you and me, all tangled up in the most perfect way.” he swallows hard, his jaw clenching as though he’s fighting to steady himself. “and suddenly, nothing else makes sense anymore. not without you. not without her.”

the moment those words left his lips, the air seemed to shift. everything stilled—the hum of the world faded into silence, leaving only the thunderous echo of your heartbeat in your ears. had he really said that? the words hung between you, raw and unguarded, threatening to unravel everything you thought you understood.  

his eyes searched yours, hesitant but resolute, as if willing you to see the truth in his gaze. when he spoke again, his voice softened, carrying a weight that made your breath hitch. “and the more time i spent with you both... the more i realized you’re what i want. you and minji. you’re what i really want in my life.”  

his confession hit you with the force of a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs. you felt the ground tilt beneath you, the walls you’d carefully built around your heart quaking under the pressure of his words.  

“baekhyun…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your chest tightening as you forced yourself to ask, “are you… are you serious?”  

but you already knew the answer. you could see it, clear as day, in the way his gaze didn’t waver. 

“we can take our time… start slow,” baekhyun exhales, his voice carrying the weight of his confession as if it had been lodged in his chest for years. the vulnerability in his tone is raw, unguarded, and it almost makes you forget to breathe. “i mean… if that’s what you want, too.”  

his words trail off, and for a moment, his usual confidence falters. a quiet doubt creeps into his thoughts—what if you’ve moved on? what if you don’t want this? the possibility churns in his mind, making him feel smaller, suddenly unsure.  

“sorry,” he blurts out, shaking his head, gaze dropping to the floor. “i shouldn’t have said that—”  

“no,” you interrupt, your voice firm but gentle, grounding him. your hand finds his, your fingers curling around his in a touch that feels achingly familiar, as though no time has passed. the warmth of his skin against yours sends a spark racing through your veins, a reassurance you didn’t realize you both needed.  

he looks up, his eyes wide with hesitation, and you hold his gaze. “i’d… actually like that,” you admit, your voice softer now, a smile tugging at your lips. “start slow and see where we go.”  

his shoulders visibly relax, and the faintest glimmer of hope flickers in his eyes. he squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like the two of you are stepping into something whole and unbroken.  

two weeks later, you stood in front of your closet, the door wide open and a growing pile of discarded clothes spilling onto the floor. 

you were getting ready for a date.  

with baekhyun.  

your first date as parents.  

the thought made your stomach flip with nerves and excitement. it felt surreal, almost like stepping into a story you didn’t dare dream for yourself. but as much as the idea of this new beginning thrilled you, the reality of your wardrobe—or lack thereof—was starting to feel like a nightmare.  

minji was spending the evening with chanyeol and nari, her overnight bag already packed and slung over chanyeol’s shoulder when he came to pick her up. you couldn’t miss the way his expression shifted when you told him the reason for the favor, his smile faltering for the briefest second.  

“it’s just dinner,” you’d explained softly. “we’re taking things slow, seeing where it goes.”  

chanyeol had nodded, his lips pressing into a tight line. he couldn’t quite mask the pain in his eyes, though he tried.  

“of course,” he’d said eventually, his voice steady despite the storm you could feel brewing beneath. “you know i’m always here for you…and minji.”  

because that was just who chanyeol was—a steady, selfless anchor, even when it hurt.  

now, as you tore through hangers and drawers, you glanced at your phone, a spike of panic shooting through you. less than two hours. how had the time slipped away so fast?  

you groaned, flopping onto your bed as you stared at the heap of options that just weren’t right. nothing screamed ‘first date with the father of your child.’ nothing said ‘i’m nervous but excited and maybe a little terrified but i also want to look stunning.’  

baekhyun.  

you imagined the moment baekhyun would arrive, the image of him clear in your mind as if he were already standing at your door. he’d look effortlessly polished, the way only he could manage—like he’d stepped out of a magazine without even trying. his shirt would probably hug his lean frame just right, the soft fabric teasing at the lines of his shoulders and chest. his hair, always perfectly imperfect, would fall into place with a casualness that made you suspect he’d only run his fingers through it once before heading out.  

and then there were his eyes—those warm, honeyed depths that had a way of making the world feel quieter, smaller. they carried a quiet determination now, a depth that hadn’t always been there, like the years apart had reshaped him, sharpened his focus. you could almost see the subtle tilt of his lips when he caught sight of you, a smile that wasn’t overly practiced but natural, like it belonged there because you did.  

he never needed much time to get ready, and yet he always looked like he did. that was the thing about baekhyun—everything about him was easy, seamless, like he existed in his own effortless rhythm. it wasn’t about the clothes he chose or the way he styled his hair; it was about the energy he carried, the quiet confidence that drew people in.  

and tonight, he’d be coming to pick you up—not just as the baekhyun you’d known before, but as someone determined to start fresh, someone who wanted to show you that maybe, just maybe, this could really work out.  

you exhaled deeply, steadying yourself as you slid off the bed. pull it together, you thought, brushing your curled hair out of your face. tonight wasn’t just another evening—it felt like the start of something new, something tentative and hopeful, and you wanted to look the part. not just for baekhyun, but for yourself. you wanted to feel like the best version of you—the woman you were before, and the woman you were becoming.  

your eyes drifted toward the top of your closet, where an old, forgotten box rested among stacks of seasonal items and spare blankets. a spark of hope flickered. you vaguely remembered stuffing your pre-pregnancy clothes up there, unable to let them go but convinced they might never fit again. now, that box felt like a treasure chest waiting to be rediscovered.  

grabbing a step ladder, you climbed carefully, brushing the thick layer of dust from the box’s lid before tugging it down. a cloud of nostalgia seemed to escape as you peeled it open. there they were—rows of fabrics, textures, and memories you hadn’t touched in years. silky blouses, form-fitting dresses, sleek skirts... all the outfits you used to wear when going out felt like a second skin.  

you sifted through them, piece by piece, fingers grazing over familiar fabrics as your heart swelled with a mix of apprehension and excitement. you pulled out a sleek dress, holding it up against yourself in the mirror. to your delight—and a little disbelief—it still fit, hugging your post-pregnancy curves in ways that made you feel both proud and beautiful.  

you were finishing the last touches on your hair and makeup when the doorbell rang, slicing through the air like a sudden jolt. a flutter of butterflies stirred in your stomach, their wings beating furiously as nerves surged through you all at once. instinctively, you reached for your perfume, spritzing it lightly over your neck, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a soft, comforting embrace.  

you took a long, steadying breath, eyes tracing your reflection in the mirror, checking every detail—the delicate curve of your lashes, the soft glow of your skin, the way your lips curved just right. you stepped back, allowing yourself a moment to really see the woman in front of you. had it really been so long since you dressed up like this? for anyone? the question lingered in the air.  

and then it hit you, clear as day. it had been since baekhyun. a quiet chuckle escaped your lips as you shook your head, bemused by the realization. there was something about tonight that felt different, something about this moment, this new chapter, that made everything feel... significant.  

