#nct fics

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

cw: smut, angst, fluff, pwp, 3some (no mxm), jealous!switchy!jaemin + instigator!dom!mark, non-idol!au, weed use, high sex, explicit protected/unprotected pinv sex, multiple sex scenes, oral (giving/receiving), fingering, spitting, voyeurism, rough sex, overstim, shotgunning, choking, some slapping, mating press, nipple play, squirting, dirty talk, one-sided?pining, degradation, possessiveness, names: sunshine, baby, pretty girl, slut

you’re breathing hard, seeing stars, and feeling him everywhere. your eyes flutter up at the man above you, his hooded red eyes locked on yours, lips pulled into his familiar dopey grin as his hips meet yours over and over.

nights with jaemin always go like this. smoke sessions turn into more, and high thoughts come to life.

“fuck baby, feels so fucking good,” jaemin drawls out, leaning down to meet your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. he groans as you clench around him, your eyes shutting tightly as you reach your peak. you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been at it, feeling like it was ages ago that you lit up the first joint of the night.

“give it to nana, c’mon, angel,” he murmurs, readjusting to plant his hold on your hips, eyes moving down to focus on the way you take him in. “pussy was made for me, so fucking perfect, you’re so pretty. and only for me,” his voice and speed pick up, fingers digging into your hips.

“right?” he breaks from his trance to look back at your face, wanting to hear your answer.

you can’t even register what he’s saying anymore, each thrust reaching so deep into you. you can only chant his name and choruses of “yes, yes, yes.”

the pressure built in your stomach snaps, and you feel your composure crumble, cumming around him with a loud shriek, walls pulsing around him.

“f-fuck,” he hisses, hips stuttering as he moves down, intending to meet your lips once more.

with the last bit of your strength, however, you pull yourself to his chest, avoiding his lips by burying your face in his neck as you ride out your high.

he seems to pay no mind, now unable to hold back, gritting his teeth as he anchors his arms around you tightly, finally spilling into the condom. his hips continue to move, and after he’s ridden out his own climax, he collapses with you into the bed.

the feeling of being wrapped in his arms lying in the fluffy comforters of his bed is the perfect recipe for a come down, and you feel yourself start to drift to sleep. your eyes close, and you hear jaemin’s low voice, snuggling into you as he peppers kisses on your cheek.

“did so good for me, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs between kisses, and you hum before sleep envelops you completely.

you wake up the following morning, groggy with your high from the night before lingering just slightly. you’re in one of jaemin’s hoodies, and can’t bring yourself to get out of bed yet.

you hear a faint humming from the kitchen, and you can picture it all so vividly.

mornings with jaemin always go like this. waking up cleaned up and to him cooking in his cat apron and boxers, fluffy pancakes laid in front of you as he spoils you rotten.

you let out a sigh, pushing yourself from his pillowy sheets to get up and gather your clothes. as tempting as it is, you’ve decided to do your best to stop falling into this routine you’ve built.

jaemin is your main plug, and you’ve known him for a good while now. he’s always been attractive to you, and he’s never hid his own interest, either. nothing crazy ever happened until you showed up one day having left your wallet at your apartment. he offered another way to pay, and you haven’t spent a dime on weed since.

he’s always so sweet, sweeter than the pancakes he makes the mornings after blowing your back out, but too sweet for someone who you could only label as a fuck buddy. he’s sweet, but never serious.

in the most, and maybe only, serious conversation you’ve had with him, jaemin made it very clear when you started sleeping together that there were no strings attached. he just wasn’t in the right place for a relationship and you agreed back then.

but a no-sleepover rule turned into weekly sleepovers and more, and not seeing each other aside from hook ups and smoke sessions turned into grocery stops and even meeting some of each other’s friends.

yet you didn’t dare bring up the dreaded “what are we?” conversation in fear he’d call it off completely, his deeply unserious nature making it feel like he could slip from your hands at any moment.

as time passed, deep down, you know you may have developed feelings for him— he’s made it hard not to with the way he treats you, but you aren’t sure if you’re the only recipient of his sweetness, and that chips away at you.

you change back into your clothes and exit his room with your stuff.

“good morning, sunshine!” jaemin greets once he catches sight of you. he raises an eyebrow, confused that you look like you’re ready to go.

“i came up with a new whipped cream recipe, i put it on the side in case you don’t like it,” he explains, two dishes set up on his dining room table.

“oh, and i have someone coming over tonight, but you can take your time,” he comments nonchalantly. you fight the urge to ask who, but you build your resolve to enforce the distance.

“i actually have to head out. i’ve got a few errands to run,” you smile as best you can, but jaemin frowns.

“errands? do you need me to go with y—”

“no—i’m okay. thanks, though,” you interrupt, trying your best not to meet his eyes. “and sorry you went through the trouble,” you add, motioning to his pancakes.

he’s quiet for a second, undoubtedly trying to read you, but he moves wordlessly and grabs one of the plates, turning to his kitchen.

“don’t apologize. here, at least take this to go,” he insists, and before you can even object, he’s whisked a set of pancakes and cream into a container, wrapping it up in a bag before giving it to you.

“let me know how you like the cream, i’m experimenting.” he smiles gently, but it’s hard to meet his with your own.

“i will, thank you, jaemin.” the way you say his name is far too cold, but neither of you address it.

he walks you to the door and gives you a quick peck, another regular occurrence you know is far too intimate for a supposed friends with benefits situation. you can’t help but wonder—can he even treat someone else like this?

are you his only one? a voice in your head tells you no.

you say your goodbyes and head out the door, walking briskly down the hall. you enter the elevator and lean back against its walls once the doors close, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

a familiar ringtone interrupts your thoughts, and you pull out your phone to see a message from a contact you haven’t seen in a while.

as much as you want him to be, jaemin isn’t the only one for you either.

m: wyd tn?

it’s a simple text, but you know exactly what it implies. you think for a bit before responding, taking your time on your walk back home. you could use a distraction, and you know the person on the other side of this message could be just that.

you: mmm maybe getting smoked out?

m: beat me to it

m: come over, got smth new for you to try

you never thought you’d be hopping from one plug’s house almost directly to another, but after devouring the pancakes jaemin made and a long nap at your own place, you find yourself faced with a grinning mark lee.

you had met him through a mutual friend when you ran out of weed while jaemin was out of town, and you were absolutely floored at how attractive he was.

he offered to smoke you out the first time you met him, and it was only a matter of time before you ended up in his bed. smoke and sex—that’s all there was to this connection. when mark said no strings attached, he meant it.

that’s what you like about him.

you don’t see him often, but when you do, it’s always a good time. you take your usual spot on his bed, and he pulls out one of his many pipes and a small glass jar.

“here, smell this,” he holds up the opened jar to you, and you get a whiff of the pungent buds. “good? it’s a new hybrid i picked up. might start selling.”

it doesn’t smell much different from what you’re used to, but flower before it burns is always pleasant to you. he gets to grinding and packing right away, and a comfortable silence settles between you two as he takes the first hit.

he offers you the pipe and lighter, and you carefully relight the ground leaves, breathing in the smoke. after quite a few, you’re on cloud 9, and mark seems to be on the same boat.

the tension you were feeling has dissipated noticeably, and you can’t help but feel that this was the right decision for you. you needed to be out of the house, or you’d be running right back to jaemin’s.

jaemin.

jaemin who has someone else at his place right now, maybe doing everything he does with you.

jaemin who was in mark’s position not too long ago.

you try to rid your thoughts of his face, his name, his voice, him.

as if he can read your mind, mark motions for you to scoot closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. “one more?” he asks, and you nod.

with a rough hand on your lower back, he guides you to straddle him, seating you over him as he grabs his pipe. he takes a long pull, setting it to the side before his hands snake back to your waist.

you lean down to him, lips hovering over his before one hand comes to the back of your neck. he blows the smoke into your waiting mouth before melding your lips together.

you start to grind your hips into his, and all you can think about is how good it all feels, finally registering just how high you are. you never realize it until you get that wave of lightness in your head and body, having lost track of how many hits you took while lost in thought.

your brain is mush, and you can’t stay focused. part of you is glad you can’t think right now, honed in on the way mark’s hands and lips roam all over and in you, clothes tossed carelessly from the bed.

one thing you’ve come to know is that while sex with jaemin borders love-making, mark fucks.

and fucked is exactly how you find yourself, mark pressing your head into his pillows, ass up as he slams into you from behind. his hands shift to a bruising grip on your hips, pushing down so that your back stays arched just how he likes it.

“f-fuck.. fuck, that’s it.” strings of curses and groans leave his mouth at the feeling of you wrapped around him, his own mind void of anything but your plush walls, drool threatening to drip from his mouth at the addicting feeling as he hits you over and over in that spot that makes you squeal.

“how’s this pussy so tight? fuck, fuck, sucking me in like crazy..” mark’s a talker, and it’s always nasty. never the heart wrenching sweet nothings that jaemin has for you.

you’re pulled from your daze, realizing your other plug has been on your mind the entire time, despite this being a supposed distraction. with your eyes shut tightly, your mind drifts, and you start to picture his pretty smile, his voice in your ear, the way jaemin feels wrapped in your innermost walls.

in the process, you unconsciously clench around mark, at which he hisses.

his hips pick up the pace, speed bruising as his pelvis meets you from behind, a hand coming down to grab a fistful of your ass. he squeezes hard, rubbing over its expanse. teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, he admires the smooth skin before slapping it, hard.

you yelp in surprise at the sharp sting as you’re brought back to the man inside of you.

the sensation has you clenching even tighter around him, and he chuckles darkly at that “baby likes that? know you like it rough, the way i fuck this cunt.”

you’re lightheaded from the lack of air, the stinging, and the way he pounds you deeper and deeper into his sheets. he slaps your ass another time, and again, your cries and pulsing increasing at each one.

you do like it. in fact you think you love it—the way pain always melts into pleasure with mark. you don’t even feel yourself push your body back in his hands, wanting to feel more.

you can’t see him, but his eyes take in your wiggling hips, glued to the way his cock moves in and out of you, addicted to the way broken moans leave you at each stroke. he lifts a leg, planting his foot into the bed, fucking into you even harder in this new position at a spot that has you seeing stars.

you can only wail into his sheets, tears and drool soaking his pillows, feeling your stomach start to tighten. your muffled cries get louder and louder, and mark knows your body well enough to know you’re close.

“yeah— just like that. c’mon, cum on this dick baby, cum for me. milk me dry, pretty..” it’s all too much, and his words and last few thrusts have your eyes rolling back. in a flash, you’re cumming with a loud shriek as your body releases all of its energy, crying as mark pounds you through it.

he’s quick to follow, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he pushes his way through your walls gripping down on him. a deep groan bursts from his chest as his hips stutter, and he pulls out quickly and jerks himself furiously over your ass, admiring the way his release paints your skin.

his hold on you releases and your hips fall, strength completely gone from your body. the fatigue and weed coursing through your veins threaten to glue you to his sheets for the night.

mark rolls over beside you, eyes closed as he murmurs something along the lines of “so fucking good.” almost immediately he descends into soft snores, tangling up in his sheets.

you don’t usually stay over, just staying in bed until you’re ready to go. mark has always offered as a courtesy, but you know it’s better this way. maybe it’s a part of you unconsciously saving that for jaemin that sends you home each time, no matter how spent you are.

yet mark’s offer is extremely tempting in this moment, your body feeling so heavy with this new strain you smoked and the aftermath of his work on you.

one night couldn’t hurt. you give into your brain fog and find yourself drifting to sleep, letting your eyes close and breathing relax.

you’re so close, but a buzzing from your phone on mark’s bedside table alerts you. you’re almost too tired to answer, but you reach for the device anyways.

immediately, you regret checking it, your screen glaring only to display the very person you’ve been trying to get out of your head. what happened to having someone over?

you internally debate answering it, especially since mark’s knocked out next to you. but once again your judgement is clouded by your overstimulated mind.

you tap the green answer button.

“hi there, beautiful,” his voice rings through the speaker into your ear, and oh, how the sound of his voice sends chills through your entire being.

“hi..” you reply sluggishly.

“sleepy? i know you just left, but i was gonna ask if you’d come over.” his voice also sounds a bit tired, but there’s humor to his tone. you want to ask what happened to his company, but you hold back.

“mhm, smoked a bit and heading to sleep soon,” you reply, hoping it’ll end at that. you’d say you regret coming to mark’s first, but again you don’t know what, or who, jaemin was doing tonight. and with the way you know your legs will be wobbling in the morning, there’s nothing to regret.

“oh? what was on the menu?” he asks, interest piqued of course at the mention of weed.

“something new...” you yawn out, but you’re met with silence on the other line. something immediately feels off. “jaemin?”

“new? i don’t remember stocking anything new recently.. you know you don’t need to buy overpriced shit somewhere else, just let me know what you want and i’ll find it.” he chides. his voice is playful, but with a serious undertone, and you quickly realize your mistake.

“um—” warm arms slither around your waist before you can respond, and you feel hot breath fan over your ear, giving you goosebumps.

“sorry pretty, can you keep it down a bit? been a long day today..” mark murmurs into your ear, voice deep and hoarse. in a second he’s back to his soft snoring, now wrapped around you as if nothing happened.

there’s no doubt in your mind that jaemin heard that. the silence following that is so heavy, and your mind races as you try to think of how to follow up.

“who was that?” jaemin’s voice finally comes through the phone, devoid of any emotion. you’ve never heard his voice like this, and you genuinely can’t think of anything to say.

“um—sorry jaemin, gotta go. goodnight,” you reply in a rush, cutting off any further conversation with an abrupt end to the call.

mark groans as you unwrap yourself from his arms, redressing as quickly as you can, limbs a bit uncoordinated with the high still running through you and the effects of mark blowing your back out.

you call a cab home, and only once you’re finally in the comfort of your own bed do you allow yourself to fully process what just happened.

it’s not like you were doing anything wrong, so why did it feel that way? jaemin had no obligation to know who else you spent time with, just as you had none for him.

you just never thought of the possibility of the two plugs crossing paths in any way.

regardless, it shouldn’t be a big deal. yet the feeling in your gut remains, and you know why, even if you won’t admit it.

your heart sinks, scared at what jaemin’s reaction might be. scared that he’ll care, confusing you even further, or worse, that he won’t care.

either way, you don’t know if you could take it.

you haven’t heard from jaemin in two weeks. he didn’t contact you after you hung up on him like you thought he would, and when you finally mustered up the courage to reach out to him, you were left unanswered.

it doesn’t help that mark is out of town for a little while, too, mentioning a trip with some of his close friends. it’s just the cherry on top of your frustration, and you only reach out once, not wanting to put yourself in a position to be rejected again.

you know it can’t be helped, but you really are going through it.

when it reaches week 3 without seeing either of your plugs, you conclude this is good for you. it’s a solid time to reflect—no confusion, no distraction, just you and your thoughts.

you even took a break from smoking for a bit. you found that you’d spiral thinking about your predicament everytime you were high, so you decided it was time for a tolerance break anyway. with a clearer mind, you come to a conclusion.

you can’t deny it—you have feelings for jaemin that run deeper than they seem, and you need to bring an end to the ambiguity of your relationship.

yes, mark blows your mind every time you’re in his bed, but it’s not like jaemin necessarily lacks in any way in that department, either. he has potential. you’ll miss it, but you probably could live without fucking mark.

you’d go back to him for one more taste to see if you actually believe that, but you’re trying to stop complicating things for yourself.

if it turns out that it’s not in the cards with jaemin, as sad as you’ll be, at least you can get that closure to move on and you can hit up mark without that funky feeling in your gut.

just as you resolve to contact the object of your affections, message partially typed out on your phone, a buzzing of your phone startles you.

he has impeccable timing as always, jaemin’s name reading clearly on your screen. you take a deep breath, calming yourself best as you can.

“hello?”

“hi angel,” his voice is just as sweet as you remember, and some stress leaves your body at that. half of you feared he’d be as stoic as he was the last time you had spoken. “it’s been a while, how are you?”

you have so many questions for him—where he’s been the past few weeks, why he never responded to your message, why he’s acting normal. yet you don’t ask any of that, nor do you answer his question.

“can i come see you?” is what instead leaves you.

“i was about to ask the same thing,” he responds, voice just a bit more serious. “come over?”

the entire commute to his place, you resolve your mind to be honest with jaemin, even if it means things won’t be the same. you need that clarity.

he meets you at the door as he always does, and the second his door opens, the faint smell of weed hits your nose. you haven’t smoked with him in a while, and you feel a bit of sadness rise at that.

jaemin is pleasant, but he initiates no physical contact—a stark contrast to his usual clingy self. that’s a good thing for you in this moment, but you can’t help but crave his touch. there’s a slight tension you sense behind his usual smile, and you brace yourself for the conversation to come.

nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you when you walk into his living room.

