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hoonjayke · 29 days ago

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Lee Heeseung — REASONS TO (HATE) LOVE YOU

Your makeup is always intact, your hair is perfectly brushed, your clothes are always well-ironed and tidy, and your admirable grades are always on top. Many in the law course envy how you seem so perfect, unlike Lee Heeseung, who thinks everything about you is completely irritating. On the other hand, you can't stand Heeseung's arrogance. The way he always acts so pretentiously gets on your nerves, however, when you are forced to do a project together, you'll discover that this tension between you is much more than just hatred.

PAIRING: — Law Students - Heeseung x Reader (f)

GENRE: Academic rivals to lovers - (lower middle class) heeseung x (upper middle class) reader, fluffy, smut (mdni), a bit of angst - if you squint, super suggestive, slowburn.

WARNINGS: - lots of heavy making out (two in a bedroom and one in a storage room), lots of skinship, dirty talking, mutual pining, heavy sexual tension, yearning Heeseung, foreplay, soft dom Heeseung, teasing, petnames (baby, princess, pretty), skin marking (f receiving), cursing, a few mentions of difficult family dynamics, miscommunication at the beginning, bickering, jealousy, Heeseung is kinda mean in the beginning but he becomes a loser and a simp (sorry not sorry), mentions of alcohol, cursing, a very brief mention of a man touching reader's shoulder in a non consensual way. + IVE's gaeul is reader's best friend. [reblogs and comments are always welcome]

WC: 28k — masterlist - perm taglist (open)

— Author Note: Guys, I'm back after a few months <3 It's finallyyyy hereee, I know it's big (I don't know how to write little when I get excited lmaooo sorry!!!) but I can guarantee you that it's fun since I wanted the story to give off rom-com vibes!! There are some specific legal concepts, but nothing too complicated to understand (I hope). I know that each country has its own legal system, so I used my country's legal system as a guide. Even though I proofread, it might have some typos. Anyways, I hope you guys like it ♡ If there are any errors pls lmk!!!

Since the beginning of human existence and during the formation of societies, law has been present. The norms and principles that governed ancient social groups were an archaic type of representation of what is known today as law. With the reformulation of how these laws should be formed after numerous social revolutions, law is still evolving, being considered one of the tools that keep human beings under control.

For some, the law itself is something to be feared, for others, something to be admired or somehow foreign. However, when it comes to law school, opinions differ.

For many laypeople, law school is a distant world, something unattainable and bureaucratic, that only forged and trained minds can reach. After all, dealing with the daily problems of human beings, but also understanding their treacherous nature requires a lot of vocation.

For Lee Heeseung, law is fascinating.

He finds it amazing the possibility to reach deep into society and cause a stir with some well-founded arguments. For Heeseung, there was a kind of freedom in knowing how the legal system in his country worked that fascinated him intrinsically. Heeseung has always been curious, especially because he wanted to understand why so many injustices could not be easily resolved. What was stopping a country from truly delivering justice?

But despite being an idealist, Heeseung learned that people can be hypocritical, cold, fake and especially selfish when it comes to something that is about their own interests. And perhaps that is the main reason why the system is so flawed.

Personally, Heeseung can't stand hypocrisy and in his opinion, everything about you screamed 'hypocrisy'. From the way you dressed and carried yourself to the way you spoke – everything irritated him. Initially, he didn't have this curious aversion towards you. He didn't really care about your presence, despite noticing that you drew attention wherever you went.

The hypnotized looks around you and the sneaky approaches trying to create some kind of bond with you demonstrated a clear situation: you were from an important family, or your beauty was a factor that contributed to that. This type of approach was expected within the law school, which was full of people who only cared about other people's backgrounds.

However, Heeseung only confirmed his suspicions when your surname began to be whispered in the hallways. Y/N Park, the famous daughter of a renowned attorney with a giant office in the city center.

Heeseung laughed at the irony: Of course, you are just another privileged rich girl who is only in college as a rite of passage with a ready and perfect pass to a job already premeditated by your father.