with a final glance at your reflection, you straightened up, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. you walked toward the door, each step a little more deliberate, a little more full of purpose. this wasn’t just a date. this was something else entirely.

when the door swung open and baekhyun saw you, his breath hitched, the air suddenly too thick to pull into his lungs. his gaze swept over you, deliberate and slow, as if his mind needed time to register every curve, every detail, every shimmer of the fabric that clung to you. his heart thundered in his chest, a wild rhythm he couldn’t control, and for a moment, all he could do was stare.

you were devastating. the dress—that dress—hugged you perfectly, its soft sheen catching the dim hallway light, every subtle movement making it seem alive, as though it had been designed for this exact moment. it was the same one you’d worn before, in a memory he kept locked away for years. back then, you’d twirled in front of him, laughing, your joy so infectious it had carved itself into his soul. seeing it again now, seeing you now, was almost too much.

but this wasn’t just a walk down memory lane. this wasn’t then. everything was different now—he was different, you were different. yet, somehow, that pull between you felt as raw and undeniable as it had the first time he’d laid eyes on you.

except now, you weren’t just the girl he’d loved with everything in him, the girl he’d lost, the girl he thought he’d never have again. you were minji’s mother. his daughter’s mother. and seeing you like this—so stunning it almost hurt—sent a new kind of longing through him. it wasn’t just want, though god, he wanted you. it was need, aching and all-consuming, a yearning that went far beyond physical desire. he needed to prove himself, to prove that he could be more for you, for minji. that this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away.

his hands twitched at his sides, desperate to reach for you, to touch, to hold, to pull you close enough to feel the warmth of your body against his. the temptation was staggering, nearly unbearable. his mind flickered with flashes of all the ways he wanted you—how it would feel to bury his face in your neck, to whisper promises against your skin, to hear you say his name like you used to.

but he held himself back, swallowing hard, locking it all down. not now. he couldn’t rush this. he couldn’t risk ruining it.

when his eyes met yours, his lips curved into the softest of smiles, one that didn’t quite mask the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. “you…” he paused, his voice catching before he found it again. “you look incredible.” the words came out low, steady, but there was no mistaking the weight behind them.

for a brief second, his eyes dropped back to the dress, his mind betraying him with an image of it lying forgotten on the floor, of you in his arms, of everything he was fighting to keep at bay. the thought made his chest tighten, and he let out a soft chuckle, as if to diffuse the tension he felt coiled so tightly within him.

but he didn’t move. not yet. instead, he let the moment stretch, imagining the day when he wouldn’t have to hold back, when he wouldn’t have to hesitate. when he could love you the way he wanted to—completely, without fear, without doubt, without restraint.

after dinner, the two of you strolled back to your place, the night humming with the warmth of shared laughter and lingering glances. the soft glow of streetlights cast a golden sheen over everything, making the world feel dreamlike, almost suspended in time. the wine coursing through your veins made the air lighter, the edges of reality softer, as though nothing truly mattered except the man walking beside you.

when you reached the door, your fingers fumbled with the keys, the metal slipping awkwardly in your grasp. you giggled, a sound so sweet it made baekhyun’s chest tighten. he stood behind you, his presence warm and steady, his hands gently finding their way to your waist. his touch was light, but it burned in the most delicious way.

“need a hand?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, his breath grazing your ear as he leaned closer.

you turned your head just slightly, your smile playful. “please,” you murmured, trying—and failing—to mask the way his closeness made your pulse quicken.

together, you managed to coax the door open, his hand guiding yours with a deliberate slowness that made you shiver. once inside, he closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound reverberating through the stillness of the space.

“nightcap?” you asked, your tone casual, though the mischief in your eyes betrayed you. your cheeks were warm, not just from the wine but from the way his gaze lingered, heavy and intent.

baekhyun didn’t answer right away. his eyes stayed locked on you, tracing the curve of your cheek, the way your lips curled into that familiar, teasing grin. his gaze dipped lower, lingering on the dress that clung to you like a second skin. that dress. the one he couldn’t stop thinking about all night, the one he wanted to peel off you with his teeth.

he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep himself in check. the air between you thickened, crackling with an unspoken tension. he took a slow, deliberate step closer, the movement barely noticeable, but the way his eyes darkened said everything his lips couldn’t.

“yeah,” he finally murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges. “a nightcap sounds good.”

but it wasn’t the drink he wanted. no, the only thing he wanted was standing right in front of him, flushed and radiant, looking at him with eyes that could undo him in a heartbeat. every instinct screamed at him to close the space, to kiss you breathless, to pull you into him and never let go. but he didn’t. not yet. he was holding onto a thread of control, as thin and fragile as the air between you.

for now, he could wait. but god, you were making it impossible.

he could barely hold himself together, his self-control stretched thinner with each passing second. honestly, he deserved an award—no, a damn medal—for the composure he managed to keep throughout dinner. every moment was its own quiet war, every glance from you a calculated blow, every soft laugh a fatal shot to his already fragile defenses. your presence was a sweet, maddening intoxication, pulling him under in waves he couldn’t escape.

the way you looked at him—those eyes full of something gentle, something tender, something that felt like home—was almost his undoing. his fingers curled tightly against his thighs, his knuckles blanching as he fought the urge to reach for you. your smile, radiant and unguarded, had him aching in ways he thought he’d forgotten, stirring something raw and desperate in the pit of his stomach. and your voice—god, your voice—danced through the air, warm and melodic, like the first song he’d ever loved.

and then there were those moments when you looked at him, really looked at him. it was in the softness of your gaze, the way it lingered a second too long, the way it stripped him bare without a single word. it was as if you still saw him—truly saw him—the way you used to, back when you were his. that look, full of unspoken truths, clung to him like an echo, whispering things he didn’t dare hope for. you still love me. you still love me. the thought struck like lightning, leaving him dazed and breathless, his pulse thundering in his ears.

his chest tightened with the weight of it all—the yearning, the disbelief, the sheer impossibility of the moment. it was as though everything that had gone wrong, all the time that had stretched between you, suddenly dissolved, rendered meaningless in the face of this. it was just the two of you now, the world fading into a blurry background, holding its breath as if waiting for him to do what every fiber of his being screamed for: close the distance.

the need was relentless, searing through him like fire. his fingers twitched with the urge to touch you, to cradle your face in his hands and trace the contours of your cheek, to see if your skin still felt as soft as he remembered. his lips burned with the craving to kiss you, to taste the laughter that had tormented him all night, to claim the love he had been starving for since the day you walked away.

it had been almost four agonizing years since you left him behind, taking the light of his world with you. he thought he’d buried the pain, that he’d learned to live with the emptiness you left. but now, here you were, so close he could hear the rhythm of your breaths, feel the warmth radiating from your skin. and he realized with a clarity that stole the air from his lungs: none of that pain mattered anymore. not the silence, not the heartbreak, not the years. all that mattered was you—here, now, in front of him.