“hey there, pretty girl.”

everything in you screams that this has to be a dream, but your blood runs cold at the very real mark lee sitting on jaemin’s couch, leaned back comfortably with a calm smirk on his face. he has a blunt in one hand and his other waves its fingers at you in greeting. “surprised?”

to say you’re dumbfounded is an understatement, and when you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

you look between mark and jaemin, who also has a calm expression on his face. “i heard you knew my buddy here.” he moves to sit down next to mark, patting the space between them. “take a seat?”

you haven’t had a single bit of weed in at least a week, but this whole thing feels like a fever dream you’d have on a bad trip. your feet stay planted where you are and you shake your head. jaemin shakes his head too and gets back up, leading you by the waist to guide you between them.

“h-how do you two know each other?” you finally ask. all conversation plans you had in your head were tossed out the window the second you saw mark.

he speaks up first, offering the blunt up to your lips. “relax, pretty, you’re not in trouble.” your eyes move from him to the blunt, and he nods assuringly. you let him hold it for you as you take a decent drag from it. you need something to calm you down.

mark takes one last hit as well before passing it over you to jaemin, who puts it out after taking a couple on his own.

“remember how i said i was on a trip with some close friends?” your heart sinks. there’s no way. “jaem here is one of ‘em. got him into dealing and everything, too.” jaemin nods in agreement.

“known this guy for years, and we’ve always had a lot in common, even among all of our other friends,” jaemin explains, sliding a hand from your knee up to your thigh, squeezing lightly. “didn’t think we’d have you, too.”

he looks into your eyes, calling your name softly with an unwavering gaze. “be honest. is mark the only other one?”

his expression is so serious, and when you nod yes, jaemin leans down to plant a deep kiss on your lips. the kiss is tender as always, but his hand on the back of your neck presses you into him even more. he finally pulls back, face set in determination.

“good, because after this you’re all mine,” he declares, no hint of a joke in his voice. your mouth drops, and you can’t help but be confused.

“what?”

jaemin is dead serious, but mark laughs. “he came to me with his love issues on the trip and imagine my surprise when we found out we were both seeing you?” mark chuckles as he tries to explain, recalling how it all went down.

“he was mad as fuuuck, i've never seen the guy so heated,” mark teases, and jaemin shoots him a glare. “but he chilled out when i asked if you guys were exclusive or anything.” a heavy sigh sounds beside you at that last part.

“and that’s where i went wrong in all of this..” jaemin grimaces, and looking at his upset expression, you’re still confused as to what exactly is going on.

is it all actually working out, just in a way you hadn’t expected? you need answers.

“jaem, weren’t you all about no relationships? it was all casual, right?” you question, and he interlaces his fingers with yours, eyebrows furrowed and a tiny pout on his lips.

“i’m sorry, baby. i should’ve said something sooner. i thought i was starting to get it across with my actions, but i should’ve been clear.. i do have feelings for you.” he brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly.

“after this, i’m gonna make you mine. i’ll let mark have you one more time, but after— no more games, i’m serious.” disbelief runs through you at his words, and you glance back at mark. he simply shrugs.

“i mean, my door’s open in case you wanna ditch this guy, still no strings attached. it’s all up to you.” you’re glad more than ever that things were only ever complicated with jaemin; mark’s always made it easy for you.

your heart soars as you now process that jaemin does feel the same way as you do. while you’re a bit upset at him for not telling you sooner, it all works out.

yeah, you’re in love with jaemin, but you also love the way mark fucks you. you couldn’t have discovered that if you were with jaemin earlier.

now that the confusion is gone, arousal and excitement hit you—everything you want is falling into your lap. you get to have the two of them together, and after all of this jaemin is your lover?

sure you told yourself you could give up mark, but the universe is giving you one last taste and you could not be more grateful. it’s been a while since you’ve been short of a dick appointment, squeezing your thighs together subconsciously from the past 3 weeks of deprivation.

“ohohhh, someone’s feeling it,” hands slide around your waist, mark turning fully to you. he pulls your back into his chest, and his hands start to ride your shirt up, mouth coming down to your ear and neck.

“gonna miss this pussy so bad, but hey, at least i get a goodbye present, right?” you can feel mark’s hot breath as he chuckles.

jaemin rolls his eyes, but comes to join you, squeezing in between your legs to meld his mouth with yours. he kisses you fiercely, with more passion than you ever think he has before, pushing you harder into mark’s chest.

mark’s hands slip under your shirt completely and push up your bra, bringing his fingers up to your tits, tracing lightly over your nipples in a way that has you shuddering in his hold. he pinches your nipples suddenly, making you yelp into jaemin’s mouth.

jaemin pulls back, frowning at the man behind you. “be gentle, dude.” mark raises an eyebrow at him.

“you know this one can take it, right?” mark snickers, grabbing the bottom of your shirt to pull it and your bra off of you.

he continues his actions on your chest pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. your yelps turn into moans at the way his hold tightens just a bit harder than usual.

jaemin just tsk’s at him, moving instead to kiss down your neck and chest, traveling down to lay open mouthed kisses on your exposed stomach. he backs up a bit, hooking his fingers through your waistband to drag your shorts and underwear off.

he tosses them to the side, settling back between your legs. his hands come down to your core, one hand spreading your lips as he runs his fingers through your folds.

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into it, your legs starting to tremble ever so slightly at the stimulation. he keeps your legs spread, and you wiggle your hips into his wandering fingers. jaemin likes to take his time, and it always feels good, but you crave more.

jaemin moves down, suckling into your thighs as he pushes them up to gain access to your waiting pussy. when his mouth finally meets your core, you moan out, feeling his tongue explore your folds, drawing figure 8’s into your clit with his slick muscle. your hips continue to squirm unconsciously, and mark lets out a quiet chuckle at the sight.

“y’know your angel’s gonna come running back to my door if that’s all you can do.” jaemin’s movements pause at the challenge, his fingers digging your thighs tighter. he makes eye contact with mark, but instead of getting mad like you think he will, he meets mark’s smirk with his own.

“why don’t you show me how it’s done, then?” his proposition stirs feelings in your stomach, and mark obliges immediately, the two men tugging you up to your feet to make your way to jaemin’s bedroom.

you’ve been in his room many times before, but the pure lust radiating off of your companions has everything feeling so new. both men strip themselves of their own clothes. “jaem, go sit on the bed,” mark instructs, and to your surpise, jaemin sits on his bed against his headboard with no rebuttal.

“suck his dick, pretty girl.” you take in this dominant side of mark, even more commanding and in control than when its just the two of you. and you like it. “you love him, don’t you? don’t you want your nana to feel good?”

jaemin’s cock stands tall and heavy in his hand, stroking up and down expectantly as he waits for you. mark’s right, you do want him to feel good, and as if in a trance, you follow mark’s words, settling between jaemin’s legs. you lean down taking his member into your into your hands, stroking at him lightly.

you let out a drop of spit onto jaemin’s tip, and he swears its the hottest thing he’s ever seen. you take him into your mouth as far in as you can stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth with your hands. mark watches with a darkening glare.

“you can do better than that and you know it,” mark’s voice resonates behind you, and without a second to spare a rough hand pushes you down further on jaemin’s cock. you gag as it hits the back of your throat. “take him like the champ you are, baby.”

“f-fuck!” jaemin reacts with a choked groan, too turned on by the way your throat constricts around his head, the way you just take him. mark grabs one of jaemin’s hands, placing it on top of your head, encouraging him to guide you as your head bobs up and down.

“you take this, and i’ll show you how this cunt likes to be eaten.” jaemin swallows, only being able to nod as you continue your work on him with his hands now guiding you. satisfied at his lessons, mark moves back, moving your hips up to expose your glistening core. he licks his lips, making eye contact with jaemin one last time before diving into your folds.

you cry out, mouth separating from jaemin as mark eats you out like a mad man, mouthing at your pussy, tongue dipping into your entrance as he rubs at your clit harshly. even if jaemin can’t see exactly what’s happening from his side, the effect is apparent, your head falling to his lap as your legs tremble from the pleasure.

to see you so fucked out on another man’s tongue awakens something in him.

he feels a rush in his head, heat rising to the back of his neck. his hands go back to your head, grip firm, guiding you back to his member.

you look up at him with teary eyes as you open your mouth back up, tongue ghosting over his head as you try to stay focused with mark eating you out like he’s starved.

jaemin pushes your mouth back down on his cock, and you take him inch by inch, a mix of gagging noises and moans leaving you as you try and breathe through your nose. his hips start to move in turn with his pushes, his member hitting your throat even harder.

mark lets out a delighted noise at that, separating his mouth for a second as he starts to finger at your entrance. “someone’s getting the hang of it,” he teases another finger, feeling each knuckle of his long digits slide in alongside the other. “just clenched around my tongue like fucking crazy. told ya.”

jaemin just nods, not wanting to acknowledge how mark knows a side of your body and tastes that he doesn’t. his eyes stay trained on you—even if he doesn’t know, he’ll just have to learn.

you, on the other hand, are just basking in the stimulation, feeling your stomach tighten as mark’s tongue returns to your hole, his fingers rubbing harsher into your clit at this point.

the feeling of mark’s mouth on you, and jaemin in your mouth is far too much for you, but you love it. mark’s fingers stop rubbing your clit, instead slapping in time with his mouth.

the sting has you cumming hard, sputtering over jaemin’s cock as he still holds your head in his hands. mark’s tongue doesn’t leave you, continuing to eat you with fervor, your trembling legs starting to go numb from the pleasure. you continue to let jaemin use your mouth, breathing as best you can.

it doesn’t take long for mark to bring you to your peak again, nerves flared and tears starting to fall from your eyes. jaemin swipes at your tears, shuddering at the sight.

“let go.”

his head snaps up to mark, confused and irritated at the interruption. “what?”

“i said, let go,” the man behind you repeats. “we're gonna fuck, and you’re gonna watch,” mark states bluntly.

jaemin purses his lips together, his hold on you slackening as his cock slips out of your mouth. you take in as much air as you can, heaving as you catch your breath from the back to back orgasms.

jaemin should be fuming at the way mark is bossing him around like some little bitch. should be irritated that he’s not even letting you finish him off. should be pissed that mark’s staking a claim like you’re his.

but he’s not angry, not one bit, his cock only swelling even more.

his breath catches, and he can’t even formulate a sentence in return, only nodding.

mark yanks your slumped form up by the hips, settling behind you to slap his neglected cock on your ass, dragging his head up and down your dripping slit.

jaemin just watches, swallowing the lump in his throat, baited breath as mark grins.

“this is how you do it.”

before he even finishes his sentence, he enters you in one fell swoop, bottoming out to the hilt. your head shoots up, crying out as he draws his hips back, pounding back deeply once, then again, building up speed as he grips your hips hard enough to leave reminders for days to come.

“sh-shit, your baby likes it rough, y’know?” he draws you up against him, your back meeting his chest as he continues his bruising pace, wrapping one hand around your abdomen.

“someone’s gotta fuck you how you like if i’m not around.” his other hand trails up and around your neck, pressing his fingers into the sides of it lightly. “right, pretty girl?”

your mind doesn’t even register that mark’s talking to you, going slightly lightheaded from his fingers around your throat and cock ravaging you. his fingers tighten slightly as his lips meet your ear. “right?” you pulse around him, tears running down your face and his hand.

he knows you’re not going to respond, eyes moving back up to his forgotten friend. only jaemin can’t meet his eyes, his pupils dilated and trained on the tears running down your face, your fucked out expression—the way mark just uses you.

in the time he’s known you, jaemin’s never wanted to make you sad, never wanted to treat you like you were less than. he always kept things lighthearted, nothing ever serious enough to bring you to tears.

but in this moment, he understands— you’re just as beautiful wrecked, and you want to be.

you take in air as mark releases your throat, only to shove his fingers into your dripping mouth. “take it, baby, take it for me,” the power in his thrusts hasn’t faltered in the slightest, hips pounding with the intent to make it hurt, cock rutting into your deepest parts. “and keep your eyes on your lover boy over there.”

your eyes come into focus on the man in front of you, taking in the sight of him. his teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them before as he grips his cock, red and angry wrapped in his veiny hand. his gaze is locked on yours, and you just know the jaemin you’ll be getting after mark is done is gonna be one you’ve never met before.

mark feels you tightening around him, pulsing and squeezing, knowing that you’re getting closer and closer. he’s feeling it a bit more than usual with an audience, and he knows that he’s not going to last long either.

“y-yeah, fuck, cum for me like the little slut you are—” the second it leaves his mouth, you feel a rush all at once before everything snaps, falling apart on his cock and biting down on his fingers. “and keep those fucking—” his hips punctuate each word, “—eyes. on. him.”

he continues to fuck into you through it, chasing his own high through your walls gripping down on him. “gonna fill this pussy up, fill it ‘til its fucking full.”

his thrusts grow shallower until his hips finally stutter, ropes coating your walls. he opens his mouth just as he hits his peak, biting down on your shoulder with a groan that rips through his chest.

he’s never marked you nor cum inside before, but the combination of the warmth and pain shoots through you, sending chills that could set you off all over again.

mark’s hips finally still, and he releases his grip on you, allowing you to fall forward. he pulls out admiring the way his cum drips from your entrance. he lifts his head up to address his silent friend, cocking his head to the side. “think you can do it?”

“fuck you.”

filled with a burning in his chest he’s never quite felt before, jaemin shoots up, pushing mark aside and flipping you onto your back. his eyes rake over you as he moves between your legs, stopping at your spent, swollen pussy dripping with mark’s cum. for the first time since you entered his bed, he addresses you.

“messy fucking girl,” he mumbles lowly, but it still reaches your ears, and you clench around nothing, more of mark’s cum spilling out of you. he slaps his member on top of your slit, coating his head in your mixture of juices. you gasp as he slides right in all at once with no warning, just as mark did earlier.

remembering the sight he sat through painfully, he draws his hips out, hitting into you deeply, harder than mark started, wanting to remind you that he’s more than capable of giving you what you want, too.

“one dick wasn’t good enough for you?” with a tightening grip, he lifts your hips up, using his strength to move you back and forth to meet his harsh thrusts. “had to go fucking running to the next best guy like a fucking slut?” he feels the way you clench around him at that, testing the waters after seeing how mark’s words affected you.

“wanna act like one? i’ll treat you like one,” he growls, dropping your hips to the bed and pushing your legs up by the back of your knees. he lifts himself up over you to slam himself into you, and in this new position, he reaches further than he ever has, than mark ever has, than anyone ever has.

“open up, baby.” you comply immediately, and he lowers his head slightly, letting a fat wad of saliva land on your tongue. “swallow.”

you do just that, throat sore from both your never ending cries and activities of the night. every nerve in your body flares with overstimulation, but you love it. it’s everything you want and more, and all you can do is lie there and take it as jaemin pounds into you so hard you’re seeing stars.

“shit,” you hear from beside you, and you barely are able to turn your head, seeing mark furiously tugging at his own cock, rejuvenated at the sight before him. jaemin looks over at him, too, again filled with the burning sensation at mark’s presence. he grits his teeth, directing his attention back to you.

“you should’ve just asked, baby, then we could’ve avoided all of this..” he scolds, nails digging into your calves. “but no, had to, fuck—run off to one of my best friends,” he sneers, and his ridicule hits you right in the stomach.

“i d-didn’t know!”

he just shakes his head. “i know, but listen carefully, okay, baby?” the tender jaemin you’re used to peeks out, but in a second he’s gone, holding your gaze as he says each word with emphasis. he slows his thrusts down to a torturous pace, and you do your best to listen.

“i’m the one you love and i’m the one who loves you. mark can fuck you all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re mine.” you cling onto every word that leaves his mouth, nodding desperately, heart lurching at his claim over you.

“yes, jaemin, yes, yes— i’m yours, i’m yours, jaemin,” you cry, genuinely meaning it. you are his, and you always have been, and now that you know he actually wants you to be, you can let it all go. his hips pick back up, pistoning into you, and a familiar feeling in your stomach starts to stir.

you pulse nonstop around him, feeling your vision going hazy, jaemin pressing himself as deeply as he can into you, hitting you over and over again in a spot that has you screaming. your cries get louder and higher, an intense pressure building up in your gut.

“w-wait, wait jaem—!” you plea, voice desperate. they fall on deaf ears, and the pressure explodes, forcing jaemin from your core, juices coating his pelvis and abdomen.