There were many people like this in law school, but for some unknown reason you affected Heeseung differently. The way you presented yourself perfectly, without any flaws, almost theatrically bothered him.

But even though he knew you were the type of girl he wouldn't want to get close to, his disdain began to increase after a specific episode. It all started when you were in Criminology class and there was a free debate going on about the ‘Historical Development of Criminology' and what impact it had on law in the modern world.

You were explaining about the evolution of the concept of crime, and how Cesare Beccaria had contributed to the Classical School of Criminology, in which the concept of crime is based on what is in the law with a focus on restoring social order and the criminal justice system, given that the free and conscious choice of a delinquent to commit a crime affected not only the victim, but the entire society.

According to your train of thought, there are social factors that influence people to commit petty crimes and that would eventually be appreciated in other modern schools. But even with your impeccable contribution, Heeseung couldn't take you seriously when he saw you using an overpriced bag while criticizing the dry theory of the classical school.

Heeseung was no fool, he knew that life wasn't fair and there would be people in better financial situations than him. In fact, he had fought hard to get into a good university and study law, so he had a pride about his academic achievements, but there was something about you that drove him crazy. He couldn't put it into words, but you triggered specific emotions in his brain — and the main one was agitation.

So, for every argument you brought up, he inevitably countered with something new. What was supposed to be just a friendly debate between classmates turned into a heated argument between you and him.

“I agree, however, if you allow me to make a brief criticism, we know that even with social issues involved, the key point of free will and the delinquent’s conscious choice to commit a crime – an argument that came from the classical school – is taken into consideration today as well.” Heeseung countered, making you sigh for having cut off your train of thought.

“Of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that social issues have a great weight in this matter.” You leaned over the table and he chuckled “Yes, I agree that they do have an influence, but you must admit that even with all the influence in the world, we know that it's not that simple to understand the conscience of an individual who commits crimes.”

Even though he didn't say much, Heeseung saw how irritated you were: you seemed out of breath, your eyebrows were furrowed, and your gaze was fixed on him. And it was at that exact moment — when your eyes locked for a few seconds and he smirked — that he knew that irritating you would be his new entertainment.

For the first time in his life, he had seen you make an expression other than your serious one or the one with that meticulously adjusted smile you gave when you wanted to appear overly polite. Seeing how he pressed the specific buttons to irritate you was the new entertainment that was missing in Heeseung's college life, and it made him more elated than it should have been.

And this brief rivalry that was born unexpectedly in a debate, continued to extend to test scores, projects and final evaluations in the following semesters. Heeseung couldn't deny that you were very intelligent because he had lost 1st place in many situations, but that didn't discourage him and instead motivated him even more, because each perfect 100 that he achieved and threw in your face was absolutely satisfying.

So Heeseung's college life became hectic, as he was the famous student brave enough to face the "queen" of the course.

The one and only— Lee Heeseung —the reason for your extra study sessions, as you swore you would never let yourself lose to Heeseung in any aspect of academic life.

After all, nothing was better than the feeling of beating Heeseung at the very game he created.

☆

Your reflection in the bedroom mirror seemed to show that everything was in perfect order. Your hair was neat, your clothes were well-ironed, and the hydrated glow of your skin was even more noticeable that late afternoon. But in reality, you were distracted, reflecting on your past.

When you were in high school, your father gave you two options for college:

1) Med school or 2) Law school. That's it.

Unfortunately, you had no choice or desire of your own regarding your future, because according to your father, all that mattered was studying something with a “financial return”. In a way, you understood your father's vision, because he was a man who had suffered from poverty and hunger in the past, and became who he is with a lot of pain and sacrifice. However, the pressure and responsibility that came with being his daughter were very heavy.

A man who had been brutalized by the hard life he had led could not think of other realities in life. Your father didn’t believe in “talents” or “gifts” that couldn’t pay the bills. It didn't matter how good you were at some sport or art-related hobby. If it didn’t bring money home it shouldn’t be pursued – or worse, desired and dreamed of.