his breath hitched at the thought, and he found himself imagining what it would feel like when he finally kissed you again. his lips hovering just inches from yours, the space between you crackling with tension. he could already feel the pull, that same magnetic connection that had always been there, waiting for the moment he could touch you. and when their lips finally met, he knew—he knew—it would be just like before. that same sweetness, that same softness, the curve of your lips fitting perfectly against his, like you were always meant to belong to him.

no one had ever kissed him the way you did. no one else had ever left him breathless, drowning in the intensity of it, as if your kiss had the power to remake him. and god, he wanted it again. needed it.

he wanted you, wanted you so badly, the need pooling in his chest, a hot, tight ache he couldn’t ignore. he could already taste you, feel the warmth of your lips beneath his. he remembered how your kiss had once made him feel weightless, like he was falling into something beautiful, intoxicating. it was all he’d thought about the entire night. 

and the way you looked now, that dress clinging to you like it had all those years ago, just made him ache even more. he couldn’t stop the images running through his mind—ripping it off of you, feeling your body pressed against his, tasting the sweetness of your kiss once again, just like he had done so many times before. the desire to feel you underneath him, to bury himself in the softness of you, was almost unbearable. he wanted it. he wanted you.

but instead, he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “yeah,” he breathed, his voice thick with barely contained longing, “yeah, a nightcap sounds good.” 

his fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to touch you, but he held himself back, feeling the heat rise between you both, a tension so thick it was almost unbearable.

"here, let me pour the drinks for us," he murmured, his voice low and steady as he took your jacket and purse, hanging them with a quiet care on the coat rack. 

you raised an eyebrow, teasing, "oh?" the corners of your lips twitched, fighting back a smile as you bit your bottom lip. your lashes fluttered lightly, casting delicate shadows across your cheeks as you met his gaze. "i’m just getting spoiled tonight, aren’t i?" you teased, the memory of how he'd practically wrestled the check from your hands earlier still fresh in your mind. it made you laugh softly, a sound that seemed to melt into the air.

but before you could say anything more, he was there, his hand coming up instinctively to cup your cheek. the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, his thumb brushing lightly against the softness of your skin, tracing the curve of your cheek, your chin, and finally resting just below your lower lip. his touch was so gentle, so deliberate, and yet it stirred something deeper inside you—a quiet yearning that you were both trying to contain. 

you met his eyes, searching his face, knowing the unspoken truth before he even voiced it. you could see it—the way his gaze lingered, the way his breath hitched just slightly as he studied you. he wanted to kiss you. you could feel the tension rising, thick and palpable between you, but still, he held back, the weight of restraint pressing on him.

not wanting to push him, you offered him a sweet, reassuring smile, the kind that spoke of understanding without words. the sight of it seemed to stop him in his tracks, and his heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. 

baekhyun’s lips curved into a playful smirk. “spoiled?” he echoed, leaning in just slightly, enough for his voice to drop a fraction, rich and smooth. “c’mon, bun, i’m sure you remember what me spoiling you really looks like.”

his words hit like a soft nudge to a locked door, memories rushing in before you could stop them. you remembered the way he used to spoil you relentlessly back in college, how his love language seemed to be written in lavish gifts and thoughtful gestures. designer handbags you could never justify buying for yourself, delicate jewelry that always seemed to match the sparkle in his eyes when he fastened the clasps himself.

he’d surprise you with new outfits for events you didn’t even know you’d be attending until he planned them—your wardrobe practically transformed by his generosity. every time the newest iphone dropped, he’d make sure it was in your hands within days, complete with a customized case he knew you’d love. he’d slip his card to waiters or store clerks before you could even think to pay.

and then there were the practical things, like covering your car payments or arranging maintenance before you even realized you needed it, his way of taking care of you without ever making you feel small for it. he never wanted you to stress, and you’d laugh at the absurdity of it all while secretly melting at the way he seemed to know what you needed before you did.

baekhyun had money. plenty of it. his family’s wealth wasn’t something he flaunted, but it was there, shaping the way he provided for you. your family wasn’t poor, but you didn’t have the same financial ease. you worked hard for the things you had, but baekhyun never made you feel less than, never made you uncomfortable about it. his quiet humility and the way he never flaunted his wealth made it all feel normal—money was never the issue. it was always about the love you shared.

you swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck as you met his gaze again. his eyes were on you now, softer but still teasing, as if he could tell exactly where your thoughts had gone. “besides” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “i’m just making up for lost time. can you blame me?”

one glass turned into two, then three, each sip loosening the tension in the air, but also building something new between you, something heady and electric. laughter spilled from your lips, the sound light and careless, but underneath it, a growing warmth that neither of you could ignore. the night seemed to blur around the edges, the wine clouding your thoughts, making everything softer, more daring. 

the bottles emptied one by one, their presence a witness to the hours that had melted away as you lingered in each other’s company. the glasses tipped over, forgotten, their contents pooling on the floor like spilled memories. it didn’t matter. nothing mattered except the way he looked at you—intensely, as if every part of him was drawn to you in a way that left him no choice but to pull you closer. 

and then, he kissed you.

it was slow at first, almost tentative, like he was relearning the shape of your lips, the rhythm of your breath. but it didn’t stay that way for long. in an instant, the kiss deepened, the years of separation melting into a blur of heat and urgency. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer—closer, until you were climbing into his lap, your legs straddling him without hesitation.

his mouth was scorching, addictive, just like you remembered. it was the taste of him, rich like wine but unmistakably him—a flavor you thought you’d buried, but now you realized you could never forget. his kisses were messy, hungry, each one leaving you breathless as soft moans and breathless whimpers slipped between you. his hands roamed with purpose, sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. his grip was firm, possessive, so achingly familiar that it made your head spin.

you felt the growing bulge beneath you, hard and urgent, straining against his pants. the pressure sent a sharp jolt of need straight to your core, igniting a fire you couldn’t ignore. warmth pooled between your legs, soaking you as your hips rocked instinctively against him. a deep, guttural groan escaped him, vibrating against your lips as you kissed him harder, hungrier.

“i missed you,” you breathed, the words tumbling from your lips as they traveled to the curve of his neck. you nipped at the sensitive skin below his ear, the spot you knew drove him wild. sure enough, a soft, desperate moan spilled from him, and you smiled against his skin, savoring the sound of him unraveling beneath you.

"i love you, bun," he whispered, his voice soft yet heavy with meaning, a tremor of raw emotion in every word. his gaze, unwavering and intense, locked onto yours, as if he could reach inside you with just a look. his lips brushed yours, so lightly it almost felt like a delicate promise. "i... i don’t think i ever stopped."

the words crashed into you, like a wave breaking against the shore, unexpected yet inevitable. your heart skipped, breath caught in your chest as the depth of his confession wrapped around you, pulling you under. "i love you, too, baekhyun," you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but steady—anchored in the truth that had always been there, buried beneath the years of silence. "i never stopped."

and then, his lips were on yours again, and it was as if the world snapped back into place, the pieces aligning with the force of your shared confession. finally, it felt like home. like you were where you were always meant to be. your body responded instinctively, moving closer, desperate to feel the heat that had always simmered between you two. you ground against him, slow, deliberate, an aching need rising in you both. the friction between you sent jolts of electricity through your veins, a fire sparking to life as you felt him tense beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips.

for a brief moment, you thought he'd pull you in fully, lose himself in the moment as much as you were. but instead, his body went rigid, stilling beneath you as if every muscle had locked in place.