“fuck!” the sensation and sight is almost too much for jaemin to continue, hissing as he forces his way back into your walls, thrusting and rubbing your clit furiously to bring you both to your climax.

you’re sobbing and seeing white as you’re brought to and through it, and with a broken groan, he cums, fluids spilling into your already weeping hole.

he sits back, allowing your body to finally rest from its bent position, the two of you gasping for air. jaemin, still connected to you, leans down to kiss you roughly, your tired bodies melting back together, mouths eventually slowing, yet still moving over each other’s like magnets despite both of your lack of air.

you’re interrupted by the sound of a lighter flicking, and jaemin finally pulls out and separates from you to look back at his forgotten friend. “dude, what the fuck?”

mark has his underwear back on, sitting on a beanbag in the corner of jaemin’s room with one of his bongs in hand, lighter flicking at the bowl. mark proceeds to take a rip from the bong, taking in a heavy drag of smoke before blowing it out, the smell of weed creeping back into the room.

“want some?” he asks, clueless grin back on his face. jaemin thinks he can’t be serious, but after what you just experienced? a hit could fix everything.

“i do,” you mumble out, jaemin’s head snapping back to you. he looks at you with the same incredulous look, thinking there are other things at hand to be addressed. but he’s too tired to think, so he shrugs. why the fuck not?

jaemin slides an oversized shirt on you as mark returns to the bed. he passes you the bong, after which you pass it to jaemin, the 3 of you wordless as you recover from what was the best fucking of your life, and theirs, too, you assume. jaemin grabs some water from a mini fridge in his room, the 3 of you passing that around as well.

you don’t know how much time passes, but you all float higher with each round. it’s mark who breaks the silence, a role he’s seemed to claim over the course of this night.

“i know you guys are together together now, but… what was it?” he stops to remember, mischievous smile on his face. “oh yeah, ‘mark can fuck you all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re mine,’ is what i recall you saying, mr. na.” he raises his eyebrows in expectation.

jaemin looks at him in almost disbelief at the proposition before recalling that he did say that. and if he’s being honest, he meant it at the time.

in the end, he liked seeing this all go down more than he’d like to acknowledge, and a part of him liked being seen as well.

“don’t act like i didn’t see that fucking look in your eyes while i was balls deep,” mark laughs, seemingly reading his friend’s mind. “i don’t needa be on your dates or some shit like that, but call me if you ever need a repeat of tonight.”

jaemin looks to you to gauge your opinion, and while shy, you explain your thoughts honestly. since you had the choice, why not?

“i do love only you, jaem,” you assure, glancing back at mark. “but tonight was a little too good to not have ever again.” he just shrugs, directing it back to jaemin with a nod of his head.

jaemin hates to admit it, but he agrees. there was something different in the air tonight, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in doing it again. but you’re all way too high and fucked out to talk about it now, and you look like you’re gonna pass out any second.

he pulls you up on your shaky legs, holding you as he guides you out towards his bathroom. “we’ll text you,” jaemin states bluntly.

you beam up at him, and he looks back at you with the tenderness you’ve always known from him, only now you know it’s only yours.

he leans down to kiss you once again, not separating as he pulls you into the bathroom.

mark cleans himself up and gathers his clothes, chuckling to himself as he replays the events of the night in his own mind.

he grins at the sound of skin on skin echoing over the shower spray, tapping his fingers on the bathroom door on his way out.

“i’ll be waiting!”

a/n: if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! i fear this is actually the smuttiest thing i've ever written (i'm usually a tender fluffy love making kinda writer) that markmin live did this to me LOL side note, i feel like usually mark and jaemin's positions would be switched (lover boy vs. playful instigator) but i'm kind of living for this switched dynamic.. also this is completely separate from my other markmin plug!au's :') shout out bae @wispyxjae as always for beta-ing this filth <3

proud of myself for actually getting this done yay for 2 releases in 1 month!!! <3

feedback and shares are always always always appreciated, thank you for the support always!

“Problem?” You tried to keep your chin up, scoffing in his face as you rolled your eyes. “Why would I have a problem with you?” You couldnt even look him in the eyes, not even at his face, your horrible attempt to seem unbothered was pitiful.

Sion narrowed his eyes at you, conflicted with emotions. “Then why are you avoiding me?” He asked, “you haven’t talked of me since the debate.”

You tensed at his tone, it was so direct and his words were the complete truth. He has every right to assume you suddenly hate him, you didn’t even try to hide it.

“Did I do something?” He leaned a bit closer, his head tilted as he searched your face for something—anything to understand. Just anything to help him grasp what happened. “Do you hate me?”

Your heart was pounding. You felt tongue tied, your emotions and thoughts scrambled and complicated. Do you hate him? Tch! How could you? Why would you? That day two weeks ago was one of the best things to ever happened to you, Sion brought you to a point of pleasure you thought impossible—unrealistic even. You couldn’t truly hate him if you tried, but…but you couldn’t bring yourself to see him again. You felt humiliated, like you’d been declawed, and even worse, like that complicated feeling between distain and admiration was something much—much worse.

“Please…” His voice was soft, his tone gentle and genuine. Your eyes flickered to him despite your best efforts, and your heart clenched. “Just tell me, what did I do wrong?”

Your silence made his hands sweat, his heart racing with anxious anticipation for your response. You wanted to explain, but you didn’t know what to say.

“I…” You inhaled deeply, your heart stuttering for a split second, “I don’t.” You replied.

Obviously your reply confused him. “You don’t?” He questioned, “Y/N, please, you gotta use more words than that.” The inflection in his tone made your stomach churn.

God! you hated how weak he made you. “I—I don’t hate you.” You lowered your gaze

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” He asked in a rushed tone.

“Because…” Sion answered for you.

“Because you didn’t enjoy yourself?” You almost snapped your neck to look at him.

“What?!” You exclaimed, “Of course I did!” You replied. Luckily, there was no one else around in the empty hallway.

“Then what is it?” He pressed, “Do you feel like I pressured you?” You jerked your head back in offense.

“What are you talking about?”

You couldn’t believe he would even suggest that, the question itself felt loaded, like he was implying that he tricked you—coerced you, into something. You didn’t say yes because he played some dirty game, or because he talked you into it. You said yes because you wanted to, you said yes because you were curious. Even if he wanted it more than you, and even if he had motives for being so happy about being your partner, you still said yes. It was your choice just as much as it was his.

“Then what?” He stepped closer to you, the space between you dwindling. “What is it that’s making you avoid me?”

You looked at him again, this time you looked into his eyes. They were so full of longing and curiosity, you could see that this was eating away at him, just screaming at you for being cruel. You felt that same feeling again, the same bitter feeling of remorse you had when you thought you made him cry—only this time, much stronger.

“Sion…” You sighed his name, breaking eye contact as you tried to think of a better excuse. “I don’t hate you, and you didn’t pressure me into doing anything, okay?” His expression softened but the ache he felt was etched into his face.

“So why are you avoiding me?” His throat tightened, his face flushed.

“Because…” And you stopped again. Your silence made him roll his eyes, was it really that hard? “Because I—I don’t know.” His face fell.

All this time he thought he did something, he made excuses for you—logical and illogical ones, mentally forgiving you for each and every one, beating himself up for others and trying to come up with a proper apology…just for you not to know why you’re ignoring him? Sion inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, obviously he needed to give you time to process your emotions, he can see that now.

“I get it.” As he dejected you panicked. He never gives up that easily. “You don’t have to explain yourself, I won’t pressure you into giving me an answer.”

You opened your mouth to speak as you looked at him, but your words caught in your throat. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen.”

His patience made you kick yourself. How could he be so mature about this? He has every right to be upset, to yell at you and say he hates you, but instead, he’s just gonna give up and walk away? For some reason—one that doesn’t register in your head, you stopped him.

“Sion,” You looked at him through your lashes, and your heart raced. “I…like you…” You admitted.

He knew this, you told him before, but it still made his breathing catch in his throat. “I like you a lot.” You paused and dropped your gaze as a lump formed in your throat, “I just…feel…embarrassed.” You finally got the truth out, and at this new revelation Sion grinned.

The frustration and heartbreak he felt subsided as he connected the dots. How didn’t he notice it? The way you would lower your head around him, biting your lip, how you would stumble on your words—something you hardly ever did when having to speak during class. How didn’t he see it?

“Embarrassed?” And there it was, the humor in his tone that made you want to crawl in a hole and die. “Why would you be embarrassed?” He questioned. You began to mentally tick off reasons.

You actually admitted to liking him, let him change your mind entirely about something you were sure of, and worst of all; you came from grinding against his thigh. You weren’t just embarrassed—you were humiliated. You truly did feel declawed.

“Because of you!” The bite in your tone returned, but it was much softer than before. Sion smirked.

“Me?” You rolled your eyes, going from concerned to annoyed in a matter of milliseconds. “How did I embarrass you?” He asked with a slight chuckle. You looked at him and narrowed your eyes.

“If anything, you shouldve felt empowered.” His claim made your eyes widen.

“Empowered?!” Theres a lot of things you felt after Sion ate you out. Embarrassed, humiliated, confused, happy, electrified, reborn—but empowered? “Why the hell would that make me feel empowered?”

Sion licked his lips, the answer to him was so simple, it only made sense. “Because,” he started. “A man got on his knees for you, didn’t it feel good?” He teased. “Having a man get on his knees, please you, and ask for nothing in return?”

You sharply inhaled, you didn’t think about it like that. In your eyes, you were the one toyed with, but in Sion’s—in Sion’s eyes, he was your toy, just something for you to get off on, something for you to use. That revelation made all the disorganized thoughts in your head jump in line. He’s right, you were in charge. Sion snickered and shook his head, as if he couldn’t stop himself from laughing he doubled over, bursting out into laughter.

“Oh—Oh my god!” He cackled loudly and you watched in confusion, scared to ask what he thought was funny. “You—Your face!” He shook his head, throwing his head back.

“What’s so funny?” You asked growing anxious.

“You!” He declared, his fit of laughter died down and he locked eyes with you, intense and amused. “Does it make you feel better if you image me as a toy?”

You choked on a breath, your eyes buck wide. “H—Huh?!” Admittedly, it did make you feel better, and you thought that was what he meant.

“It does,” he stated, “doesn’t it?” His words came out in a slow and deliberate manner, like he wanted you to second guess what he’d just said.

You were in charge, right? Hell if you knew, Sion made it hard to know up from down. This was why you always fought with him, yelling and jabbing your finger at him as you tried to beat into his mind—and reaffirm in your own, that you were right.

“Don’t worry,” He reached his hand up and gently caressed your face. Your entire body stiffened, heat rising underneath his palm and spreading down your neck. “I’ll be your toy, if that’s what you want.”

Your lips parted and the anger you felt weakened. His finger grazed your bottom lip and your knees buckled, heat beginning to pool in your lower abdomen as your breathing hallows. “But, Y/N…” His words stirred up your mind, your eyes flickered down to his lips as he spoke. You hummed softly, disarmed by his touch.

“Don’t ignore me anymore, okay?” You nodded as if your head were empty, your knees growing weak as he grinned. “Good girl.” He moved his hand from your face and petted the top of your head, lightly pushing you back, making you stumble a bit as you slowly collected yourself.

“I still have your panties.” Sion said, not an ounce of shame in his voice. You blinked, finally coming back down from the sudden and intense heightened state from before. You shushed him and looked around to see if anyone had heard him.

That’s right, you did go back home without any panties on, you figured you must’ve left them by mistake—reasonably you weren’t at all concerned about anything other than Sion at the time, so the thought of them hadn’t crossed your mind. But at the mention of them, you recall the pair being your favorite and you certainly don’t want him to keep them.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You asked in a hushed voice. Sion cocked his brow at you, and you sighed in understanding. He must’ve tried to but you did good at avoiding him.

“Do you want them back?” His question made your heart race, like it meant something more—like you were walking in a trap, yet, you said yes and followed him back to his apartment.

“Here they are.” He held them in his hand with a smirk on his face.

You eyed the cotton material, they were clean, like they were freshly washed, and soft like they were given some sort of special treatment. You took them from his hand and the smell made you frown, you couldn’t help but bring them up to your nose—they smelt just like him. Like fresh laundry.

“Why’d you wash them?” Sion’s face flushed, he licked his lips and looked away from you.

“Uh,” he held back a laugh. “Just because.” Your eyebrows knotted together and you put them in your back pocket.

“Anyways…” You looked around his bedroom. It was the same as you remembered it, his bed looked just as comfortable as before, his entire room smelt amazing, and his desk was still neat. “I’m gonna go, thanks for washing them…I guess.”

You turned to leave, wanting to get out of his apartment before the memories of that day began to flood in, but he stopped you.

“Wait.” You turned on your heels. “I was actually hoping you would stay for a while.” His big brown eyes held you captive. Deep down you were dying to stay, just to spend a little bit of time with him and melt in his almost offensively pleasurable touch. But, as infatuated with him as you felt, you couldn’t shake the anger he made you feel.

“I’m sorry.” You gave him a tense smile, “but, uhm, you know I have to study and I really need to get home before it’s too late.”

“I can help you study.” Your breath hitched as he stepped closer to you. Sion looked annoyingly attractive, his silky black hair parted down the middle, his pillow soft lips slightly wet with his own saliva. He looked painfully perfect. You looked down at his lips and licked your own.

You really—really, needed to leave. “N—No! No, it’s okay. I haven’t ate either, and I need to shower—“ He cut you off.

“You can shower here, and I’ll get you dinner.” He took another step closer, with every inch of space swallowed by his body it became increasingly difficult to breathe, to think.

You shook your head, “I can’t…really.” You tried to find the part of you that hated him for being everything you wanted, everything you needed, but she was screaming at you to kiss him. That part of you wanted him to undress you and touch you in ways that would make a nun blush.

“You really don’t want to?” Sion asked, though his tone was playful, he was serious. If you didn’t want to stay, he wouldn’t try to convince you.

“I…” You couldn’t bring yourself to lie, no matter how bad you tried, you couldn’t get the stupid words to come out. “I’ll stay.” Sion’s lips twitched, he bit back a smile and raised his eyebrows in a caring gesture.

“If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to.” He clarified, “It’s okay to tell me no, you know that, right?” You nodded, breathless as your thoughts began to wander. “So, do you want to stay?” You nodded.

“I want to.” With those three words Sion nodded, grinning ear to ear as he looked at you.

“Okay then, I’ll help you study.”

And he did, for an hour he sat with you going over the notes for your biochemistry class. He read them back to you and questioned you about the things you had written, and although you knew the answers to the questions he asked, you couldn’t get any of them correct. Your mind was filled with thoughts of him, you couldn’t focus if you were paid to, all you could think of was Sion, Sion, and Sion.

Your eyes were trained on his hands, watching his fingers as he toyed with the edges of the pages. You fought hard not to, but your mind kept replying how they looked coated in your juices, how he sucked them clean, how they felt in side of you. You clenched your thighs together, your body growing hot as a slickness builds between your legs. God, you wanted him so fucking bad. So badly that you didn’t even hear him call your name.

“Y/N!” He snapped his fingers in your face and you flinched back, letting go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Y—Yeah?” Sion sighed and shook his head, pretending to be upset that you weren’t paying attention—he did a horrible job at hiding his smile.

“Did you hear what I said?” You looked away from him, trying to recall anything he said in the past few seconds. All your thoughts were overrode by the image of him between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours as his tongue swirled around your clit. He took your silence for a no. “I said, we should take a break. I’ll order some food and you can shower, it’ll be here by the time you get out.”

You laughed awkwardly, trying to pretend that you heard him the first time. “Oh! I was uhm, I was just thinking about what to eat.” You cleared your throat and scratched the back of your neck. “You can get anything…whatever is fine.”

Sion didn’t press you into answering, instead he nodded his head and pulled out his phone. “You can get a towel from my room, there should be one in my closet, I just washed it.” You nodded and quietly thanked him before getting up from the kitchen table and stumbling a bit—you prayed he didn’t catch that. You inhaled deeply and walked carefully to his bedroom.

For some reason you felt aroused, being in his room felt intimate, it was driving you insane. You desperately needed to touch yourself, but a cold shower would have to be enough. You opened his closet and folded neatly on a shelf was a soft grey towel, beside it were a stack of black tank tops. You bit your lip, you hated when he wore those, they always looked so good on him. Your fingers grazed the soft material and you let out a shaky breath. You felt like such a pervert, but even touching his shirt turned you on.

“I need to calm down…” you ripped your hand away from his shirt and snatched the towel, rushing off to his bathroom so you could shower.

His bathroom was nicely cleaned, stocked with all of his personal hygiene products and supplies, you slide the glass door opened and turned on the warm water. Letting it run for a moment before undressing. Even that turned you on, you felt feral, undressing in his bathroom, in the same space that he undresses in did something to you. There was no way you’d be able to shower without touching yourself.