When he wanted to talk to you about something specific, he would always call you to his personal office. The same office that you found terrifying because it was so impersonal. The dark gray walls, the low lighting, and the plain furniture, without any memorabilia, photos, or any kind of decoration that would indicate any personality trait — everything gave off a cold, indifferent, distant air.

Since work had consumed his life, you knew you had to take advantage of these minutes of interaction with your father. He would often sit there, typing and reading cases on the computer, with his attention 100% focused on the screen that must have contained sensitive information (that was what your curious mind used to believe).

“You understand, right sweetie? I only want the best for you.” Your father would often take your hand and squeeze it gently as wrinkles crept into the corners of his eyes with the small smile he gave you “Yes, father. I understand.” You would respond like a perfect little doll who obeyed without questioning his ideas.

But even though you’d done everything your father had told you to do up until now, you knew that this wasn't the path you wanted to follow forever.

You wanted options. Options for what to do with your future that didn’t involve working in your father’s office. This expectation that everyone around you has that you will become the next face of your father's office is like a weight that you have to carry, but you’ve already decided that your path will be different.

But no one besides your best friend knows about it.

Luckily, you had always liked law, so you had delved deeper into the careers you could pursue over time. The prosecutor's office seemed interesting, after all, criminal law is a passion of yours. Unlike your father, who liked corporate and civil law, which is why he had all kinds of demands in his office.

However, you could try to become an attorney at another firm and gain experience in another area of law. There were certainly many options for you to explore, and fortunately there was still time for you to figure out what you really wanted to do, and the next steps to take.

As you wandered through thoughts about your future, your best friend and roommate, Gaeul, snapped you out of your prolonged reverie.

“Are you going out?” she was holding a bag of potato chips when she appeared at your bedroom door “I’m going to another extra study session.” You gave her a delicate smile and picked up your bag before heading towards Gaeul who looked at you suspiciously “Again?”

“Sure, why not?” Gaeul sighed “You know you don’t have to do all of this to beat Heeseung.” she followed you through the small dorm “You’re already too good, I don’t understand this rivalry between you two.”

“Gaeul, it’s much more than rivalry.” You took out your keys to open the front door “It’s a matter of honor! I can’t lose to that prick.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure...” she laughed before taking another bite of the potato chip “Have fun babe!” You blew an air kiss that made Gaeul make a funny face “I will!”

☆

The library was quiet, with the perfect atmosphere for a late afternoon study session. This time of day was always your favorite, the sun setting through the window and the tranquility of the place made the environment completely cozy, even if you had to read something grueling.

You were reading the work of a famous criminal law scholar when your peace was interrupted by the soft tapping of fingers on the table in front of you. “Busy?” Heeseung’s unmistakable ironic voice made you take a deep breath, trying not to get irritated by his mocking manner.

One of the rules you strictly follow is that you won’t interact with Lee Heeseung unless it is absolutely necessary. Even though you are a calm and reserved person, the slightest interaction with Heeseung somehow stresses you out.

“Can’t you see I’m obviously studying?” Heeseung felt the vein in his neck throb in irritation and clicked his tongue when he saw how you didn’t even look at his face to answer him.

“Well, I think you need to see this.” he placed the paper in front of your eyes. Reluctantly you placed the book on the table and held the sheet up, looking at the contents of what was there “What is this?” You asked in disbelief as you saw your name paired next to Heeseung’s under a title that said ‘international law project’.

“Are you surprised?” You turned to Heeseung with wide eyes “As you can see, we are partners in Mrs. Jung’s project.” for the first time that day, all of your focus faded in a matter of seconds.

'No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. Me and Lee Heeseung together? In a project?'

“What do you mean? How the hell did this happen?” Heeseung took the liberty of sitting next to you. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair “I don’t know either. Earlier I was leaving an extracurricular activity when Jay called me to look at the bulletin board because the pairings for the new project in the international law class had been announced.”