"wait—" his voice cracked, the sound thick with a dangerous mix of yearning and restraint. his hands stilled your movements, holding you in place. you could feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, shallow breaths betraying the storm inside him. "i don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. i know we agreed to take things slow. i can wait."

his words cut through the haze of your desire, stopping you dead in your tracks. the sincerity in his eyes hit you like a tidal wave. he was holding back—for you. 

for you. 

the ache in your chest was sharp, but in the best possible way.

without saying a word, you reached down, sliding his hand beneath your dress, guiding him to where you were already burning. his breath caught when his fingers brushed against your bare skin. his eyes widened, shock crossing his features as he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

"feel how wet you’ve made me?" you whispered, your lips grazing his ear, your voice low, sultry, teasing. the way his chest moves as his breathing becomes more deeper, heavier as if it’s taking everything in him not to put his fingers to work on that sloppy cunt of yours. you could feel his restraint fraying, and you couldn’t help but smile.

"still think i wanna take things slow?" you teased, your thumb tracing the curve of his bottom lip, urging him to act.

you could feel his body tremble under your touch, his hands shaking slightly as he adjusted, his fingers just barely grazing where you needed him most. the hunger in his eyes was almost unbearable, and you leaned in closer, brushing your lips over his jaw, waiting for him to break.

his composure shattered. his eyes fluttered shut as you brought his slick-coated fingers to your mouth, your tongue swirling around them slowly, deliberately. the taste of yourself on him was heady, and you sucked his fingers clean, the act sending a shiver down his spine.

“fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with hunger. “ya sure about this, bun?” each syllable a desperate plea as his restraint teetered dangerously close to breaking.

you nodded, eyes wide and shimmering with a mix of innocence and promise. your lashes fluttered like the softest caress as you looked up at him, lips swollen and bruised from his fevered kisses, a delicate pout lingering on them. the sight of made his dick twitch. “always been sure when it comes to you, baek.”

the words hit him like a wave, and with a shuddering sigh, he couldn’t hold back anymore. his lips crashed against yours, possessive and hungry, claiming you as if he’d never get another chance. one arm wrapped around your head, fingers threading through your hair with a desperate need, while the other hand slid to your ass, squeezing it roughly. his grip tightened, a subtle warning, but you could feel the way his muscles strained, the raw tension in his touch. every press of his fingers into your skin felt like a brand, like he was marking you, anchoring himself to you. his touch was a blaze, a wildfire that scorched you in the best way, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear an inch of distance.

and then the world tilted.

with a surge of power and urgency, he lifted you without hesitation—strong, commanding, as though he was claiming you in the most primal of ways. a breathless gasp escaped your lips, the sound of surprise barely escaping before his hands cradled you, holding you as if you were made of something more fragile than glass. he held you with reverence, but there was an edge to it, a possessiveness that promised he would never let you go.

his breath is heavy against your neck, warm and uneven, betraying the restraint he’s barely holding onto. your body is pressed tightly to his chest, his heart pounding against yours, every beat echoing the unspoken promises that linger in the air. each step he takes toward your bedroom is deliberate, charged, as though the distance is unbearable, as if he can’t get you there fast enough. 

"shit," he muttered, his voice rough and low as he lowered you onto the edge of your bed. the realization hit him like a tidal wave, cold and relentless, stealing his focus. his gaze flickered to yours, a storm of panic swirling in his eyes. “i didn’t bring any condoms. do you… do you have any?”

his question lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, cutting deeper than the surface. the knot in his stomach tightened, the thought of someone else touching you during the time apart clawing at his insides. he hated the idea more than he cared to admit.

your laughter cut through the tension, soft but laced with something playful, a gentle ring that seemed to fill the space between you. "no, baek," you replied, your voice a breathless melody. "i haven’t had sex—well, any action, really—since you." the confession slipped out before you could stop it, and though a blush bloomed on your cheeks, you held his gaze. there was a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes, but it only made his heart race faster.

his breath hitched audibly, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. his heartbeat thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling with the weight of your words. “you’re serious?” he whispered, disbelief laced with something else—pride. his lips curved upward into a slow, cocky grin, the kind that made your stomach flip. the thought of you untouched by anyone else since him fed something primal, something possessive.

you nodded, your teeth sinking into your lip like you were weighing the impact of your words. embarrassment rushed to your neck, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his stare. it burned through you, molten and unwavering, making your heart thrum harder with every passing second.

“fuck,” he rasped, the word almost guttural, like he couldn’t contain the surge of raw emotion. it was your turn to smile, a cocky glint lighting up your eyes. but when he spoke again, the weight of his confession hit you harder than you expected.

"i haven’t gone raw in anyone since you."

the words hung heavy in the air, suffocating with meaning. the way he said it, so casually, like it was a fact that only made sense in the world he had built around you, made your pulse spike. it was everything—the promise, the truth. your knees weakened at the depth of his gaze, molten like a fire you couldn’t escape.

"d’ya trust me, bun?" he whispered, voice low, the words slipping from his lips with a possessive kind of hunger.

you swallowed thickly, your breath coming out uneven, heart pounding in your throat. your pulse raced, and despite the weight of his question, you somehow found your voice, breathless and full of raw honesty.

“with my life.”

his lips curled into that signature, boyish grin that had always undone you, a glint of mischief dancing in his darkened eyes. 

without hesitation, he closed the distance between you, his hands brushing the smooth, delicate skin of your arms before they drifted to the zipper at your back. in one seamless motion, his fingers tugged at the fabric, pulling your dress down with a fluid grace that seemed almost too effortless, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. the fabric slid off you like a memory, slipping to the floor as he guided you back onto the pillows, leaving you bare under the weight of his gaze.

his breath faltered as he drank you in, his eyes tracing every inch of your skin, the intensity of his hunger for you pressing against him like an ache that made his chest tighten. "god," he breathed out, the word barely escaping his lips as if he was speaking to himself more than to you, his hands gently exploring your exposed body like he was memorizing it, as though each touch could never be repeated.

but then it came—the surge of insecurity, creeping in from the edges of your mind like a dark cloud, unwelcome and cold. without thinking, you crossed your arms over your body, your hands instinctively covering the soft curves you’d learned to live with, but had never quite come to accept.