You stepped into the water and sighed softly, allowing the water to cascade down your body, the heat engulfing you as the room grew foggy. With your eyes closed you slide your hand down your body, between your breasts and between your thighs, moaning softly—thoughtlessly, as your fingers grazed against your clit, not considering for a moment that Sion might hear.

It didn’t cross your mind for a moment that he could possibly hear you as you pleased yourself in his shower—you couldn’t think logically with your mind so clouded with lust, your thoughts were hazy, the image of him lingering. His hands, his lips, the look on his face when he feels prideful, you focused on the combination of those things. Imagining him behind you, his strong body pressed against yours as he kissed your neck. Your breathing grew heavier—louder.

You could hear him in your head, praising you. “You’re so pretty.” “You’re doing so good for me, baby.” You moaned loudly, leaning against the wall to steady yourself. Your lips trembled as his name left your lips, you could hear it now, him encouraging you to be louder, to say his name, and best of all, to cum for him. And you did, you gasped, your eyes screwed shut as you threw your head back and called out his name, finishing in record timing.

After coming down you began to wash yourself, smiling at the scent of his soap as you lathered your body in it. “No wonder he always smells so good.” You muttered to yourself. You took your time before turning the water off, and wrapped your body in the towel tightly. Feeling much happier, and relaxed, you exited the bathroom with a smile, but it slowly dropped when you realized that you didn’t have a second pair of clothes to wear.

“Fuck…” You hesitated but walked into the kitchen, “Sion?” He looked up and his air got caught in his throat.

You had to be testing him, his eyes racked over your entire body, drinking in the sight of your skin—still wet, and your body covered with his favorite towel. He could’ve fainted right there.

“Uhm, yeah?” He ripped his eyes away from your legs, forcing himself to look only at your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have any clothes to wear.” Sion almost cursed, he didn’t think of that.

“Uh…I could wash the clothes you just took off.” He suggested, fighting between being a pervert and being respectful. “Bring them here, I’ll put them in the washer.” You put your hand on your hip, narrowing your eyes as you fought not to blame him or accuse him of planning this.

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Sit on my face?” Sion wanted to say, but instead, he stood up and inhaled deeply, thinking hard for a solution that would make you feel comfortable. “Well, itll only take a little while for your clothes to dry.” He answered.

“Just wait and I’ll get your clothes.” You shook your head, rolling your eyes as he walked past you to retrieve your clothes from the bathroom.

“Great, now I’m stuck like this…” You huffed and held your towel together as you sat down on his couch, it felt weird to be naked in his apartment, equally as intimate but strange.

“Here.” Sion came back with the pair of underwear he returned, holding them out to you, “You can put these on for now.”

“Thanks…” You took them and stood up.

With a grin he licked his lips and asked, “so how was your shower?” In a knowing tone. Immediately you froze and looked at him. “Was it good?”

You tensed and laughed awkwardly, “it was just a shower…” “nothing special.” You muttered.

Sion pouted his lips and raised his brow, “really?” He asked in a teasing tone, “It sounded special to me.” You looked at him like a deer in headlights. No…no way he heard you. “It sounded like you really—really…enjoyed that shower.”

You wanted to curl up in a ball and die. You hadn’t even realized that he heard you, you assumed that the water would be louder than you were, or that he was just too busy to hear you.

“You must’ve really needed that, huh?” He smirked, amused by your petrified expression. Sion took advantage of your stunned state and closed the space between your bodies, “You know,” he started. “If you wanted me that bad, you could always ask.”

You looked up at him, speechless and embarrassed, yet strangely turned on. “You know I love to please.” Your knees buckled and he quickly caught you, placing his hands on your sides with a smirk on his face.

“Gosh…I fucking hate you…” You replied weakly. Sion cooed softly.

“You do?” He asked in a mocking tone, you could feel yourself growing increasingly aroused all over again.

“Yeah.” Your tone was harsh and dripping in lust.

“Yeah?” He mocked. “How much, hm?” He leaned in close, his lips brushed against yours and your heart skipped a beat.

“So—So much…”

“Well, I love you.” You placed your hands on his chest, your eyes closed and your lips parted. “So fucking much.” Finally, he kisssd you.

Your bodies melt into the kiss, his tongue slips into your mouth and you moan softly, he swallows it, his hands gripping your sides as he pulls you closer. Your tongues roll around together, this time there is no fight for dominance, Sion over powers you with ease. You grip his shirt and he moves one hand to your lower back, sliding it down to your ass. He pulls away and begins attacking your neck, littering your freshly washed skin with hungry kisses as he groped your ass.

“S—Sion…” Your voice is shaky, you wrapped your arms around him and put one hand in his hair, gripping the locks tightly as you leaned your head back.

“I love it when you say my name.” Sion’s voice was trembling, desire taking over as he licked a strip up your neck, kissing over the spot again, sucking softly as he went lower, kissing your shoulders and collars. His hand slid down from your butt, hooking behind your knee to bring your leg to his hip. Your soft gasp made him feel dizzy with lust.

It felt like he was going to eat you alive, like he would devour you. “Please,” he slowed his kisses, leaving his lips on your shoulder, “Tell me to stop.”

Sion didn’t want you to misunderstand, he really didn’t plan this, he only wanted to spend more time with you—genuinely, he just wanted you to stay for a little longer. Sex wasn’t on his mind, he was only hoping that he’d be able to weasel his way into your heart and make you love him as he did you. So he needed you to tell him to stop, to slap him and push him away. If you didn’t—if you didn’t he’d let the greed he has consume him and swallow you whole.

You shook your head, “Don’t stop.” Your breathing hallowed, “please don’t stop.” Sion paused for a moment and detached himself from you, he looked into your eyes. Searching for even the smallest amount of uncertainty, but there was none.

“Please, Sion…” You batted your eyes at him, “keep going.” It felt like the air was sucked out of his lungs. If you wanted him to keep going, he would. Sion kissed you again, this time messier than before, passionate as he slipped his tongue in your mouth.

He pulled away, making you follow his lips in an attempt to continue to heated kiss, “let’s go to my room…” He led you to his room and sat on his bed. “Come here…”

Your stomach clenched as you stood in front of him, he placed his hand on your waist and looked up at you. “Sit down.” You followed his command, sitting on his lap. Your legs were held open by his waist, your thighs on either side of him, the cool air grazing your wet core.

“Can I take this off?” You nodded and let him discarded of the towel, the only thing between your bodies now were his own clothes. “Fuck…” He kissed your shoulder and smiled against your skin, “You’re even prettier than I remembered.”

His hand cupped your breast and he dipped his head down, catching your nipple between his lips. Sion’s tongue swirls around the hardened bud, he sucks lightly on it, going much slower than last time. You sighed a soft moan, watching him with half lidded eyes. He looked up at you through his thick lashes and hummed softly against your skin.

“Wanna sit on my face?” You moaned at the thought, but shook your head.

“I wanna try something.” You pushed Sion back and he grinned, inhaling deeply as he looked up at you.

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” He clarified, “You know that, right?” You shushed him and pecked him softly on the lips.

Ever since the last time youve had this thought in the back of your mind—a thought you were ashamed of but excited by, for two weeks now all you could think of was pleasing Sion the same way he pleased you.

“Shhh.” Sion’s breathing became heavy, “Just let me.” His body surrendered to you, melting as you kisssd his neck, your lips pressing against his Adam’s Apple. His body shuddered and his hips unintentionally bucking underneath you.

“Can I?” You whispered in his ear, Sion’s brain was empty as badly as he wanted to say no he couldn’t deny you, if you wanted to—if you truly wanted to, then he would let you.

He nodded, too weak to think clearly. You grinned and placed a soft kiss on his lips, your hands slid down his chest, slipping underneath the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brushed against his lower abdomen, grazing his abs tenderly, your hips are planted on top of him. God, he was melting.

What happened to the girl who couldn’t even hold eye contact with him? The bulge in his pants twitched, he was aching to get out of his pants—anxious to touch you, but it was obvious you wanted control, so he moved at your pace. Sion let you lead, allowing your hands to roam his upper body in a painfully slow pace. You broke the kiss, pushing his shirt up, trying to get it off without his help. Sion grinned, looking up at you with his eyes half lidded and his lips wet.

“Let me help you.” He leaned up just a bit and slipped his shirt off, tossing it aside without care. This time, you were able to fully admire his body, your eyes drinking him in as you grew increasingly aroused. His perfect skin looked so appetizing.

You leaned down and kissed him, messy and impatient, not even waiting another second before shifting to his jaw. You placed hungry kisses down from his jaw to his neck, the contact of your warm lips made Sion tense. His body was on fire, his breathing was labored. Your teeth grazed his skin—the feeling driving him wild.

“Bite me…” he breathed out, desire dripping from his lips. You didn’t hesitate, you opened your mouth and lightly bit his shoulder, and then the junction of his neck and shoulder, sucking softly on his skin.

Sion moaned quietly, his eyes closed as he leaned his head back to give you full access. You were so lost in exploring his body, now you understood what he felt then. You kissed his Adam’s Apple and licked a strip up, stopping at his chin before kissing him once again. Sion wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body against him as hard as he could, his tongue slipped in your mouth and he exhaled into your mouth.

“You’re driving me crazy…” he murmured against your lips. You couldn’t even respond, too breathless and too horny to think of anything other than touching him.

You broke away again and began kissing his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind as you went lower and lower until finally, you reached the band of his pants. Sion’s eyes widened, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you as you gawked at the bulged in his pants.

Sion could still remember your answer to his question about oral sex, you hate giving, and he didn’t need it—he wouldn’t ask you to, so as you pressed your cheek against the erection in his pants he fought against himself, struggling between stopping you and allowing you to continue.

“You—You don’t have to.” Sion could hardly speak, his throat tightened as you looked up at him. You looked so fucking good.

“I want to.” You replied, your fingers hooked into his belt loop and you lightly tugged at them. “Can I?” Sion almost exploded, his heart skipped a beat and he nodded wordlessly.

You slowly pulled his pants down, ridding him of the last bit of clothing he had on, his underwear caught underneath them. Your eyes slightly widened in anticipation, you held your breath and he held his, your palms sweating. Sion lifted his hips just a little and finally, the erection that was hidden springs out, slapping against his lower abdomen with a soft thwacking sound that makes your walls clench around nothing at all.

“F—Fuck…” Sion softly whimpers, the feeling of the cool air, the expression on your face—he might cum just from that alone.

You can’t help but stare, the tip of his cock is pink like his lips and shiny with precum, the base a similar shade to his skin with two veins that run along the sides. Youve never—ever, felt the desire to do anything for a man, let alone use your mouth to please one. But Sion—gosh, Sion made you want to do everything in your power to make him cum.

“Please…” Sion spoke softly, his voice shaky. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring, his cock throbbed as you looked up at him, his lip between his teeth in an effort not to rush you. Your eyes flickered back down to his cock as you inhaled deeply, you wanted to do this.

You carefully wrapped your hand around the base of his dick and his whole body jumped, his warm length pulsing in the palm of your hand. Carefully, you stuck your tongue out and drew a short line up from your hand to the tip of his cock. Sion wanted to cry, his breathing stuck in his throat as his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed.

You loved his reaction, so you did it again. Licking up the almost flavorless precum, swallowing it without another thought. His stomach tightened, his abdomen flexing as he gripped the sheets in an effort not to cum from just you licking him. You swiped your tongue through the slit and wrapped your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around it as he moaned quietly.

“Oh my—fuck…” Sion covered his face with his arm as he thighs trembled.

You closed your eyes and slowly took more of him in your mouth, stopping at the middle of his length when the tip hit the back of your throat. His back arched and he forced his eyes open to look at you.

“A—Are you…” His voice quivered, “are you okay?” Sion asked, you opened your eyes and looked up at him through your lashes. His dick throbbed in your mouth, stomach warm as he licked his lips and tried to help you.

“You don’t…you don’t have to try taking it all, just—just take your time. Okay?” He sat up and caressed your face, his gaze holding a tenderness that made you fall in love with the feeling of his dick on your tongue. “Don’t force yourself…”

You batted your eyes at him and slowly bobbed your head, with less in your mouth you hallowed your cheeks a bit. Sion cursed under his breath and kept his hand on your face, silently encouraging you to keep a slow pace. His head falls back and he closes his eyes, moving his hand to the top of your head so he can lightly guide you.

“Just like that…” He praised, “You’re doing so good, baby.” You reached your hand between your legs, that was exactly what you imagined when you touched yourself in the shower. Sion praising you, his words of worship ringing in your head as your finger rubbed tight circles on your clit.

“Gosh, I love you so much.” Sion looked down at you, groaning as he watched you touch yourself with your lips wrapped around his cock. “Such a good girl.”he murmured to himself, “Does it feel good?” He pushed your head down a bit quicker, still gentle but just with a bit of a faster pace.

You hummed around him, rubbing yourself faster as you closed your eyes. “Look at me, baby.” Your stomach tighten, muscles clenching as the pit of warmth in your stomach began to spill over. You pried your eyes opened and looked in his eyes. Sion stared back at you with hooded eyes, glazed over with his pupils blown wide. His face licked with heat, cheeks flushed as his soft breaths turned into moans. You placed your hand on his thigh and your brows furrowed.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” Sion looked away first, his eyes rolled back as his hips—with a mind of their own, bucked up into your mouth. You gagged and almost pulled back, but instead, you kept going, pausing for just a second to catch your breath. “So pretty…so pretty…” he muttered lowly to himself.

Sion could feel himself getting close already, he wouldn’t last much longer like this. As badly as he wanted this to last forever, he couldn’t stop himself as his orgasm approached.

“W—Wait…” his voice was so soft you could hardly hear him, “I’m so…mm’so close…haa…haaa…” Sion began to pant, at this you could feel yourself reaching that same peak—you didn’t want to stop, you wanted to go all the way—for him to cum in your mouth just like you’d imagined.

“Y—Y/N!” Sion called out your name, his abdomen tightens and he forcibly restrains himself, gripping his covers as his body jerks, his head falls back again and he cries out your name in pleasure, unintentionally cumming in your mouth. “S—Shit…” His body convulses, trembling as he breathes heavily.

With a quiet pop, you release his cock from your mouth, your cheeks full of precum, spit, and cum. Sion—still dazed, scrambles to apologize. “I—I’m so sorry!” He swallows thickly while shaking his head, “I…I didn’t mean to,” He clarified, “Here, you can—you can spit it out.” You looked up at him confused. You have zero intentions of spitting, so, you swallowed everything in your mouth and licked your lips.

Sion’s eyes widened and he looked down at you in shock, so bewildered that he couldn’t begin to form a sentence. His brain was still fried, watching you swallow his cum only turned him on more, it didn’t even take more than thirty seconds and he was hard all over again.

“Was that good?” You asked, Sion was speechless, turned on, and undeniably in love with you. Without saying anything, he pulled you up from your knees and kisssd you, slipping his tongue in your mouth as he pulled you onto his lap. The kiss was full of passion, full of love, and desire—something you couldn’t put into words.

“You were perfect.” Sion answered against your lips, “let me take care of you now, okay?” You broke the kiss and leaned back, shaking your head.

“What’s wrong?”

You licked your lips, the taste of him faint. “Can you…” You struggled to get the words out yet, Sion knew exactly what you wanted. He wouldn’t give it to you though—not until you made it clear, not until he was sure he wasn’t just imagining things.

“Can I do what?” He asked, “tell me what you want, baby.” His tone slightly teasing. You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck and mustered up all the courage you had, inhaling deeply as your heart pounded in your chest.

“And then,” Jisung says, voice dipping into the dramatic register he saves exclusively for bedtime stories, “as the Princess emerged from her tower, hair long and dress beautiful, the Prince knew he loved her. And they lived happily ever after.”

Your daughter smiles, looking up at her daddy with those luminous, impossible eyes of hers. They’re wide and earnest and full of belief. Often, you can’t believe you created them—but when you glance at the man sitting beside you, the man you created her with, you suppose perfection had to come from somewhere. Jisung has always had that effect.

A sound fractures the moment: “Pfttt.”

It comes from the other bed in the room. From your son, who has the same perfect eyes, only his are narrowed now—sceptical, unimpressed, absolutely not beaming like his sisters. When you found out you were pregnant with twins, you hadn’t imagined this. Complete opposites. Girl and boy. Hot and cold. Optimistic and pessimistic. Jiah and Jaehyeon.

“That story is for wussies,” Jaehyeon declares, his lips rasping together with disdain. 