You stopped for a moment and began to remember that in the last international law class, Mrs. Jung had said that there would be a new project for that semester and that she didn't like to draw pairs, so she would choose the pairs herself.

And with the immense luck you had, she decided that the partner who would suit you best would be Lee Heeseung, out of the entire class.

“When I got close to the mural, Jay was staring at me with a hilarious face.” Heeseung gave a clearly frustrated sigh as he ran his hand over his face “I just didn’t expect it to be because of this.”

“This has to be a mistake.” It couldn’t be true. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Unfortunately, it’s true, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Your eyebrows furrowed at Heeseung, who seemed too resigned for your liking “I’m not going to do this project with you, I– we have to talk to the teacher.”

Heeseung gave you a wry laugh “You can try talking to her, but it won’t work.” he picked up the paper from the table and analyzed the names again as if to confirm that it was real “The seniors already told me that Mrs. Jung is strict and doesn’t make exceptions. She never changes her plan.”

Your stomach began to feel heavy with the anxiety that was building up. You also heard these rumors from a senior who had given you tips about the worst teachers she had to deal with.

“I don’t care, I’ll talk to her.”

“Do whatever you want, I warned you.” Heeseung gave you one last pitiful look and got up from his chair “Are you going to leave like that? We need to talk about this.” he looked at you and shrugged his shoulders putting his hands in his coat pockets “The teacher isn’t here right now, we’ll look into this tomorrow.”

If there was something about Heeseung that really stressed you out, it was his attitude like he knew everything and had everything under control. As if he was better than everyone else.

“But we need to align what should be said!” You countered and Heeseung sighed, running his thumb and index finger over his furrowed eyebrows “God, you’re so annoying.”

Your breath stopped for a moment. How could Lee Heeseung have the audacity to call you annoying? Him of all people? The most insufferable person of all?

“What did you say?!” You stood up from your chair “Say that again!”

He smirked and took a step closer to you “You’re annoying.” Your blood was boiling as his face was just above yours “Everything about you irritates me.”

“Look who’s talking.” You scoffed and pointed at Heeseung with your index finger “You’re completely unbearable and you want to talk about me?”

Heeseung's jaw clenched, and you smirked, seeing how he was also clearly irritated by your response "Heeseung, I'm gonna be honest with you. I think you're just an arrogant prick, and I have no interest in working with you." You gave him a false smile while he frowned.

"Well, I feel the same." he said through gritted teeth and walked away "We'll sort this out tomorrow."

"Great." You took the paper and put it inside your book and closed it. Your desire to study had completely disappeared, and now you needed to think about how to talk to Mrs. Jung, because no way in hell you are going to pair up with Heeseung.

No way.

☆

The international law class was lasting longer than usual that Wednesday.

Your legs were shaking as anxiety corroded your entire body. Heeseung looked calm, his head resting on his right hand as he sat a few chairs in front of you. He had no idea of the storm that was happening inside you.

You had to convince the teacher that she needed to choose another partner for you. Anyone would do, even the slowest human being you could handle, except Lee Heeseung. Not him. Doing a project with him would be extremely stressful. You even felt a pang in your head when you imagined the stupid arguments you would have over simple things.

The truth is that initially you didn't care much for Heeseung, but you started to notice that since the beginning of college he did everything he could to talk back to you. He could never agree with you 100%, no matter the topic. So over time you started to nurture these feelings of rivalry and irritation towards him.

It was unbearable how he acted as if he was better than you and tried to prove it at all costs. That's why you made the decision to never let him surpass you, even in simple college activities. You would beat Lee Heeseung, even if it cost you a few more hours of studying.

However, now with this shared project this would certainly be a problem.

When class ended and the students left one by one, Heeseung calmly put his materials in his bag, as if he knew that his stoicism would irritate you. Mrs. Jung was sitting in her chair as she finished organizing some papers when you slowly approached.

“Uh, excuse me, Mrs. Jung. Can I have a few words with you?” Your soft voice drew the teacher’s attention away from her papers, who smiled back at you “Oh, miss Park, of course. How can I help you?”