baekhyun saw it instantly. the shift in you, the way you tried to pull away, to hide. his expression softened, his gaze darkening with understanding as he stepped closer. his voice, low and steady, was a balm to your wounded confidence. “don’t you ever feel the need to hide from me,” he murmured, each word laced with an unspoken promise. his hands were gentle, yet firm, as he took hold of your wrists, slowly guiding them away from your body and placing them at your sides. the weight of his touch was reassuring, a silent command for you to trust him, to trust that he saw you—all of you—and that was all he wanted.

his touch was almost ethereal, like a whisper against your skin. his fingertips grazed the curve of your breasts, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. “bigger,” he murmured, the word thick with admiration, as if discovering something new about you—something he’d always known he wanted. his hands traveled lower, tracing the lines of your waist, feeling the soft expansion of your hips beneath his palms.

when his fingers brushed over the subtle stretch marks on your ass, a low, guttural groan escaped him, the sound vibrating through the air between you. his body tensed, his desire unmistakable, radiating off of him in waves. “god, you’re so beautiful,” he said, his gaze never leaving the soft, inviting shape of your body, as if memorizing every inch of you.

his hand drifted to your stomach, his finger moving with slow deliberation, drawing a path down the center of your abdomen, a slow, torturous line that set your nerves alight. “you’re gonna feel me,” he rasped, his voice husky, the words carrying a weight of promise. his thumb pressed gently into the sensitive skin just above your belly button, sending a shiver spiraling through your body. “right here,” he murmured, his eyes locking with yours—dark, smoldering, intense with intent.

the teasing, the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something intoxicating—it was too much. your hands clenched at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, the need to feel him overwhelming. without a second thought, your lips crashed against his, urgent and desperate. the kiss was hungry, frantic, your mouths pressing against each other as you fumbled with the fabric of his clothes, your body burning for more.

his laugh rumbled against your lips, the sound low and rich as he pulled back just enough to smirk down at you. “eager, aren’t we?” 

you didn’t miss a beat, your fingers working at his waistband as you bit back, “just wanna see if you still know how to fuck me properly.”

his laugh deepened, full and throaty, as he shoved his boxers down, freeing his throbbing cock. “glad to see that smart mouth of yours hasn’t changed, bun,” he said, his grin wicked. he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “i’ma have fun puttin’ it to good use later.” 

your breath hitched, your heart pounding in anticipation as he pressed closer, the weight of his words and his presence igniting every nerve in your body. 

he positions himself at your entrance, and your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding so hard you can feel it echo in your ears. the heat radiating from him, the subtle brush of his skin against yours, sends a shiver rippling through your body. his tip, swollen and leaking, nudges against you, dragging slowly through your wetness, teasing with a precision that makes your toes curl. 

he lingers at your entrance, just barely pressing in before retreating, spreading his precum and your slick together in a maddening rhythm. the sensation of his velvety tip gliding over your folds, grazing your clit, sends jolts of pleasure through your core. every deliberate movement feels like a silent taunt, a reminder of how much he’s savoring this moment—savoring you.

“baek, please,” you whimper, your voice trembling, desperate. your fingers clutch the sheets beneath you, nails digging in as if grounding yourself could somehow stave off the overwhelming need building inside you. tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as the relentless teasing pushes you closer to the edge of begging.

his own restraint is fraying, evident in the way his breath hitches, the way his hands tremble slightly as they grip your hips. he leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes smoldering with a mix of lust and longing. “oh— fffuuuccck, i missed you,” he groans, his voice strained, thick with emotion and need.

his words barely register before he begins to push in, his throbbing tip stretching you inch by agonizing inch. the sensation of him filling you—so warm, so familiar yet impossibly intense—forces a soft gasp from your lips. he exhales sharply, his jaw clenched, savoring every second, every sensation, as though this moment is the only thing that matters in the world.

baekhyun’s gaze flickers to your face, catching the faint wince that creases your features, gone as quickly as it came, but not quick enough to escape him. his brows knit together, his concern palpable, etched into the soft lines of his expression. he stays perfectly still, his body taut with restraint, as if afraid to move and hurt you. the stretch stings, yes, but there’s something deeper beneath it—a delicious burn that ignites every nerve, leaving you teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure.

“baby, you good?” his voice is low, soft, a husky murmur that wraps around you like the warmest comfort, his tone threading worry with tenderness, his concern a steady anchor in the haze between you. his dark eyes search yours, flickering with a mix of restraint and hunger, like he’s balancing on the precipice of losing control but refusing to let it happen until you’re ready.

you nod, though your breath catches, a sharp inhale that betrays the lingering ache as you will yourself to adjust. you shift your hips slightly, testing, feeling the stretch give way to something deeper, something raw that tugs at your core and sets your pulse hammering.

he groans, low and guttural, a sound dragged from the depths of his chest as he feels you take him in just a little more. his breath stutters, breaking like a thread pulled too tight, his hands flexing where they rest on your hips. the sharp ache dissolves into heat, into a magnetic pull you can’t resist. his reaction tells you he’s just as wrecked as you are, caught in the unbearable tension of holding back when everything about this moment demands he let go.

baekhyun’s exhale shudders, his head tipping back as his grip on your hips tightens just enough to remind you of his control. “fuck,” he rasps, the word rough and shaky, his voice carrying a mix of awe and restraint. “i missed the way you feel around me.”

his words send a ripple of heat through you, raw and unfiltered, a confession of just how much you’re undoing him. his fingers dig into your skin, grounding him, though his gaze never strays from yours. the tension coils tighter with every passing second, his dark eyes blazing with something possessive, something unrelenting, as though he’s holding back the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

your need burns hotter, desperation clawing its way to the forefront. “baekhyun—,” you beg, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. “please... just hurry up and fuck me.”

the plea comes out shaky, your voice trembling with want, and for a moment, you feel utterly exposed. but the effect on him is instant. his lips curl into a slow, wicked smile, his expression one of pure, devastating control as if that's all he needed to hear. “as you wish, sweetheart,” he grunts, his voice thick with promise and unrestrained desire.

his hands tighten their hold on your hips, strong and commanding, as he shifts his position. with a flex of his arms, he lifts you with effortless strength, your body rising until you can feel the head of his cock stretching you once more. the tension builds, unbearable and heady, before he slams you down onto him in one fluid motion.

the force of it steals the breath from your lungs, the intensity of him filling you completely, stretching you to your limit. the sound that escapes you is ragged, a cry of pleasure that seems to echo in the air between you. baekhyun’s growl rumbles low in his chest, primal and rough, as his hips meet yours, bottoming out with a precision that leaves you trembling.

his movements are deliberate yet feral, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, his hands never leaving your body as if anchoring you to him. his need is palpable, pouring out in every motion, every flex of his muscles as he claims you with an intensity that sets every nerve ending alight.

“ya feel so fuckin’ perfect,” he groans against your skin, the words muffled but soaked in reverence as his lips press to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach. every motion, every sound, every touch pulls you deeper into him, blurring the lines between where you end and he begins.

he missed you. god, every inch of him missed you. it’s like his cock remembers every curve, every slick ridge of your walls, molding to him perfectly. and of course, he lets you know, his voice breaking into a string of desperate confessions. “f-fuck… m’sorry. ya squeezin’ me so tight. i think ‘m gonna cum soon hah– and ‘m gonna fuck it right back into this perfect—ngh—cunt.”