You reach over, brushing a few dark curls off his forehead. His brow is furrowed, tiny lines of seriousness etched deep, like he’s carrying the weight of the world. But he’s not, because he’s in first grade. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say gently. “What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s a princess story,” he replies, chin lifting. “It’s all about love. The prince isn’t a real superhero.”

That’s when Jiah sits straight up, undoing all of Jisung’s careful tucking. You shoot him a look—because he never tucks her in tight enough, and this is why she ends up padding into your room at night with fake nightmares at 2:00 am—but he only smiles, helplessly soft where she’s concerned.

“He is too a real superhero,” Jiah says, voice wobbling with outrage. “He’s even better than a superhero. He’s a prince.”

“He’s a wuss—”

“Jaehyeon,” Jisung cuts in. He always does this. A peacekeeper by nature. Your husband leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Why do you think he’s a wuss?”

Jaehyeon sinks deeper into his mattress, chin still pointed stubbornly toward the ceiling. “Because he’s in love. My friend Hyunmin said only wusses fall in love.”

You feel something sink, slow and heavy, right to the pit of your stomach. The twins are in first grade now. They have opinions now. Influences you can’t intercept, words you can’t pre-approve. A reminder that the tiny, squalling bundles of joy you brought home six years ago from the hospital can’t stay clueless and sheltered forever.

You open your mouth, lining up a speech about feelings and strength and why you might be drafting a very polite email to Hyunmin’s parents—but Jisung beats you to it. 

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. Then he glances at you, and there’s a spark there. A fond spark. A teasing and deeply married spark. It makes your lips twitch despite yourself. “Do you think I’m a wuss?” he asks. 

Jaehyeon blinks. Clearly, your very opinionated son had not considered this variable.

“No,” he says slowly. “You’re strong, Daddy.”

“Strong how?”

“You can open the pickle jars,” Jiah supplies helpfully.

“And carry Mommy when she pretends she’s too tired,” Jaehyeon adds.

You scoff. “Pretends?”

Jaehyeon’s mouth opens. Closes. He frowns. “You’re… in love?”

Jisung nods easily. “Very.”

“With Mommy?”

“Especially with Mommy.”

Your daughter gasps, delighted. “Daddy loves Mommy!”

Jaehyeon looks between the two of you, suspicion fighting with something softer. “But… if you’re strong,” he says slowly, “and you’re in love… then—”

“Then maybe Hyunmin’s wrong,” Jisung finishes gently. “Loving someone doesn’t make you weak, buddy.”

Jaehyeon’s face pinches, working through the math of it. “But,” he says slowly, carefully, like he’s stepping across stones in a river, “Mommy doesn’t wear dresses like the princesses.”

The words land softly. But they still hit. You almost growl—not at him, never at him—but at the unfairness of it. Because of course you don’t wear dresses anymore. Because someone has to clean the house and cook dinner and pack lunches and answer emails and help with homework and keep the world spinning. Because princesses in towers don’t have grocery lists taped to the fridge or coffee rings on the counter.

You’re already lining up a gentle response to your unfiltered, curious kids, who simply do not understand that things don’t happen by magic, when Jisung speaks.

“No,” he agrees easily. “She doesn’t.” 

Both kids turn to him, eyes wide. This is not what they expected. The story he just told them was simple. The Prince saw the Princess. Dress beautiful. Love immediate. End of discussion.

“But what she wears,” Jisung continues, glancing at you briefly, “isn’t why I love her.”

Their faces fall in unison. Confusion blooms. Jiah blinks. Thinks. Then brightens. “Oh! Wait. It’s because she’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Jisung smirks, just a little. “That helps, yes, baby. But still no.”

Jaehyeon interrupts, quieter now, voice losing its earlier bravado. “Then…” He hesitates. “How did you know you loved Mommy?”

Jisung doesn’t joke. Doesn’t hedge. He answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it has heat creeping up your neck. “Because she’s my best friend.”

The silence that follows is heavy and stunned and equally just as confused as before. 

“I don’t love Hyunmin,” Jaehyeon blurts out. “I definitely don’t love Mirae,” Jiah adds, clutching her blanket.

A soft laugh leaves Jisung. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Jaehyeon’s hair, then Jiah’s forehead. “That’s okay. You’re not supposed to. You’re too little for love like that.” He straightens, smoothing their blankets. “That kind of love is for princesses and princes.” His eyes flick to you again. “And mommies and daddies.”

“One day,” he continues, tucking their blankets tighter, “you’ll get it.”

Jaehyeon’s voice is barely above a whisper now. “How will we know?”

You answer this time, smoothing your son’s hair, then your daughter’s. “It’s a feeling.”

“What feeling?” Jiah asks sleepily.

(Children and their relentless why questions. They could go on forever.)

Jisung reaches for your hand, his fingers threading through yours. He gives a gentle squeeze, his eyes settling on you like nothing else exists. “Like snow at the beach,” he says quietly.

“But it doesn’t snow on the beach,” Jiah yawns.

“Exactly,” he says. “You don’t expect it. But when it happens, you savour it.”

You say goodnight, turn off the light, and close their door—almost. You always leave it cracked enough for a soft butter-yellow glow to spill across their carpet. Lingering like you always do for a moment, you hear the gentle puff of the twins’ breathing as it slows, deepens, then settles. Proof of sleep. 

Jisung bumps his shoulder into yours, then tilts his head toward your own bedroom door. The walk is hushed, but inside your room, the ritual resumes. You kick off your socks. He peels out of his hoodie. You brush your teeth side by side, exchanging foam-mouthed looks in the mirror. It’s sweet. It’s domesticated. It’s everything you dreamed about having on that very day. 

By the time you climb into bed, the world has narrowed to cotton sheets and fluffy pillows. You and Jisung do not spoon. Never have. You face each other automatically. It’s not something you discussed—it just happened, early on, and never stopped. Foreheads close. Knees touching. Your noses brushing, nuzzling. It’s kind of your thing. 

You study his face in the dark, tracing it with your eyes the way you’ve done a thousand nights before. The gentle slope of his nose. The faint crease between his brows. You could draw this man blindfolded. Pick him out of a crowd just by the shape of his ears, the warmth of his skin. He’s unfairly beautiful in that way. 

Quietly, you ask, “Do you really remember the day you fell in love with me?”

Jisung groans immediately, rolling his eyes even though you can barely see it. “Shut up,” he says playfully, because he knows exactly what you’re doing.

You giggle, unable to help yourself, and reach up to brush a dark strand of hair off his forehead. He melts into your touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he murmurs. “You’re not getting a bedtime story out of me. I’ve done enough for tonight.”

You snort softly. You still can’t believe that the twins somehow escalated their nightly argument into requiring two bedtime stories. One princess. One superhero. And now that you think about it, that’s probably what triggered Jaehyeon’s dramatic rant. His story went first, so the princess story was fresh in his mind. Note for next time. 

“Fine,” you say, huffing. “Then why don’t I tell it?”

He cracks one eye open. “Tell what?”

“Why don’t I tell you how I knew you were in love with me?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I already know that one,” he decides. “How about—” a slow grin curves his mouth, “—you tell me about the time you realised you were in love with me?”

You shake your head, smiling. “They’re both the same thing, Ji.”

“Mhm. We fell simultaneously, huh?” He asks, but it’s not really a question because he already knows the answer.  

Still, you agree with a small: “We did.” 

“Go ahead then.” He shifts onto his back, arm sliding up above his head, leaving that familiar, deliberate space open for you. An invitation for you to tuck yourself beneath his arm and against his side, your cheek finding the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Tell me,” he murmurs.

You sigh, smiling into his skin, already half-dreaming.

“Well,” you begin, “one night, a few moons ago…”

BEFORE

“Are you ever too old to be emancipated from your parents?” You ask.

It’s a reasonable question. At least, to you it is. You’re certain that if everyone’s parents behaved the way yours do, this would be the kind of question that is debated in parliament. ‘Should we be able to legally disown our parents forever? No shame? Stop the stigma!’ Instead, you pose it to your best friend, Jisung, whilst perched on a damp rock on a beach in the dead of late fucking December.

Yep. That’s right. You are sitting on a beach. In December. Not just December—Christmas fucking Eve—because your parents decided that this would be the year they rented a beach house for the holidays.

And no, it’s not because it was discounted for winter. That would make sense, and your parents definitely don’t do sense. They do illogical decisions that feel vaguely targeted at you, personally. You’re one hundred per cent convinced this is punishment for something. You just don’t know what yet. Existing, probably. Or—

“Well,” Jisung says, dragging you back from your spiral, “considering you’re in your twenties, Y/N, I’d say that ship has very much sailed.”

He’s bundled up beside you in a black puffer jacket that makes him look like a burnt marshmallow. You hate that jacket. But he hates being cold. His hands are buried deep in the pockets, shoulders hunched, long legs stretched out in front of him, whilst his feet sway back and forth like restless pendulums.

You know exactly why. He specifically hates cold fingers and toes. Says it’s bad for circulation. Typical medical-student brain. Everything is a health risk.

You squint at him. “So you’re saying I’m doomed.”

“I’m saying,” he replies dryly, “that legally, emotionally, and spiritually, you belong to them forever.”

You groan and tip your head back toward the sky. It’s clouded over. The wind cuts straight through your coat, and you seriously consider marching back to the house and stealing your mother’s cashmere throw. Only that would reaffirm to her just how much you’re not her dream child. 

Jisung, unfortunately, is your parents’ dream child.

Smart. Polite. In med school. Says things like thank you for having me and actually means it. If they could have designed a human in a lab to subtly shame you, it would be him.

Which is funny, in a bleak, ironic way, because his own parents—your parents’ best friends, co-conspirators in this annual Christmas trip from hell—are so painfully… indifferent to him. Like they had kids because it was next on the checklist after career, marriage, and mortgage. Achievement unlocked: offspring.

He’s a trophy to them. Not a person.

And yet here you all are, year after year, packed into some aggressively expensive rental, pretending to be one big happy family. Matching pyjamas. Forced board games. Overcooked roasts. Smiling through gritted teeth, and dental care is not free where you live!

You glance at Jisung, who’s staring out at the ocean, expression unreadable, cheeks pink from the cold. At least you’re not alone in this mess. Even if emancipation is apparently off the table now.

“I guess I’ll have to settle for life being emotionally abusive, then. Huh?”

Jisung snorts and shakes his head. “Not life. Parents? Maybe.”

“Har-har.” You roll your eyes, then shove your hands deeper into your own jacket pockets. Beige. Warm. Cozy. Long enough to swallow your fists whole. Very not marshmallow-y, unlike a certain someone beside you. “What about your folks? Are things better since—”

“How was your flight?” He interrupts. 

You narrow your eyes at him. For several reasons. One: it hits you, suddenly, that after three days of being here, he’s the only person who’s asked. The only one who’s cared enough to check. Two: because he thinks you won’t notice the dodge. That you’ll let him off easy.

Absolutely not.

“It was awful, thanks for asking,” you say sweetly. “Now answer my question, Jisung Andrew Park.”

He laughs, a soft burst of fog in the cold air. “That is not my middle name.”

“You don’t have one. I have to work with what I’ve got,” you insist, widening your eyes at him for emphasis. Normally, you’d poke his chest to really sell the point—but there is not a universe in which you’re pulling your hands out of these pockets in this weather.

“My folks are…” He pauses, searching for the right words. He doesn’t find them, settling for: “Same as always.”

You tilt your head. “Angry that you’re not married like they were at your age and expecting a baby to unlock their next milestone—grandchildren?”

His lips press together. “How’d you guess?”

“Best friend intuition.”

He huffs a laugh, then sighs. “It’s just—” He takes a deep breath, chest rising under the puffer. “They want all these things from me, and I’ve never even had a healthy example of what that looks like. My parents… they’re complicated. They love each other, I think. But it’s not, like, soulmate love. You know?”

You snort. “Tell me about it. If there’s one person my mom hates more than me, it’s either my dad or my sister. Depends on the day.”

He glances at you. “Where is she this year?”

“Oh, she’s a much stronger soldier than me,” you say with an awkward laugh. “Broke the news at Thanksgiving that my parents could, and I quote, get fucked this Christmas. Right after they told her her choice of fiancé was ‘subpar’ whilst we were cutting the turkey.”

“Sounds like your folks.”

“Yes, well, they’re very distinct like that.”

The air lulls.

You both turn back to the sea. The waves look unreal in the cold, like something projected onto a massive movie screen. And for a second, your life feels like that too—some overblown Hollywood storyline.

‘Emotionally damaged daughter still hopelessly attached to parents who disapprove of her every major life choice. Travels thousands of miles to freeze on a beach in winter because her equally tortured best friend has a shitty relationship with his parents too, and she loves him too much to let him face it alone.’ 

Woah. 

Love. 

You blink.

You mean platonically. Obviously. That thought just… took on a romantic undertone because you were thinking about movies. And movies are contractually obligated to make everything about romance. Sex sells. That’s all it is.

Definitely.

Almost like he can read your thoughts, Jisung clears his throat and continues, picking up where he left off.

“I just…” He stares out at the dark water, jaw tight. “I don’t get why they want grandchildren from me when they don’t even like me.”

“Emotionally abusive,” you echo your earlier verdict.

He lets out a quiet breath of a laugh, and turns to you. He’s smiling.

It’s a weird thing to smile about, sure. But somehow, you’ve never felt more seen than you do right now—by this person. By this boy you’re certain you can, and have, faced everything with. Every disaster. Every family dinner from hell. Every unjolly Christmas trip. And from the way he looks back at you, you think he feels that way too.

In fact, you know he does, because he says:

“Promise me that when we have kids, we won’t be like that. Like them.”

You blink. You swallow. You do every single bodily function you can manage all at once, because you definitely heard the word we. The pronoun that refers to himself and one other person. You.

Your eyes go wide. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like saucers from another planet. You’re pretty sure if anyone walked by right now, they’d assume you were a deer in the headlights. And then—almost like the realisation hits him at the same moment it hits you—Jisung’s eyes widen too.

Time freezes. Except it doesn’t really, because the ocean keeps crashing and the wind keeps biting and the world, rude as always, refuses to pause for your emotional crisis. The space between you feels suspended. It’s telling you, if either of you breathes wrong, it’ll shatter.

Jisung looks terrified to clarify what he means. In his mind, if he says another word, if he repeats it, it’ll spook you. Jinx this. Ruin it. And so far, you’re not freaking out.

Why aren’t you freaking out? 

You should be freaking out. Any sane person would be freaking out if their best friend just casually implied a future involving shared children and a very happy, not hateful, deeply loving, domesticated marriage.

You should want to laugh it off. Or deflect. Or bury your face in your jacket. You should want to hide your smile. But you don’t. It’s pulling at your lips. And hiding it would be strangely…so dishonest. 

“I promise,” you say, quietly. “We’ll never be like them.”

Catching you by surprise (for the second time), Jisung’s mouth frays. He stares at you as if your words aren’t exactly what he just said to you, only repeated back to him. Like this is the first time he’s actually sat and conceptualised the weight of it. 

You can practically see it happen. The very same emotional spiral you’ve just been sent on. The montage. Kids. Bedtime routines. Brushing teeth with foam-covered smiles and very normal Christmas trips that break all the usual expectations. Things that should be freaking him out when in the context of his best friend, but he’s not, because he likes the sound of it. 

Well…so he should. He’s the one that fucking said it. Or maybe—maybe this thing between you is so natural, so ingrained, that it slipped out without thought. Just truth, his truth, your truth, falling out of his mouth like it had been waiting there forever.

This is it, you think. This is love.

You’ve probably always been this way. The two of you glued the label best friends on your relationship back when you were six—back when love meant sharing snacks and sitting next to each other in assemblies. You were too little to understand it then, but that doesn’t change what it was. What it’s always been.

You’re unglued now—thanks to him. Or maybe thanks to you, because your softness is what made him feel safe enough to break the ice. Like loving you was the most natural thing in the world to him it slips out unfiltered in the weirdest ways. (The mention of children.)

This isn’t one of those movies where one of you has been secretly, tragically in love while the other stayed blissfully unaware. No. You’ve both been yearning. Quietly. For years. You just didn’t have the language for it yet. 

You suppose, that’s why neither of you ever had a truly bad breakup. Why every relationship fizzled before it could burn. You can’t give your heart to someone else when it’s already belonged to the same person for so long—even if it’s been unbeknownst to both of you 

Your eyes meet, and something settles. Clicks into place.

Best friends, sure. But also—finally—this.

It’s like the universe has gone very still, holding its breath, waiting to see if you’ll notice what’s happening. Jisung’s eyes flick from one of yours to the other, then down to your mouth—slow, like he’s afraid he might scare the moment away if he does it too fast. He doesn’t. He couldn’t. Because you feel this too. That pull to look at his lips. 