You bit your lower lip hesitantly as the teacher looked at you carefully “It’s about the recent international law project; I saw that it’s going to be in pairs.” the teacher’s smile widened “Yes, I think it will be a great project for you.” she stood up from her chair holding the sheets “Is there a problem?”

“Actually, there is.” You were hoping internally that your nervousness wouldn’t show too much “I noticed that you chose Heeseung to be my partner, but since we’re not very close, I don’t think it’ll work out.” the teacher’s eyes seemed attentive to you “Then I’d like to ask about the possibility of changing partners.”

Mrs. Jung gave you a small sigh before offering you a gentle smile “Unfortunately, that won’t be possible, miss Park. Since I’ve already separated all the pairs, they’ve already started their research. Besides, it would be problematic to disrupt this entire system because of a request.” You started to feel despair set in your bones “I understand, Mrs. Jung, but it really will be difficult to work with Hees–”

“Miss Park, I chose Heeseung to be your partner because I think you two would be a great pair.” she interrupted you, leaving you speechless “What do you mean?”

The teacher seemed to think for a moment “I think you are a good match. You bring out the best in each other, and I think you will do a fabulous job with this research.”

Heeseung had arrived at exactly this time and stood frozen beside you.

“But—” You were cut off again by the teacher “The pairings will not be changed and this is final, miss Park. Okay?”

“Alright… Thank you for listening to me, Mrs. Jung.” she smiled before grabbing her bag “You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with.”

Heeseung watched you from the corner of his eye as the teacher left first. You were paralyzed as if a lightning had struck you.

“I told you she wouldn’t change her mind.” he broke the silence and you grimaced in pain.

“Oh, shut up.” You left first trying to accept the idea that you would have to put up with Heeseung as your partner for the rest of the semester.

Heeseung was having an internal debate as he waited for class to end. He didn't know whether he should talk to you and decide to start this research right away or wait for you to say something.

He had sat a few chairs behind you and saw how focused you seemed in class. For the first time this semester, he couldn't pay attention to what was being taught. How was he going to work with the girl he couldn't stand? And worse: for an entire semester? Not even in his worst dreams did he imagine something like this would happen.

As he pondered what to do, Jake glared at him with the corner of his eye “Dude, you’re making a scary face.”

Heeseung looked away and ran his hand through his dark hair “Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Distracted?” Jake smirked “You looked like a creepy staring at her.” Heeseung sighed “I have to do the international law project with her.”

Jake put his hand over his mouth to contain the laugh that was threatening to escape “Oh man, you’re screwed.”

“I know.” Heeseung leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself “I need to talk to her.”

“Good luck.” Jake gave him a side smile and shook his head as Heeseung remained with his eyes closed.

When class ended, Heeseung gathered all the courage he had and walked towards you. You also looked haggard. Although your clothes were perfect and your hair was as shiny as ever, the circles under your eyes showed your tiredness as you put your materials in your bag.

A small smile began to form on Heeseung’s face, but he held it back. He couldn’t laugh at your face when he knew that he also had to accept the reality that you would have to put up with each other for the next few months.

“Hey.” that was all Heeseung could say as he watched you approach him “Hi.” Your dry response made the atmosphere heavy.

“I need your phone number to schedule the meetings about our project.” he was trying to be civil, no one could complain about that.

You sighed, showing your clear lack of interest in any conversation with him “Okay.”

Heeseung was really holding back his sharp mouth, but you weren't making it easy.

The way your hand handed your phone while you looked away irritated Heeseung deeply “Do you always have to be this petty?”

“What?” You asked confused as he finished putting his number into your phone “Can’t you interact for 5 minutes without being petty? Is it that hard?”

In your mind you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Lee Heeseung wanting to lecture you about pettiness?

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who can’t go 5 minutes without criticizing anything I do.” Heeseung bit his lower lip, trying to hold his tongue. He was already upset, and you weren’t helping.