“hah—baek,” you whine, your voice trembling as you fully surrender to him. your body rocks helplessly in rhythm with his relentless thrusts, his cock plunging so deep it leaves you gasping. “s-so deep—hngh… can feel you here—” your hand snakes down, guiding his to press against your stomach, right where the swollen head of his cock is relentlessly hitting that devastatingly sweet spot.

his breath hitches, a low, disbelieving laugh huffing out as his fingers press into your skin. “fuck,” he groans, his eyes dark with lust, fixed on you, utterly wrecked beneath him. his hand is on top of the other as they press down over the slight bulge where he’s buried so deeply inside you. “feel that, baby? that’s me… stretching this pretty pussy out so good.”

his words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and it’s too much—all of it, the weight of him, the filthy praise falling from his lips, the way his hands grip you like you’re something precious, even as he loses himself in you.

“baek—oh god!” your cry echoes through the room as your body shatters beneath him, the first orgasm of the night ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. his lips crash against yours, swallowing your desperate moans as his hand moves lower, fingers finding your clit in quick, precise circles. the overstimulation sends sparks shooting through your veins, the pleasure stretching, elongating, as he coaxes every last wave from you.

“that’s it—hah. cum for me angel,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice softening even as his hips keep their punishing rhythm, chasing his own release. “y'so perfect, baby. nngghh—so fuckin' perfect for me…and finally mine again.”

“been y-yours,” you hiss, dragging out the word as his crazed tip whacks itself against your sensitive spot. again, again, and again—he’s hitting against that same spot as if it were a target and he never misses. his frantic hits against your core causes your toes to curl and your back to arch even further as you’re slowly being brought closer to your orgasmic, teetering edge. “ffuuck! ‘m cumming again, baek, cumming.” 

your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, sweeping you into a realm that feels like heaven itself. your body gives out beneath the intensity, collapsing back against the mattress as baekhyun hovers over you, his breath hot and heavy. his tongue trails a slick, wet path down the curve of your neck, his touch a sinful mix of reverence and hunger as you unravel completely beneath him.

baekhyun’s body is pressed flush against yours, his every movement slow yet calculated, like he’s savoring each second, each inch, as if the world might steal you away from him again. the heat of his skin seeps into yours, the sheer intensity in his dark, lidded eyes making it impossible to look away. his breath is ragged, the sound mingling with the soft gasps spilling from your lips, the two of you lost in a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing.

“please,” he rasps, his voice cracking, raw with emotion. his forehead presses to yours, the touch grounding and desperate as he sinks deeper, his hips stuttering like the closeness of you is too much, too overwhelming to contain. “please, don’t fuckin’ leave me again.”

his words linger, heavy and aching, filling the space between you with the weight of every unspoken hurt, every moment lost. his fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin as though the feel of you beneath him is the only thing tethering him to reality. his thrusts grow erratic, uneven, each movement betraying the fragility of his control.

“nggghh—i think...” his voice falters, a low groan spilling from his lips as he buries his face into the curve of your neck. his mouth grazes your skin, reverent, desperate, the ghost of his breath hot and trembling against you. “i think i’ll die if you do. god, i can’t—i can’t spend another fuckin’ day without you.”

your heart clenches painfully, his vulnerability cutting straight through you like a blade. his body trembles against yours, every inch of him straining to keep you close, to pour everything he feels into the spaces between you. your fingers find their way into his hair, threading through the damp strands as you tug gently, coaxing him to meet your gaze.

his eyes lift, dark and glassy, brimming with emotion so unguarded it threatens to undo you. devotion, fear, yearning—they’re all there, laid bare and unfiltered.

“baekhyun,” you whisper, your voice a delicate tremor, barely audible over the shared gasps of breath between you. your hands cradle his face, fingertips brushing over the damp strands of his hair as if trying to ground him, to ground yourself, in this fragile, fleeting moment. “’m not going anywhere. i’m here... i’m yours. we’re yours.”

his breath catches, shuddering under the weight of your words, and a sound—fragile, broken—escapes him. he surges forward, pulling you closer, deeper, until it feels like he’s trying to fuse your souls together, to erase every inch of space between you. his thrusts are slower now, deliberate, every roll of his hips steeped in something more than desire—something raw and sacred, like a plea, a promise, an apology all at once.

your body arches into his, a guttural whine ripping from your throat as his cock pulses within your walls, stretching, filling, consuming. your muscles clench around him, your body dragging him deeper into your heat, and his control shatters like glass.

“f-fuckin’ shit,” he growls through gritted teeth, his hips jerking erratically as he spills into you, heat blooming deep inside, marking you in every sense of the word. the intensity steals the breath from your lungs, and as the waves of pleasure crash over you, pulling you under, your release spirals into his, the two of you breaking apart and piecing yourselves back together in the same breath.

his lips find yours, the kiss frantic and messy, a collision of tongues and teeth as if he’s trying to reclaim the time you spent apart. every ragged moan, every whispered curse and gasp fills the room, the air thick with the symphony of your shared need. the world outside fades, leaving only the two of you—entangled, desperate, and utterly consumed by the moment.

it’s not just lust, not just longing—it’s everything. years of heartache, love, and an aching, unrelenting need poured into every kiss, every thrust, every whispered vow that promises you’ll never leave each other again.

your walls clench around him again, coaxing more from him, and he groans deeply, his arms looping around your waist to anchor you to him. his grip is firm, almost desperate, holding your trembling hips in place as his thick, creamy release paints your insides. it’s obscene, the way it trickles down your shaking thighs, a messy, lewd reminder of everything he’s giving you. but baekhyun doesn’t stop—not yet. his hips slow, but only slightly, rolling into you with a lazy, unrelenting rhythm as if determined to fuck every drop back into you.

it’s filthy, yes, but there’s something almost tender in the way his lips brush against yours again, his deep moans muffled as his movements grow languid, sweet in their intensity. he nips at your bottom lip, his voice a teasing rasp when he finally pulls back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed to yours.