You’ve never done that before, and you curse yourself because his mouth is so pretty and flushed from the cold. Pink and wet and begging to be kissed. You lean in. So does he. At the exact same time, no less.

And it’s nothing like the movies.

There’s no crash. No sharp inhale. No heat-lightning bolt down your spine. No frantic fight for dominance or clashing of tongues. It’s gentle. Almost shy. Your mouths fit together like you’ve practiced this in another life—or like your bodies have been waiting years for your brains to finally catch up to this very weird thing it just knows how to do. 

You feel him smile into the kiss, just a little, and you can’t help smiling back—because it’s absurd, really, that this is happening now. His hand finds your waist. Yours curls into the front of his puffer. (You think you might love that stupid puffer right now.)

Everything settles. Pieces click into place.

You pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads still touching, noses brushing. Jisung lets out a quiet laugh that sounds a little wrecked.

“Wow,” he whispers, like he’s talking to the universe instead of you.

You laugh too, completely breathless. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t pull away. Keeps his nose brushing against yours, like he’s afraid even an inch of distance might undo this. “You know,” he starts, “you’re the only reason I flew out here.”

Here he goes again. Saying the exact words you’ve both been circling for years.

“I thought it was because you’re my best friend and I couldn’t just abandon you,” he continues. “And that’s true. But it’s different. It’s—”

“Love?” You offer, nudging closer, your forehead resting against his. “Because that’s exactly how I feel. I could’ve stayed with my sister for Christmas, but then I thought you’d be here and I couldn’t—” You swallow. “It’s not platonic, Ji. We’re not just—”

“Friends?” He offers.

You nod against him, laughing softly, your hair brushing his forehead. “Exactly..”

His hands tighten at your waist. “I think,” he says quietly, “we’ve been in love for a long time.”

Your chest tightens in the best way.

“I think,” you whisper back, “you’re right, and we only just noticed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like relief. “Slowest slow burn ever, huh?”

You laugh against him, against his lips. “Something like that.”

And it’s true. Because you’ve been falling in love with Park Jisung since you’ve known him—since your parents had friends over and their son showed up, freakishly tall for elementary school, tall enough to reach the cookie jar they kept away from you.

But falling in love and realising it are two very different things.

You could fall in love with him every day. You will—over and over, in all the small ways. You’re sure that even if neither of you had ever said anything, even if you’d kept pretending this was impossible, you still would’ve kept falling. Naturally. Flawlessly. Obliviously. 

But you only get to confess the first time once.

And here it is.

Your foreheads are still pressed together when something cold lands on his nose.

You blink, then snort. “Hold on,” you say, pulling back just enough to squint at him. “Is that—” A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. “Oh my god. Look at that,” you giggle. “Snow. At the beach.”

He cross-eyes the tiny white fleck perched on the bridge of his nose, then laughs too. Another flake drifts down, slower this time, landing in your eyelashes. He lifts a hand automatically, brushing it away with his thumb. 

“How weird,” he murmurs. His thumb doesn’t retreat. It keeps moving, skimming along your cheek. His eyes soften when they meet yours. “But so fucking beautiful.”

“Weird and beautiful?” you ask. “Are you talking about me?”

He’d show up with extra coffee when a deadline loomed, a forgotten textbook appearing magically on your desk, and during your red week, he transformed into a one-man comfort crew; a mountain of dark chocolate, a bouquet of your favorite snacks, and a curated list of the most melodramatic, tear-jerking films known to humanity. He even sat through them with you, feigning interest as you sobbed into a pillow.

One rain-slicked afternoon, the sky mirroring the grayness in your soul, you sat hunched on his worn leather couch, a half-eaten pint of ice cream forgotten on the coffee table. He watched you, a silent assessment in his eyes, before he spoke, his voice low, almost a murmur against the drumming rain.

"This can't go on, y/n."

You merely sniffed, pulling your knees closer to your chest.

"You deserve better than this wallowing," he continued, his gaze unwavering. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely. "I have an idea."

You finally looked at him, your eyes swollen and red. "What idea?" He hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. "We could... try something different. Something to help you forget him. Something to remind you what it feels like to be wanted." His voice dropped further, a conspiratorial whisper. "Friends with benefits."

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. Your breath hitched. Sion? Your best friend, the one who knew every embarrassing story, every childhood dream, every fear? The thought was startling, a jarring shift in the familiar tapestry of your relationship. You pictured his face, his easy smile, his comforting presence, and tried to superimpose a different image – one of intimacy, of raw desire. It felt… alien.

"Sion," you breathed, the name a question, a plea.

"I know," he interrupted, his voice rougher now. "It changes things. Everything. But I can't watch you like this anymore. I can't. And... I think it might work." He didn't elaborate on how it might work, or why he thought it was a good idea, not really. He just held your gaze, his eyes intense, searching.

You spent the rest of that day in a daze, his suggestion echoing in your mind. The familiarity of his touch, the comfort of his presence, now tinged with a new, thrillingly dangerous possibility. Sleep offered no escape; his words replayed, his gaze burned. The next morning, a faint tremor ran through you as you called him.

"I'll do it," you said, your voice barely a whisper. The line went silent for a moment, then you heard his relieved sigh, a sound that somehow both comforted and terrified you.

And boy, was that a situation.

The first time, the air crackled with unspoken tension. You both moved with a hesitant awkwardness, a dance of two people who knew each other intimately but were now navigating entirely new terrain. He fumbled with the buttons on your shirt, his breath warm on your neck, and you giggled, a nervous, breathless sound. But then, something shifted. A switch flipped.

Sion, the sweet, attentive best friend, vanished. In his place stood a man you barely recognized, a primal force of nature. He pushed you back onto the bed, his grip firm, almost bruising. His eyes, usually warm and kind, now held a predatory glint.

"Don't you dare hide," he growled, his voice a low rumble against your ear. His mouth crashed onto yours, a violent possession, his tongue plunging deep, mimicking the penetration to come. He tore at your clothes, the fabric ripping with a satisfying tear, exposing your trembling skin to the cool air.

"You're a slut, y/n," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to watch your reaction. His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his. "A pathetic, needy little slut who can't keep a man."

Tears pricked your eyes, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were a strange mix of shock, arousal, and a burgeoning, forbidden thrill. He was meaner than Miss Trunchbull, harsher than any lover you'd ever known. He called you names, degraded you with every thrust, every biting word. Yet, with every tear that tracked a path down your temple, a new sensation bloomed within you, a dark, exciting flower. You discovered a part of yourself you never knew existed, a submissive hunger that responded to his cruel tenderness.

Sometimes, after one of those tumultuous nights, he’d walk you to class, his hand casually brushing yours, the familiar best-friend dynamic momentarily reasserting itself. But then you’d catch the eyes of the jocks, lingering on you, their gazes appreciative, hungry. Sion’s jaw would clench, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes would narrow, a possessive fire burning in their depths. He couldn’t do anything, not really. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t even your friend, not in the way he used to be.

He was just... Sion. And you were just... you. Two people tangled in a web of unspoken feelings and raw, unbridled sex.

The Alpha Phi frat house, a monolithic structure of brick and ivy, pulsed with a perpetual hum of energy. Its ragers were legendary, whispered about in hushed tones across campus. As a member of Zeta Tau, you knew an invitation to an Alpha Phi party was less an invite and more a royal summons.

This year, the Christmas Eve Rager was the talk of the town. Whispers of ice luges, secret rooms, and a DJ flown in from Ibiza circulated like wildfire. You decided to go, dragging your sorority sisters along, a giddy anticipation bubbling in your chest. The air outside the frat house was crisp, biting, but inside, a humid heat enveloped you, thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and something vaguely metallic.

The party was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and booming bass. Five beer pong tables blazed simultaneously, the rhythmic clink of plastic cups punctuated by shouts of victory and groans of defeat. Couples, fueled by liquid courage, pressed against each other in shadowy corners, their movements a silent, primal dance.

The music throbbed, a visceral beat that vibrated through your bones, compelling you to move. This was it. This was the escape you craved. You wondered where Sion was, a fleeting thought, quickly dismissed. Who cared? You were here to party.

Two hours in, the world had softened around the edges. God only knew how many different concoctions had slid down your throat, a dizzying cocktail of sweet, sour, and vaguely chemical. You were beyond tipsy, a delightful lightness permeating your limbs, making every movement effortless, every laugh a little louder. On the dance floor, a sea of gyrating bodies, a warmth pressed against your back. You didn’t mind. You barely registered it. You just kept moving, your hips swaying to the infectious rhythm.

Then, you turned, your arms instinctively wrapping around the body behind you, a faceless presence in the pulsating darkness. He said something, a murmur against your ear, and you laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that surprised even yourself. You leaned into him, letting the music carry you both, your bodies moving in a shared, unthinking rhythm.

From a shadowed alcove across the room, Sion watched. The girl he’d been talking to, a bright, bubbly blonde from the art department, prattled on about her latest exhibition, but her words were swallowed by the roaring in his ears. His eyes, usually sharp and discerning, were now a molten red, fixed on you. On him. The way your body arched, the effortless intimacy of your dance, the way you laughed, tilting your head back. A raw, possessive fury ignited within him, scorching everything in its path.

He didn't say a word to the blonde. He merely shoved her aside, a rough, unthinking motion that sent her stumbling. He moved through the throng of bodies like a predator, his shoulders cutting through the crowd, his gaze locked on you. The air around him seemed to crackle with his rage.

You were still laughing, your head thrown back, when a hand, strong and unyielding, clamped around your arm. You cried out, startled, as you were yanked away from your dance partner.

"What the hell, man?" the guy protested, his voice laced with annoyance.

Sion didn't even glance at him. He merely fixed him with a look, a silent, menacing promise of violence that made the guy's bravado evaporate. He swallowed, his eyes widening, and took a hasty step back.

He dragged you, unresisting, through the labyrinthine corridors of the frat house, past drunken revelers and discarded cups, until he found a small, dimly lit bathroom. He kicked the door shut with his foot.

The stale air, thick with the scent of cheap air freshener and something vaguely chemical, suddenly felt charged, electric. He spun you around, pressing you against the cold, tiled wall, his body caging yours. His hands, rough and demanding, tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. His mouth descended, a brutal, consuming force, cutting off your gasp. His lips were hot, urgent, his tongue invading your mouth with a ferocity that left you breathless. He tasted of beer and something else, something wild and untamed.

His free hand roamed, a burning brand against your skin. It slid down your back, pressing you harder against him, then dipped lower, cupping your ass, squeezing, kneading the flesh through your jeans. Your knees buckled, a sudden weakness spreading through your limbs. You moaned, a muffled sound against his lips, your body arching into his, a desperate need blooming deep within you. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to allow you to gasp for air, his eyes blazing down at you.

"You think you can just dance with any asshole?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, then pressed against your bottom lip, forcing it open. "You think you can just give that away?"

You whimpered, a choked sound, your head swimming with the intoxicating mix of alcohol and his raw dominance. His fingers, still tangled in your hair, pulled, tilting your head back further, exposing your throat. His mouth found the sensitive skin beneath your ear, trailing a path of fire down your neck, his teeth nipping, sucking, leaving angry red marks.

He lifted you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, your hips grinding against his. The sudden friction sent a jolt through you, a searing heat that spread through your core. He slammed your back against the door, the impact jarring, but you barely noticed, lost in the whirlwind of sensation. His hand delved beneath your shirt, his cold fingers brushing against your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine. He found your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, teasing it into a hard, aching peak. You arched into his touch, a desperate plea escaping your lips.

"Want it, don't you?" he whispered, his voice a rasp against your ear.

"You little whore. You want it so bad."

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you gasping, shivering against the cold door. He scooped you up, one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back, and strode out of the bathroom, ignoring the curious glances and drunken shouts. He carried you through the throng, his gaze fixed straight ahead, a man on a mission. The stairs were a blur, the music fading as he ascended to the upper floors, where the bedrooms were.

He kicked open a door, revealing a dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and something uniquely masculine. He carried you to the bed, a rumpled expanse of sheets, and practically threw you onto it. You landed with a soft thud, your hair fanning out around your head like a dark halo against the pillows.

He stood over you for a moment, his chest heaving, his eyes burning into yours, a silent challenge in their depths. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he ripped off his tank top, revealing a sculpted torso, a canvas of taut muscle and sinew. He tossed it aside, the damp fabric landing with a soft sound on the floor.

He leaned over you, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. His mouth found yours again, a slow, deliberate claiming, his tongue exploring every crevice, every soft fold. He pulled back, his lips swollen, glistening. His gaze dropped to your chest, your top now a crumpled mess around your waist, exposing your lace bra.

"Pathetic," he murmured, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace, tearing it with a satisfying rip. Your breasts sprang free, pale and trembling in the dim light. He lowered his head, his tongue tracing the curve of one, then the other, before closing his mouth around a nipple, sucking with a primal hunger that sent a jolt straight to your core. You cried out, arching your back, your fingers digging into the sheets.

He worked his way down, his lips trailing a path of fire across your stomach, his tongue flicking at your navel. He paused, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your abdomen.

"Such a good little slut," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Beg for it. Beg for me to fuck you."

The words, harsh and demeaning, ignited a strange, desperate pleasure within you. You whimpered, a choked sound, your hips beginning to buck instinctively beneath him. He tore off your jeans, the denim shucking down your legs, leaving you bare and vulnerable. He tossed them aside, his gaze fixed on the dark patch of hair between your legs, already glistening with anticipation.

He knelt between your thighs, spreading them wide, his fingers brushing against your clit, a feather-light touch that sent a shockwave through your entire body. You gasped, your hips lifting, desperate for more.

"Not yet," he growled, his eyes dark with predatory intent. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out, tasting you, a hot, wet exploration. He licked, he sucked, he swirled, his tongue a relentless assault on your already overstimulated clit. You cried out, a high-pitched sound, your fingers digging into his hair, pulling, urging him on.

He moved lower, his tongue delving into the folds of your pussy, teasing your labia, before finding your clit again, his mouth closing around it, sucking with a fierce hunger. Your body convulsed, a wave of pleasure washing over you, but he didn't stop. He kept going, his tongue a merciless weapon, driving you higher and higher, to the edge of an orgasm that refused to break. You whimpered, frustrated, your body writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

"Please," you sobbed, the word torn from your throat. "Sion, please." He pulled back, his face flushed, his eyes gleaming. "Beg harder," he commanded, his voice rough. "Tell me what a good little whore you are."

You were beyond thought, beyond shame. "I'm a good whore," you choked out, tears streaming down your face. "Please, Sion. Fuck me."

He nodded, a slow, deliberate movement, a triumphant glint in his eyes. He fumbled with his jeans, pulling them down, his hard, throbbing cock springing free, thick and engorged, glistening with pre-cum. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your wet entrance, a blunt, insistent pressure.

You spread your legs wider, desperate, your body trembling with anticipation. He didn't hesitate. He thrust forward, a single, powerful stroke that drove him deep inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. You cried out, a mixture of pain and exquisite pleasure, your nails digging into his back.

He pulled back almost completely, then plunged again, a relentless rhythm beginning, his hips slamming against yours, the bedsprings groaning beneath your combined weight. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, a rhythmic sound that echoed in the small room. Your pussy gripped him tightly, milking him, urging him deeper.

"Such a tight little cunt," he grunted, his breath ragged, his face contorted with exertion. "Feels so good. So goddamn good."

He pulled out, a wet, sucking sound, and you whimpered, a desperate plea. He ignored you, flipping you onto your stomach, pushing your ass up, exposing your wet, swollen pussy to the dim light. He slapped your ass, a sharp, stinging sensation that made you cry out.

"Naughty whore," he whispered, his voice a low growl. He spread your ass cheeks, his fingers delving into your asshole, teasing, stretching the tight opening. You gasped, a foreign sensation, both painful and strangely exciting. He moved his fingers, then, with a practiced ease, he slid one of his fingers deep inside your ass, stretching you wider.

He then, without warning, pushed his cock into your pussy again, a hard, fast thrust that made you scream. He rode you from behind, his hips pumping relentlessly, his hands gripping your ass cheeks, lifting, slamming you down onto his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, a brutal, beautiful assault on your senses. You were a mess of moans, gasps, and tears, your body twitching, spasming with every thrust.

He reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it with a relentless rhythm as he continued to pound into you. The overstimulation was almost unbearable. You were so close, so agonizingly close, but he wouldn't let you fall. He drove you to the brink, then pulled back, only to push you over again, a cruel game of cat and mouse. Your body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming.

"Cum for me, y/n," he commanded, his voice hoarse. "Cum for your master."