“Probably because you don’t make it easier?” he sighed and ran his fingertips over his temples, trying to regain his former calm state “You know what, forget about it. Have you saved my number?” his patience was running out, and so was yours.

“Yes, unfortunately.” You whispered the last part, which didn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung.

“See you after class.” he put his phone in his pocket and his backpack on his right shoulder.

You just nodded and left first.

'Yeah, this is really going to be difficult.' Heeseung thought before leaving the room with his mind messed up by the simple interaction you two had.

☆

The library was relatively crowded, but since you previously arranged with Heeseung, you managed to arrive together at the same time.

“Well, look at that. Lee Heeseung isn’t late, I'm surprised.” You teased as you sat down and took your laptop out of your bag.

“Tsk.” Heeseung clicked his tongue as he placed his notebooks on the table “Of course. The sooner we start, the sooner I can leave.” he replied, thinking about how he wanted this torture to end once and for all.

“Finally you said something I agree with.” You retorted as you opened a blank Word document and began sorting through your materials.

Heeseung had already noticed that you liked everything organized. Your materials were always organized in the same way: pens, laptop and a notebook lined up.

“Well, do you have any ideas or suggestions on what we can do?” Heeseung was a little surprised by your question, after all, he expected you to decide everything at once and create a big fight if he disagreed.

“I think this subject is too extensive, we can’t do a generic theme.” You nodded as you stared at the laptop screen “That makes sense. I think we should dive deeper into some specific subjects.”

“I usually research and read about the subject superficially before diving into complicated concepts.” Heeseung showed the sheet of paper from his notebook that had some sketches of past summaries he had done in other subjects.

“International law is a pain because if we read about everything, we’ll waste a lot of time.” You commented, scratching your head, feeling frustrated “Let’s choose some subjects we like and see which ones are the best.”

“Fine.” Heeseung just wanted to get it over with.

For the next 10 minutes you were in complete silence. As if it was a silent mutual agreement that you would only speak if it was absolutely necessary.

Interestingly, the discomfort was bearable. Was it strange that you were sitting side by side without saying anything? Yes, but at least when you didn't say anything, you didn't fight, and that was enough for the moment.

“These are my suggestions.” You looked at the list Heeseung had made, but one suggestion in particular caught your eye.

“Post-war law?” You tilted your head to the side “It’s too generic and complicated, we need to think about it.” Heeseung sighed “How can this be too generic? It’s literally about the law after wars.”

You mockingly laughed “Exactly. What kind of wars are you talking about? Because we can’t talk about every war in existence.” Heeseung felt a stab of anger in his head.

“So, what are your suggestions, genius?” Heeseung’s pejorative tone wasn’t enough to make you lose your patience, so you turned the laptop screen to show your contribution.

“We can talk about certain differences in the legal system in some countries and filter out only the most interesting ones.” Heeseung snorted and pointed at your laptop screen “That’s as generic as my suggestion!”

“Of course not!” clearly the discussion would not end there “We can only choose a few countries.”

“And we could talk about a few wars, for example the most famous ones? Like World War I or World War II?” his ironic tone gave you the creeps, in a bad way.

“It’s still a very simple theme, we should do something more elaborated.” You turned your laptop screen towards you and Heeseung took a deep breath.

“And isn’t your topic simple?” he approached you and looked into your eyes “You just want to do what’s convenient for you, as always.”

“What do you mean by that?” The tone of your voice clearly showed that you were now very mad. How could Heeseung make a single task so difficult?

“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand.” he whispered, clearly irritated.

Another 10 minutes of complete silence. Neither you nor Heeseung wanted to say anything else. It was clear that this would be a difficult task, but you tried to be rational and calm down.

What was at stake here was your grade, your academic record, and your future. You couldn't let Heeseung be an obstacle in your path.

“Look, let’s get one thing straight.” You turned to Heeseung who gave you a lazy look “It’s clear we don’t like each other.”

“Hm.” Heeseung nodded and waved his hands in the air as if he wanted you to get to the point quickly.