"how ’bout we give minji a sibling, huh?" the words spill from him, low and teasing, yet dripping with intent, his hips punctuating the question with a deliberate thrust that has you crying out.

your brain short-circuits, the world spinning as his cock drags against your sensitive walls. your head nods before you can even process his words, a frantic, needy motion as your body betrays just how utterly drunk you are on him. thinking straight? impossible. all you can manage is a breathless, choked moan of agreement, your fingers digging into his back as he continues to work you into oblivion."yeah?" your voice trembles, still riding the waves of your last high. "well, we’ve got all night to try."

the morning sun filtered softly through the trees as you stood at your front door, your body still humming with the afterglow of the night before. baekhyun’s car had just turned the corner, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and the weight of his goodbye kiss still lingering on your lips. you smiled to yourself, the memory of his warm hands on your waist and the way he’d looked at you all night filling you with a quiet joy.

but then your thoughts shifted, and a familiar ache settled in your chest. you glanced to your left, to chanyeol’s house, where your daughter, minji, was probably still fast asleep. you wondered when you should go pick her up, already missing the sound of her giggles and the way she always ran to you with open arms.

your gaze lingered on his house, warm affection for your daughter mingling with a twinge of guilt. chanyeol had been nothing but kind—stepping in to watch minji overnight so you and baekhyun could have this time together. but as your eyes traced the windows, movement caught your attention.

the curtain in the living room fluttered, a shadow shifting behind it before it was quickly pulled shut. the abruptness of the action made your heart sink. someone had been watching. you didn’t need to guess who.

your stomach twisted as the realization hit you. chanyeol.

the look on his face from last night flashed through your mind—the way his mouth had tightened, his expression faltering when you’d casually mentioned your plans with baekhyun. you’d tried to soften the blow, telling him you were "taking things slow," but now those words felt hollow, like a broken promise.

slow? the sight of you outside your front door in baekhyun’s shirt, kissing him goodbye, told a different story.

the weight of the moment pressed on you, guilt pooling heavy in your chest. chanyeol didn’t deserve this. he didn’t deserve to see this, to piece together the night you’d spent with baekhyun and feel whatever it was you knew he must be feeling.

for a second, you thought about knocking on his door, about saying something—anything—that might ease the tension now crackling in the air between your homes. but instead, you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step inside your own door. maybe it was better this way, to let the moment settle, to deal with the aftermath later when your thoughts were clearer.

but as you shut the door behind you, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

chanyeol:

hey, can we talk?

a sigh escapes your lips, the guilt in your chest an ache that refuses to fade. you were already bracing for this conversation, knowing it had to happen, knowing you owed him this clarity. more than that, you still wanted him in your life—him and nari both. they had become such an integral part of your and minji's world, their presence a steady anchor in the chaos. you had to make sure he understood that.

your thumbs hover over the screen, the words forming before you can second-guess them.

yeah, i think we should, yeol.

chanyeol sits on the couch beside you, though the space between you feels like a canyon. it’s a noticeable difference from how he used to sit, closer, as if the world wasn’t big enough to separate the two of you.

he brought minji home a few minutes ago, fast asleep against his shoulder, her cheek pressed to him in the way only a child could manage, soft and unguarded. her little mouth hung open, a whisper of snores escaping as if the world around her didn’t exist. she’d been worn out from a full morning playing with his sister’s kids and nari, her tiny form so peaceful it made your heart ache. you’d both had quietly tucked her into bed together. and now here you were, back in the living room, perched on the edge of an unspoken conversation.

his sister had stopped by his place earlier this morning, her kids in tow for a chaotic playdate with nari and minji. she’d agreed to watch nari while chanyeol brought minji back home and you and him have this talk, though he’d been vague about why he needed the time. what was he supposed to say? “i’m going next door to talk to the girl i’ve been madly crushing on for over a year about seeing her kiss her ex-boyfriend and baby daddy and now i don’t know where i stand.” no. too messy. too raw. too much.

his jaw tightens, a small movement you barely catch out of the corner of your eye. the weight of his presence feels like it’s pressing against your chest, suffocating and grounding all at once. you glance at him, then quickly look away, unsure of how to start this conversation. unsure if you even can.

the silence between you stretches, awkward and heavy. you try to fill it with small talk, your voice soft. “how was minji last night?”

he glances at you, a smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. there’s something pained in his expression, something restrained. “she was great. she always is.”

you smile faintly, but it fades as guilt bubbles in your chest. “look, chanyeol,” you start, your voice tentative, “i’m sorry for what you saw this morning. it probably didn’t make me look like ‘mother of the year.’” you pause, exhaling slowly. “i know i said baekhyun and i were going to take things slow, but… one thing led to another, and—”

“stop,” he interrupts, his voice sharp but not unkind. his hand comes up, almost reflexively, as if to shield himself from your words. he winces, and you know it’s because he’s picturing it—baekhyun’s hands on you, his lips on yours. where chanyeol wishes his own could be.

his shoulders slump as he exhales, the tension in his body evident. his face is a mosaic of emotions—hurt, frustration, resignation. “i don’t think i want to hear the details… about what happened with you and baekhyun.”

the air grows heavier, his words filling the space between you. for a moment, neither of you speaks. then, he sighs again, his voice quieter this time, softer. “i just came to say that i get it.”

you blink, caught off guard. “you do?”

he nods, his gaze falling to his hands, which rest loosely in his lap. “yeah,” he says, the word heavy with a weight he’s carried for longer than you probably realize. “i always knew your heart was still with him. filled with him. i thought that maybe, over time, with me… and nari… we—i—would fill it instead.” his voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat, forcing himself to go on. “but then he came along. and even then, i was still foolish enough to believe i had a chance.”

your heart clenches, the rawness in his voice cutting deeper than any accusation ever could.

he looks up at you, his eyes earnest despite the ache swimming in them. “but i just want you to know… don’t feel guilty. about this. about me. nari and i—we’ll still be here for you and minji. always.”

his words hit you like a wave, and you’re left staring at him, your chest tight and your throat dry. there’s no anger in his voice, no bitterness, just an overwhelming sense of loss and quiet acceptance.

and somehow, that hurts even more.

you open your mouth, but no words come out. what can you possibly say to that? to a man who has just stripped himself bare, laying his feelings and heartbreak at your feet without a hint of resentment? guilt swirls in your stomach, heavy and unrelenting, but beneath it is something softer—gratitude.

“chanyeol,” you finally manage, your voice quiet, shaky. “i… i don’t even know where to start.” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you’ve had for as long as you can remember. “i never meant to hurt you. i swear, i didn’t.”

his smile is small, sad, and fleeting. “i know.”

“you mean so much to me,” you continue, your voice gaining strength. “and not just because you’ve been so good to minji and me, but because you’re… you’re you. you’ve been a constant in our lives when everything else felt so uncertain.”

his gaze flickers to yours, and the weight of his emotions is almost too much to bear.

“but,” you add, hesitating because the truth feels like a betrayal, “i can’t lie to you. when baekhyun came back, it stirred up so much that i thought i’d buried. i thought i’d moved on, but… seeing him again…” you trail off, unsure how to finish without twisting the knife further.

“i get it,” he says softly, sparing you the need to say more.

“i don’t deserve you,” you whisper, shaking your head. “you’ve been nothing but kind and patient, and i hate that i’ve put you in this position. but… thank you. for everything. for understanding, for being here, for—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off gently, his voice firm but kind. “don’t thank me like this is the end of something. nari and minji are still best friends, and i’m not going anywhere. you don’t get rid of me that easily.”

his attempt at humor coaxes a faint smile from you, though the tears welling in your eyes threaten to spill over. “you’re too good, you know that?”

he shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in something that’s almost a smile. “or maybe i just have bad timing.”

you both fall silent again, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a fragile truce. you want to hug him, to thank him properly, but you know it’s not what he needs right now. instead, you place a hand on his, squeezing it gently.