You thrashed, your nails tearing at the sheets, your body a symphony of desperate movements. "I can't," you sobbed, frustrated tears blurring your vision. "Sion, please, I can't."

He laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. "Oh, you will. You always do." He kept going, relentless, merciless, until finally, with a guttural roar, he pulled out, a thick stream of hot cum erupting from his cock, shooting deep inside you, a warm, sticky rush that filled you completely. You screamed, a primal sound, as your body finally convulsed, a series of violent spasms, an orgasm that left you shaking, spent, utterly drained.

He collapsed beside you, his breathing heavy, his body slick with sweat. He pulled you close, spooning your trembling form, his arm thrown possessively over your waist. You were exhausted, physically and emotionally, your body aching in places you didn't know existed. The last thing you remembered was the soft thud of your head against the pillow, and then, mercifully, darkness.

The morning light, filtering through the grimy window, assaulted your eyes. Your head pounded, a relentless drumbeat behind your temples, as if someone were drilling into your skull. You groaned, a low, guttural sound, and shifted slightly, the movement sending a fresh wave of nausea washing over you.

You opened your eyes, blinking against the unwelcome light. Sion was there, propped up on his elbow, watching you. His expression was unreadable, an indifferent mask that sent a chill through you. The raw, primal hunger of the night before had vanished, replaced by a cool detachment that felt like a slap in the face.

A wave of sadness washed over you, thick and heavy. You had lost him, hadn't you? The Sion who brought you ice cream, who talked to your teachers, who downloaded cringe melodramas. That Sion was gone, replaced by this stranger who looked at you with such cold eyes.

Yet, beneath the sadness, a strange warmth bloomed. He was here. He had been with you. And in some twisted, fucked-up way, you were glad. You managed a weak smile, a silent acknowledgment of the night’s debauchery. He didn't return it. He merely continued to stare, his gaze unwavering.

"It's Saturday," you mumbled, your voice raspy. "Good thing it's the weekend."

He nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back to you, and began to pull on a pair of sweatpants. The casualness of his movements, the complete lack of emotion, stung.

He drove you home in silence, the early morning streets deserted, save for a few stray joggers. The air in the car was thick with unspoken words, a tangible tension that made your skin prickle. When he finally pulled up to your sorority house, he cut the engine, the sudden silence deafening.

He turned to you, his gaze still unreadable. "You alright?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft, a faint echo of the old Sion. "Did I... do anything last night that you were uncomfortable with?"

You blinked, surprised. This was the most he’d spoken to you since the arrangement began. The question, gentle and unexpected, disarmed you.

"I..." You hesitated, searching for the right words. "No. Not really." You paused, then plunged forward. "But I miss you, Sion." The words tumbled out, raw and honest. "I miss my best friend. I miss how you used to be."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something, perhaps pain, crossing his face before it was quickly masked. He looked away, staring out the windshield at the empty street. The silence stretched, long and uncomfortable, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds.

"I know," he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I know I've been... different." He turned back to you, his eyes holding a hint of the warmth you remembered. "I'll try. I'll try to be the old me again."

A genuine, unbidden grin spread across your face. Hope, a fragile, delicate thing, unfurled in your chest. You reached out, your fingers finding his cheek, pinching it playfully, just like old times.

"Good," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "Because I really, really like the old you."

He didn't pull away. He even leaned into your touch for a moment, a faint smile playing on his lips, a ghost of the best friend you thought you'd lost. The air in the car, once heavy with tension, now felt lighter, infused with the fragile promise of a new beginning.

It’s always the same with him. Said slowly and intentionally. 사 slips from his teeth, lower pitched than its following counterpart. 랑 finds itself in a higher register, flicked off the tip of his tongue as it presses against the roof of his mouth. 사랑 is a familiar, practiced word when verbalized, but not so much when it’s written.

Something that Jaehyun is endlessly grateful for, considering the fact that he finds himself tracing it on your body any time he has the chance.

It never started off intentionally, this pseudo-confession of his. It was an accident, like most bad habits are, after one too many three dollar shots at some shitty hole in the wall Taeyong recommended. You don’t understand Korean. Sure, a few words here and there, but nothing that makes you remotely coherent to anything he’s half-heartedly slurring in your general direction. This in and of itself doesn’t normally pose a problem.

But after his fifth shot? English words seem impossibly out of reach and his vocabulary reverts to what he’s most accustomed to.

“나는 이 노래를 사랑해요,”

His lips are pressed to the side of your head as he speaks. Voice barely audible over the pulse of the music and the quietness of his tone. Words reserved only for you, as if you had any chance of understanding them in full. The weight of his palm presses into your shoulder, fingers curling around the curve of it and slipping down to your bicep as he stumbles where he stands.

Jaehyun is glued to your side. Pressing every bit of himself against you in both a concentrated effort to keep standing and a selfish desire to be all over you without the consequence of his feelings being all too obvious. “난 그냥 취했을 뿐이야,” he’d slur to Taeyong after one too many knowing looks, brushing him off with a roll of his eyes and beginnings of a pout, “아무것도 아니야. 그냥 술을 너무 많이 마셨을 뿐이야.”

Your incapacitated counterpart’s blonde hair is sticking uncomfortably to the curves of his cheek and the back of his neck—roots grown in and dyed ends fraying—slick with sweat from the simmering heat of the dive. His tank top is in a similar state, now slightly sheer as it clings to his torso, the short-sleeved button up he was wearing as a jacket now long gone. It would be cooler if he weren’t hanging off of you, a point that Taeyong has brought up three times too many, but Jaehyun thinks he’d rather overheat than part from your side for more than half a second.

“You what?”

You can only catch the angle of his jaw from your peripheral, unable to move your head with the weight of his own pressing into it. You wish you could—see him, that is—so that perhaps you could read his lips. Sounding out the syllables slowly before he corrects you with a huffed out laugh. You’d probably catch more than one word that way, if you weren’t too distracted by the flush of his cheeks and droop of his eyes.

“나는 이 노래를 사랑해요,” he repeats, bridge of his nose brushing against the curve of your ear as he angles his head towards his shoulder. Words enunciated slowly, clearly, and a bit louder this time. An unconscious reaction from your inability to understand and one you’d appreciate more if it weren’t partially drowned out by the obnoxiously loud drunken chatter surrounding you.

“What about the song?”

You can hear him exhale, fingers squeezing your bicep in a gentle motion that you know is attributed more to frustration than affection (though perhaps Jaehyun would say it’s a little of both). But it’s not that your confusion over such a simple sentence is completely unfounded. The use of the formal 사랑해요 (saranghaeyo) isn’t necessarily wrong but…it’s an unusual word choice. 좋아한다 (joh-ahanda), to like, would be more fitting. To like a lot rather than to feel love for.

But Jaehyun has always been a romantic, never using 사랑 flippantly and attributing it to the things he truly does love rather than simply like. Like this song.

And you.

“사랑,” the hand unoccupied with being wrapped around you is quick to get ahold of your own, “사랑해요. 나는 이 노래를 사랑해요. 사랑해,”

Jaehyun’s fingers clumsily trace the hangul onto the back of your palm. Over and over again with each repetition. As if you had any sense of what the shaky, uncoordinated strokes of his finger meant. It’s an earnest effort, one that probably wouldn’t have helped even if you were able to gather what he was spelling out with the way he keeps sloppily combining the characters together.

“Love,” he slurs, accent unusually heavy in a way that makes the ‘L’ sound more like an ‘R’, “사랑해,”

The second time he found himself writing the word, it was more purposeful with little intent of teaching. And the third. The fourth. The tenth. So on and so forth. It’s hard, honestly, to encapsulate every bit of what he feels for you in either variation of the phrase; I love you.

Three measly words that he wears out in his head, stretching them thin with overuse. He loves everything you do, everything about you. How can that be explained in such a simple phrase? 새상에 너밖에 없어 seems more fitting, though even that falls short (and is perhaps more embarrassing to say aloud).

Jaehyun finds himself drawing 사랑해 on your arm whenever you sit next to him on the couch. Your back whenever he makes the mistake of sharing your “queen” (it’s barely a full) sized bed for a sleepover. On your pulse point at dinner. Your thigh when he’s driving. He murmurs it into every hug, every shove of his shoulder when you can’t help but burst into laughter, every squeeze of your hand, every touch. It’s second nature. To trace the characters in long, languid strokes of his finger. Effortless and unconscious. Something that now comes to him as naturally as breathing.

사랑해. I love you.

When you do ask, what he’s drawing, he only hums. Red hot embarrassment prickling at his ear lobes, flushing down his neck and resting in his cheeks like he had been caught red handed (which for all intents and purposes he had been). Face a color that could rival a stop sign as he raises the back of his hand in a poor attempt to hide his flustered reaction. Eyes looking everywhere but your own as he clears his throat. “Nothing,” he says with a nervous laugh, “Just drawing.”

Jaehyun’s always been a terrible liar; his tells are much too obvious for his own good. But you don’t push him for an honest answer. Whatever it really is, it doesn’t bother you. So you drop the subject. It’s nice—his hands on you. Even if he does act like he’s never touched another person before in such an affectionate way (he has, but none of those people were you).

It becomes something you expect, something you look for in the pauses of your conversations. Something you find yourself trying to recreate—tracing the same shapes into the palm of your hand, trying to recall the lazy rhythm of Jaehyun’s own fingers. Not knowing what it means, but writing it nonetheless.

사랑해. I love you.

🦌: every time i write for jaehyun i think of the worst aura loss of my entire life where i fumbled him so horrifically during our fancall and i have to shut my laptop and go take a walk

"no, seriously." she caught your wrist and dragged you beneath one of the driveway lights before you could make a run for the front door. "look at yourself. you knew exactly what you were doing."

your eyes instinctively dropped to the dress.

it hugged you perfectly. your makeup had taken almost an hour, your hair had finally decided to cooperate for once, and for the first time in weeks, you'd managed to look into a mirror without immediately thinking about someone else.

that had been the goal.

not revenge. not jealousy. just... yourself.

it had been exactly a month since you'd broken up with lee jeno. according to every friend you had, that was supposed to be enough time to start feeling like yourself again. apparently nobody had bothered informing your nervous system.

people assumed you'd left because of the fights. because of the rumours. because campus seemed to produce a brand-new story about jeno every other week, usually involving bruised knuckles, broken furniture or somebody making the catastrophic mistake of underestimating him.

none of that had been the reason.

the truth was almost impossible to explain without making yourself sound dramatic.

you hadn't fallen out of love with him.

if anything, that had been the problem.

loving jeno had slowly turned into managing him. every reckless decision somehow became your responsibility, every late-night phone call ended with someone asking if you could come because, somehow, you were the only person he'd actually listen to. every fight followed the same exhausting pattern: he'd flash that infuriating grin the second he saw you, his friends would visibly relax, and before you even had time to process what had happened, you'd somehow become responsible for cleaning up another disaster you hadn't created.

you loved him.

you still did.

but somewhere along the way, you'd stopped feeling like his girlfriend and started feeling like the emergency contact everyone called whenever lee jeno inevitably became lee jeno.

"tonight," karina declared as she linked her arm through yours and steered you toward the front door, "you are legally prohibited from thinking about him."

you glanced sideways at her. "legally?"

"i've decided i'm the government."

"that feels unconstitutional."

"don't care."

despite yourself, you laughed.

"if i catch you looking sad," she continued, "i'm throwing my drink at somebody."

"you say that like you need a reason."

"exactly."

the party swallowed you the second you stepped inside. music shook the walls, somebody was already dancing on the kitchen island, and you recognised at least half the faces crowded into the living room. for the first hour, things felt surprisingly... normal. you danced with karina, accepted two drinks you definitely didn't need, and found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks.

that was probably why you didn't notice the atmosphere change straight away.

it wasn't that the music stopped or people suddenly went quiet. conversations continued, laughter still echoed through the room, but something subtle shifted beneath it all. people near the entrance started glancing in the same direction almost instinctively, the way animals seemed to sense a storm before the first drop of rain ever hit the ground.

your stomach tightened before your eyes even followed theirs.

lee jeno had arrived.

he wasn't making a scene. he never needed to. he wandered in with three of his friends, listening to something one of them was saying while lazily spinning one of the silver rings around his finger. his shoulders were relaxed, his hoodie sat half-zipped, and he looked exactly like someone who'd shown up because he'd been bored and decided a party sounded marginally more entertaining than staying home.

then he saw you.

whatever his friend had been saying immediately ceased to exist.

his gaze settled on you with quiet curiosity, travelling from your heels to the hem of your dress before finally finding your face again. he didn't look angry. if anything, he looked... amused.

slowly, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.

you felt your heart sink.

"oh, no," karina murmured beside you.

you didn't take your eyes off him. "what?"

"he looks happy."

that, unfortunately, was exactly the problem.

most people assumed lee jeno was dangerous when he looked angry.

the people who actually knew him understood the opposite was true.

angry jeno was predictable. when he was angry, somebody had usually said something stupid, started a fight or looked at him the wrong way, and everyone knew how the evening was going to end. smiling jeno, however, was impossible to read.

sometimes it meant he'd found something funny. sometimes it meant he was about to do something that would have half the room questioning his sanity. the problem was that nobody, not even the people closest to him, ever seemed to know which version they were getting until it was too late.

you tore your eyes away before you could think too much about it.

whatever expression was sitting on his face wasn't your problem anymore.

that had been the entire point of the breakup.

for the past month, you'd repeated that to yourself so often it had almost become convincing. you weren't responsible for wondering whether he'd gotten himself into another fight, whether he'd remembered to eat something that wasn't instant noodles, or whether one of his friends would inevitably end up calling you at two in the morning because he'd done something spectacularly reckless. those habits were proving much harder to break than the relationship itself, but you were trying, and that had to count for something.

"don't," karina said quietly, following your line of sight without even pretending she wasn't. "whatever's going on inside that head of yours, stop."

you let out a small laugh.

"i wasn't thinking about anything."

"you're a terrible liar."

you sighed and conceded. "i've always been a terrible liar."

"exactly."

she linked her arm through yours and nudged you gently toward the kitchen, where somebody was aggressively insisting that tequila solved every known problem in existence. "one month," she reminded you. "you've survived one month already. don't let one smile ruin all that progress."

"i wasn't planning to."

"good."

"i'm just..."

you hesitated, searching for the right word before eventually giving up.

"confused."

karina looked at you.

"why?"

"because he isn't doing anything."

that made her glance across the room again.

for a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

jeno was still standing near the entrance with his friends, listening—or at least pretending to listen—to whatever story one of them was telling. every now and then he'd nod, or laugh under his breath, or answer with a comment that earned another round of laughter from the group. to anybody else, he looked completely normal.

except every single time the conversation lulled, his eyes drifted back to you.

not in a way that felt territorial.

not even jealous.

if anything, he looked... curious.

like he'd stumbled across a question he couldn't quite answer.

"...okay," karina murmured slowly. "that's actually a little creepy."

you frowned.

"right?"

"he usually would've walked over by now."

"i know."

"or interrupted."

"i know."

"or done literally anything."

"exactly."

instead, he stayed where he was, making no effort whatsoever to close the distance between you. somehow that unsettled you more than if he'd marched straight across the room the second he'd arrived. that would've been predictable. this wasn't. it was as though he'd seen you, decided that approaching you wasn't the answer, and settled for quietly observing instead.

the thought shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did.

you looked away, determined to enjoy the rest of the evening, and for a while it worked. somebody handed you another drink, a girl from one of your tutorials dragged you into a conversation about exams, and the noise of the party gradually swallowed your thoughts again.

then, almost absentmindedly, you looked up.

your eyes found him immediately.

he hadn't moved.

worse still, he smiled the second he realised you'd looked back.

he hadn't moved.

worse still, he smiled the second he realised you'd looked back.

it wasn't smug, and that somehow made it infinitely more irritating. there wasn't a trace of triumph in it, no silent caught you. if anything, he looked... pleased. like you'd just confirmed something he'd been quietly wondering about all evening.

you immediately looked away again.

"absolutely not," you muttered under your breath.

"i'm getting another drink," karina announced suddenly. "do you want one?"

you looked down at the cup still half-full in your hand.

"i'm good."

"don't disappear."

you smiled.

"i'll try."

"i mean it."

"rina."

"what?"

"he's not going to kidnap me."

she looked across the room at jeno before looking back at you.