“i’m sorry,” you say again, your voice barely above a whisper.

he squeezes back, his touch warm despite the distance he’s trying to keep. “me too.”

and with that, the moment shifts, leaving behind a bittersweet ache that doesn’t feel quite like an ending but more like an understanding—a quiet closure to what could have been. as chanyeol stands to leave, his hand moves instinctively, gently cupping your chin. his thumb grazes the soft curve of it, a gesture so intimately familiar it almost feels like a promise.

his eyes meet yours, but this time, there’s no playful glint, no trace of hope lingering there. instead, his gaze is calm, tinged with a bittersweet acceptance that sits heavy in the space between you. his lips pull into a small, wistful smile—warm enough to remind you of the connection you once shared but tempered by the reality that things have changed.

“we’ll be okay,” he says softly, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “nari and i… we’ll always be here for you and minji. that doesn’t change.”

his voice is steady, not heavy with regret but grounded in the knowledge that some paths aren’t meant to intertwine the way he might have once hoped. and as he steps back, the warmth of his touch fades, but not in a way that feels cold or distant.

instead, it feels like understanding.

he hesitates for a moment, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face, but then he nods slightly, his smile growing just enough to feel reassuring. “see you around, yeah?”

“yeah,” you manage, your voice soft but steady.

with that, he turns and walks out the door—not leaving behind a void, but rather a quiet sense of peace. the kind of peace that comes with knowing some connections will always remain, even if they’ve shifted into something new.

baekhyun had started staying over on weekends. it had been his idea initially, a way to make up for the years he missed with minji—but somewhere along the way, it became about more than that. your relationship with him had been blossoming, as if no time had been lost.  

the nights you spent together felt like a rediscovery of who you both were, a bittersweet journey through what was and what could be. after minji would fall asleep, the two of you would sit on the couch, sharing stories from the years apart. his late-night shifts at the hospital during his program, your struggles navigating motherhood alone, the little triumphs and heartbreaks in between.  

what surprised you most was how much had stayed the same. you still had the same taste in music, still argued playfully over which movie to watch. even the new interests you’d each picked up fit together seamlessly—baekhyun teasing you about your new baking obsession while you mocked his newfound love for photography.  

it was during one of those weekends, after a long day spent at the park with minji, that things shifted. the house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the night outside. minji had gone to bed hours ago, worn out from a day of running around, and now you lay tangled in the sheets with baekhyun, your skin still warm from the closeness you’d just shared.  

his arm draped lazily over your waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your skin. “i’ve been thinking,” he murmured, his voice soft but serious.  

you turned to face him, your cheek brushing against his bare chest. “about what?”  

“about telling her,” he said, his hand stilling on your side. “minji. that i’m her dad.”  

you blinked up at him, the words settling heavily in the air between you. it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed your mind, but hearing him say it made it feel... real.  

“you think she’s ready?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

he nodded slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “she’s smart, you know? she already knows there’s something different about the way i am with her. and with you.” his lips quirked into a small smile. “plus, i want her to know. i want her to know how much i love her. how much i love... this.”  

your breath hitched, his words wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace. “you really think now’s the time?”  

baekhyun shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. “i do. but only if you’re ready, too.”  

you bit your lip, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. but as you thought about how minji had been bonding with baekhyun—her laughter during their tickle fights, the way she lit up every time he walked into the room—you realized he was right. she deserved to know.  

“okay,” you whispered, your fingers reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. “let’s tell her.”  

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice a gentle promise. “thank you. for letting me be here. for giving me this chance.”  

the following day, during lunch, you sat minji down. the late afternoon sun poured into the kitchen, casting soft golden streaks across the table where you, baekhyun, and minji sat. the aroma of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup lingered in the air, a comfort meal chosen carefully for this important day.  

minji swung her little legs under the chair, humming a tune in between bites, blissfully unaware of the weight of the moment looming.  

you glanced at baekhyun, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of his bowl—a nervous tell he couldn’t quite hide. catching your eye, he gave you a small nod. it was time.  

“minji,” you began gently, setting your spoon down and leaning forward. her big eyes flicked up to you, still chewing, her cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk.  

“mommy and i want to talk to you about something important,” baekhyun added, his voice warm but tinged with a nervous edge.  

minji blinked, tilting her head curiously. “what is it?”  

you took a deep breath, reaching for her tiny hand across the table. “you know how you’ve been spending a lot of time with baekhyun lately? going to the park, playing games, having fun?”  

she nodded enthusiastically, a grin spreading across her face. “yeah! he’s so fun! and he’s really good at hide-and-seek!”  

baekhyun chuckled softly, his fingers brushing through his hair. “well, there’s a reason we’ve been spending so much time together, minji,” he said, his voice tender. “it’s because i’m your dad.”  

the room went quiet for a moment as her little brain worked to process the words. her eyes flicked between you and baekhyun, her brow furrowing slightly. “my... dad?”  

you squeezed her hand gently. “yes, sweetheart. baekhyun is your dad. he loves you very much and wants to be in your life, just like mommy is.”  

minji’s lips pressed together in a thoughtful pout. then, she looked at baekhyun, her small voice filled with curiosity. “are you gonna stay forever?”  

his breath hitched, and you could see the emotion pooling in his eyes. he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table to meet her at eye level. “yes, minji. i promise i’m not going anywhere. i want to be here for you, always.”  

she studied him for a moment, then turned to you. “is that okay, mommy?”  

your throat tightened at the question, the innocence of her trust nearly breaking you. you nodded quickly, brushing a hand through her soft hair. “of course, bun. it’s more than okay.”  

a beat passed, and then her face lit up with a smile that could rival the sun. “so... does this mean i can call you daddy?”  

baekhyun laughed, his voice shaky but filled with relief. “only if you want to, bunny.”  

without hesitation, she slid off her chair and ran to him, wrapping her tiny arms around his waist. “hi, daddy.”  

baekhyun’s arms enveloped her instantly, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. his eyes met yours over her head, glistening with unshed tears and a gratitude too deep for words.  

in that moment, you knew everything would be okay. your little family had found its way back together.  

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ omg k first of all, i’m so, so, sooooo sorry it took me forever to finish this fic 😭😭😭 i really wanted to try something new with this one. more angsty vibes, some slow-burn, and some juicy subplots to keep it interesting hehe :') instead of my usual "plot? what plot? oh wait, you mean porn" approach (which ofc the next like 4 fics are definitely giving that lmfao) ANYWAAAYYYY, i hope you enjoyed it!! <3 as always lmk ur thoughts <3 <3 (unless you hated it or thought it was mid...then pls...keep it to urself because i am a fragile lil bnuy n will cry 😭🤚🏼) k that's all bye love you guys!!!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა 💖