"...i'm not completely ruling it out."

you laughed despite yourself, shaking your head as she wandered toward the kitchen.

left on your own, you leaned lightly against the edge of the dining table and took another sip of your drink, letting the noise of the party settle around you again. conversations overlapped from every direction, somebody near the speakers was passionately arguing that the playlist had peaked an hour ago, and a group of seniors had somehow convinced themselves they could play beer pong using decorative crystal glasses borrowed from the host's parents.

it almost felt normal again.

almost.

your gaze wandered before you could stop it.

this time, you found him laughing.

one of his friends had apparently just finished telling a story, and jeno tilted his head back with an easy grin that looked so effortless it caught you off guard. it wasn't the laugh that surprised you—you'd always known he laughed easily—but the way it disappeared almost immediately after.

his eyes searched the room.

they found you.

and just like that, everything else ceased to exist.

he didn't wave.

didn't gesture for you to come over.

didn't even acknowledge that you'd caught him looking.

he simply held your gaze for a few quiet seconds before lifting his cup in the smallest, almost imperceptible salute.

the gesture was so casual, so absurdly normal, that you found yourself staring before you realised what you were doing.

he smiled again.

then, as though completely satisfied with whatever conclusion he'd reached, he turned back to his friends and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened at all.

you frowned.

"what on earth are you doing?" you murmured to yourself.

for the first time since the breakup, you realised something that made your stomach twist.

you understood jeno when he was loud.

you understood him when he was reckless.

you understood him when he was impossible.

this version of him—

quiet.

patient.

content to simply watch—

you had absolutely no idea what to do with.

you'd barely finished your second drink when someone called your name from behind.

turning around, you found a vaguely familiar face smiling at you.

"i knew that was you."

you frowned for a second before recognition finally clicked.

"sion?"

"thank god." he laughed, pressing a hand dramatically against his chest. "i was starting to think i'd have to pretend i wasn't talking to you."

you couldn't help smiling.

"sorry. you look different without a laptop in front of you."

"i'll choose to take that as a compliment."

"please don't."

he laughed again before leaning casually against the kitchen island beside you.

"i didn't know you knew the host."

"i don't."

"...that's reassuring."

"karina does."

"ah."

he nodded thoughtfully.

"that makes significantly more sense."

for the first time all evening, the conversation came easily.

sion was exactly how you remembered him from class—easygoing, a little awkward, and incapable of telling a story without getting distracted halfway through. he had a habit of laughing at his own jokes before reaching the punchline, which somehow made you laugh even harder.

"...and then i realised i'd been defending the wrong presentation for almost fifteen minutes."

you stared at him.

"you're kidding."

"i wish."

"what happened?"

"she just looked at me and said..." he lowered his voice into a painfully accurate impression of your lecturer. "'mr oh, while your confidence is admirable, this isn't your assignment.'"

you burst out laughing.

"no."

"yes."

"please tell me you're lying."

"i've never wanted to disappear more in my life."

you shook your head, still smiling.

"that's actually tragic."

"thank you. i needed someone to appreciate my suffering."

"i appreciate it immensely."

"good."

he pointed at you.

"because i'm still emotionally recovering."

your laughter faded into an easy smile.

it felt...

normal.

refreshingly so.

there were no rumours attached to sion. nobody lowered their voice when they said his name. nobody instinctively stepped aside when he walked into a room. talking to him didn't feel like standing next to a lit match.

it just felt easy.

"...can i ask you something?"

"sure."

"did you actually understand today's lecture?"

you groaned.

"don't even remind me."

"so that's a no."

"i understood maybe thirty percent of it."

"perfect."

he looked genuinely relieved.

"i was worried i was just stupid."

"i've got terrible news for you."

his face fell.

"what?"

"i understood thirty percent because i stopped listening after the first twenty minutes."

he stared at you for a second before laughing.

"okay, that's fair."

without thinking, he reached over and lightly nudged your arm.

"see? i knew talking to you would make me feel better."

the gesture barely registered.

it was casual.

friendly.

completely innocent.

but somewhere across the room—

jeno noticed.

his conversation stopped mid-sentence.

not long enough for his friends to notice.

just long enough for his eyes to drift toward the hand resting briefly against your arm.

his expression didn't change.

if anything, the smile remained exactly where it had been.

which, somehow, made it worse.

he watched as you laughed at something sion had said, tilting your head back the same way you always did when you found something genuinely funny.

he'd seen that laugh a hundred times.

he'd never realised how loud your laugh was until it belonged to someone else's conversation.

a sudden commotion near the entrance pulled you out of your thoughts.

heads turned almost instinctively.

someone had bumped into jeno.

it wasn't much. a shoulder clipping his arm as they squeezed through the crowd, enough to send a little of the drink in the boy's hand sloshing over the rim of the cup.

the first-year froze immediately.

"s-sorry."

you recognised him almost at once.

a first-year from the business faculty.

a few months ago, he'd accidentally spilled coffee over jeno's trainers outside one of the lecture halls. before you'd managed to step in, jeno had already grabbed him by the collar and shoved him hard enough into the lockers to leave half the corridor staring. you still remembered the look on the poor boy's face when you'd pulled jeno away, somewhere between terrified and completely convinced he was about to die.

apparently he remembered too.

because instead of looking at jeno, the first-year's eyes darted straight to you.

almost instinctively.

like he was checking whether you were close enough to stop whatever came next.

jeno noticed. of course he noticed. his gaze flickered briefly toward you before settling back on the boy.

for a second, nobody moved. one of his friends had already gone quiet.

the people closest to them had taken a subtle step backwards.

everyone was waiting.

waiting to see which version of jeno had shown up tonight.

"watch where you're going," he said flatly.

"s-sorry, i didn't—"

"yeah."

another pause. the boy looked ready to apologise another five times.

instead, jeno jerked his chin toward the hallway.

"get lost."

the first-year blinked.

"...what?"

"you heard me."

the boy didn't need telling twice. he muttered another apology before practically disappearing into the crowd.

the people nearby exchanged confused glances before slowly returning to their own conversations, the tension dissolving almost as quickly as it'd appeared.

you couldn't stop staring.

that...

wasn't what you expected.

he caught your expression from across the room. one corner of his mouth lifted. almost like he already knew what you were thinking.

and somehow, that irritated you even more.

because a month ago, he would've thrown the first punch.

tonight, he'd simply let the boy walk away.

you weren't sure which version unsettled you more.

it irritated you enough that eventually you decided you needed air before you snapped.

without telling anyone, you slipped upstairs and climbed the narrow staircase leading to the rooftop terrace. the cool night breeze hit your skin immediately when you stepped outside, and you closed your eyes for a second in relief.

finally.

quiet.

the city lights stretched endlessly beneath the rooftop, glowing gold against the darkness. you walked toward the railing and rested your arms against it, trying to calm the frustration buzzing beneath your skin.

the rooftop door opened behind you less than a minute later.

you didn’t even turn around. you recognised the smell of that cologne anywhere, a custom mix of two different ones because jeno couldn't decide which one he liked better.

“you’re unbelievable,” you said flatly.

jeno shut the door behind him. “you disappeared.”

“i came upstairs for five seconds.”

“you left with no jacket.”

you laughed once under your breath and turned toward him. “you're fucking kidding me.”

his gaze moved over you again, slower this time, and it made your entire body tense in annoyance because even after everything, he still knew exactly how to look at you in a way that made you feel too aware of yourself.

“that dress is too short.”

“there it is.”

“you tryna get someone’s attention?”

“i wore it because i look good.”

“you do.”

the answer came immediately. it irritated you more than if he had insulted you.

you folded your arms. “what do you want?”

jeno walked closer until he stood only a few feet away from you. “to talk.”

“we’ve had this conversation already.”

“no, you talked. then you blocked me on everything.”

“because we broke up.”

his jaw tightened slightly.

“you keep saying that like i agreed to it.”

you stared at him in disbelief. “you don’t get to disagree with a breakup, jeno.”

“watch me.”

“oh my god.”

you pushed yourself off the railing. “this is exactly why i left you. you’re insane.”

his expression barely changed. “you still love me.”

“that’s not the point.”

“so you do.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t deny it either.”

you groaned in frustration and headed toward the rooftop door. “i’m done with this conversation.”

but the second you grabbed the handle and twisted, your expression changed.

the door didn’t move.

you frowned and pulled harder.

locked.

“what the hell?”

jeno walked over behind you slowly. too slowly.

you turned immediately. “did you do this?”

“what?”

“the door is locked.”

he reached past you and tested the handle himself with an annoyingly convincing look of confusion. “huh.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you are such a liar.”

“i didn’t lock it.”

“did you tell one of your idiot friends to do it?”

“no.”

a pause.

“jeno.”

“what? maybe it’s fate. you keep running away from me.”

“because i don’t want to talk to you.”

“you’re talking now.”

you shoved his shoulder hard, but he barely moved.

“you’re actually crazy.”

“and you’re still beautiful when you’re angry.”

you glared at him. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

the confidence in his voice made your blood boil because the worst part was that he genuinely believed it.

jeno leaned against the rooftop door casually while looking down at you, completely unbothered by the fact that you were seconds away from losing your temper.

“you’ve been avoiding me for a month.”

“thanks for stating the obvious.”

“you ignore my texts.”

“that’s the point.”

“you were real friendly with the guy downstairs."

you scoffed. “you mean the normal guy who doesn’t threaten people for fun?”

his eyes darkened instantly.

“was he funny?"

“oh my god, who cares?”

“i care.”

“well, stop.”

for the first time that night, something genuinely angry flashed across his face.

“you think i’m just supposed to watch you move on?”

“well yes.”

the answer came so quickly it stunned him into silence for a second.

and suddenly you could see it clearly — the exhaustion beneath his anger, the sleeplessness in his eyes, the way his hands flexed like he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you and pulling you against him like he used to.

“you really don’t give a shit anymore?” he asked quietly.

your chest tightened despite yourself.

because that wasn’t true.

that was the problem. for the first time tonight, jeno wasn't playing any games. for the first time ever since you broke up, he felt like you were truly gonna slip away from him for eternity.

“let’s talk baby,” he came closer to you, voice laced with a sense of nervousness that only you were able to tell.

“there’s nothing to talk about!”

“there is.” his hand caught your wrist, fingers circling, thumb pressing into your pulse point. “i fucked up. i know. but i’ve been losing my mind without you. every time i see you laughing with someone else, i want to rip them apart.. i’ll - fuck i’ll tone down the fighting, i’ll just -”

for the first time since you’ve dated each other, he was actually anxious.

“i don’t know how to say it right.” his voice cracked, just a little. he tugged you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry for the shit i did. but i can’t let you go. you’re it for me, princess. you’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

you wanted to stay angry. you wanted to push him away, scream, claw at him until he let you go. but your body betrayed you—the heat of him, the familiar weight of his hands, the way his thumb traced lazy circles on your wrist. a month of no contact, of pretending you didn’t miss the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world, and now you were trembling.

“jeno.” it came out weak.

“let me show you.” his lips ghosted over your cheek. “let me prove i still know how to make you feel good. just tonight. then we can talk tomorrow. i’ll fix the door, i swear, but… let me have this.”

you should have said no. should have fought harder. but the cold air had seeped into your bones, and he was warm, and you were so fucking tired of pretending you didn’t want him. karina can lecture you about it later.

“you’re an asshole,” you whispered.

“yeah. your asshole.” he smiled, a real one, and it softened the hard lines of his face. then he kissed you. hard. hungry. his tongue slid against yours, and you melted into it, your hands fisting in his jacket. a month of denial crashed down, and you kissed him back like you were drowning.

he groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down your waist, gripping your hips through the thin fabric of your dress. “fuck, i missed you. missed this.” he bit your lower lip, tugging, and you gasped. his fingers found the hem of your dress, bunching it up until the cold air hit your thighs.

“jen, the door—someone could come up—“

“they won’t.” he pulled back, his eyes dark and serious. “i told jaemin to lock it and keep everyone away. gave us an hour.”

your breath caught. “you—you planned this?”

“had to get you alone somehow.” he kissed your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse. “you wouldn’t talk to me. you wouldn’t even look at me. this was the only way, princess. forgive me?”

you should have been furious. instead, you were wet. the audacity of it, the raw desperation—it turned you on more than you wanted to admit. you tilted your head back, giving him more access, and he took it, sucking a mark into your collarbone.

“i hate you,” you breathed.

“no, you don’t.” his hand slid between your thighs, pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re soaked, baby. you missed me too.”

you didn’t deny it. couldn’t. he hooked a finger under the lace, pulling it aside, and then his fingers were on you—calloused and rough, sliding through your slick folds. you bucked into his touch, a moan escaping your lips.

“that’s it. let me hear you.” he found your clit, circling it with practiced precision, and your knees buckled. he caught you, guiding you back until you were pressed against the cold brick wall of the rooftop shed. “been thinking about this every night. jerking off to the memory of your pussy gripping my cock.”

“jeno—fuck—“

he pushed two fingers inside you, stretching you, and you cried out. his thumb kept working your clit, pressing hard, and he watched your face with that predatory intensity that always made you feel like prey—but in the best way. he curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“you’re so tight. so perfect.” he pumped his fingers, faster, deeper, the sound of your wetness obscene in the night air. “gonna make you come on my hand first. then i’m gonna bend you over this railing and fuck you until you remember who you belong to.”

you were close, the pressure coiling in your belly, but you weren’t ready to give in. “i don’t belong to anyone.”

“yeah, you do.” he pressed his thumb harder against your clit, and you screamed, your orgasm crashing through you. your walls clenched around his fingers, and he kept pumping, drawing it out until you were shaking and gasping against the wall.

“good girl.” he pulled his fingers out, sliding them into his mouth, sucking them clean. “taste so sweet.”

your dress was rucked up around your waist, your panties hanging uselessly off one hip. he pushed them down, letting them fall to the gravel. then he unbuckled his belt, the clink of metal loud in the silence. his cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum.

“turn around. bend over the railing.”

you hesitated for only a second. then you obeyed, gripping the cold metal, arching your back. "good fucking girl."

the dress rode up, exposing your bare ass. he moved behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his cock pressing against your wet entrance.

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, the words rough and awkward. “for everything. i don’t know how to be the guy you deserve. but i’m trying. i’m trying, princess.”

then he pushed inside you, and all coherent thought dissolved. his teeth found the side of your neck and made his mark there before licking and sucking a hickey onto it.

he filled you completely, stretching you, the friction perfect. he gave you a moment to adjust, then pulled out and thrust back in, a steady rhythm that quickly grew frantic. his hand snaked around to your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts, and you moaned into the night.

“fuck, you feel better than i remember.” he spanked your ass, the sharp sting making you clench around him. “look at you, taking my cock like a fucking dream. missed this pussy. missed your tight little cunt.”

he drove into you harder, faster, his balls slapping against your clit. the rooftop lights cast long shadows, and you could see the city below, oblivious to the raw, desperate sex happening above. the thought only made you wetter.

“jen, i’m gonna—“

“come for me, baby. come on my cock.” he pressed down on your clit, and you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave. he kept thrusting, chasing his own release, but you were too sensitive, bucking against him.

“wait—too much—“

“one more.” he slowed, but didn’t stop, grinding deep inside you. “come on, princess. you can give me one more. for me.”

he pulled out, and before you could catch your breath, he spun you around, lifting you up. your legs wrapped around his waist, your back hitting the wall again. he lined himself up into your gaping pussy and sank back into you, this time face to face.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss, messy and desperate. he fucked you slow and deep, his eyes locked on yours, his forehead pressed against yours.

“i’m not good at words,” he whispered. “but i need you back. i need you, and i don’t care how much i have to change. i’ll burn the world down for you. just… come back to me.”

you couldn’t speak. the emotion in his voice—raw, broken, real—cracked something inside you. you kissed him, hard, and he groaned into your mouth, his thrusts becoming erratic. "this pussy was fucking made for me."

“i’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “gonna put my cum deep inside you, and you’re gonna walk around downstairs knowing you’re still mine.”

“yes,” you gasped. “do it—please—“

he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt his hot release spill inside you, wave after wave. you came again, a smaller, shuddery orgasm, clenching around him as he pulsed inside you.

he held you there, both of you panting, sweat-slicked and trembling. he pulled out slowly, his cum dripping down your thigh. he caught it with his fingers, pressing it back inside, his eyes dark and possessive.

“you’re not leaving this rooftop until i hear you say you’ll try,” he said, voice husky. “even if we have to do this a few more times.”

you laughed, weak and breathless. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re mine.” he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. “please, princess. say yes."

you looked at him—the fighting scars, the rough edges, the vulnerable flicker in his eyes—and you knew you were lost.

"come on, let's ditch this and go back so you can sit on my face.”

“fine. but you’re sleeping on the sofa for a month.”

he grinned, wide and boyish, and pulled you into another kiss. the door was still locked, but the night was young, and there was plenty of time to argue about the future. right now, you had his cum leaking down your thigh and his arms around you, and for the first time in a month, it felt like home.