“But I don’t care about that. What I really care about is my grades, so if I have to do this damn project with you, I’ll do it.” Heeseung kept looking at you, waiting for you to finish “So, if you put your childishness aside for a moment and really help me, we’ll be able to finish this today.”

You were clearly nervous and out of patience.

“Then, can you please cooperate with me?” Heeseung somehow felt a bit remorseful, thinking that perhaps he had overreacted with the way you seemed to beg for the two of you to end this quickly.

“Okay, we clearly can’t reach a consensus, so let’s use another method.” he pulled his chair closer to you “What are you doing?”

“What do you like?” his bright, dark eyes stared into yours with intensity “What are you most comfortable with in international law?”

“I like the criminal part.” You whispered a little shyly as he got closer to you “Good.” Heeseung began to write in his notebook “I like the human rights part, especially the Post-World War II issue.”

You watched as he outlined the topics you both liked.

“Let’s research these themes and at the next meeting we’ll decide what to do.” he said and leaned back in his chair, looking at you.

“Okay. This might work.” You nodded, thinking it might be a good idea.

“It’ll work.” There it was. The tone of absolute certainty in Heeseung’s voice that usually irritated you, but this time you were satisfied that you had managed to reach a consensus.

“Okay, I’ll start now.” You stood up and headed towards some books in the international law section of the library, while Heeseung decided to research on the internet.

The rest of the meeting you were silent, researching the topics, but this time it wasn't awkward or heavy. You were just two students focusing on what you needed to do.

And that was enough for now.

“So, how is your international law project going?” Jay brought up the topic while he, Jake, and Heeseung were gathered in the campus cafeteria.

“Don’t remind me of that.” he sighed as he sipped on a soda “We managed to have a fight before the first meeting.”

“Damn, you guys are too complicated.” Jake commented with a smile “Luckily my partner on the project is Jay.” he fist bumped Jay.

“You guys are lucky. We’re trying to be civil, but sometimes it’s unavoidable not to get angry.” Jay narrowed his eyes as he studied his friend trying to understand why Heeseung seemed so reactive to you “You guys should see the way she acts. It’s like she does this on purpose to irritate me!”

“Can you believe the Mrs. Jung said she put us together because she thought we were a good match?” Heeseung gave a wry smile while Jake and Jay looked at each other with a knowing look and mocking smiles “She said I brought out the best in her, some shit like that.”

“Well, I somewhat agree.” Jay countered Heeseung “Since you two started interacting, you’ve become more dedicated to your studies.”

“Real, brother. You worry more about her than yourself when exam week comes.” Jake blurted out, and Jay laughed, making Heeseung stunned by his friend's confession.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Heeseung sighed “I don’t care about her. I just like being the best in the class! That’s all.”

Jay smirked and put his arm around his friend's shoulder “Sure, sure… but you can't deny she's hot.”

Heeseung stood frozen in place at what Jay had said. He wasn't blind, he knew you were a beautiful woman, but that didn't change the fact that you were annoying to him.

“None of that changes the fact that she’s annoying.” Heeseung looked away as Jake and Jay chuckled.

“In my opinion, I think you lowkey admire her, but you can’t admit it and that’s why you act like that.” Jake teased Heeseung who was stunned “Just admit you’re into her man, it’s okay.” Jay said and Jake snickered “Huh? You guys are crazy.” he got up from his chair and decided to leave while Jay and Jake laughed.

“C'mon Heeseung! Don't run away like that!” Jake and Jay stood up and decided to follow him while Heeseung went ahead.

So what if you were pretty and attractive? That didn't change anything.

You were still the rich girl he couldn't stand.

☆

After a few days of research, you and Heeseung decided to have a meeting to decide on the final theme for your project.

It was already 16:24 in the afternoon and he still hadn't arrived, which was strange because Heeseung was always on time. Being late for more than 20 minutes wasn't like him.

Before you could text him, Heeseung hurried into the library. He was more casual than ever, wearing a dark gray sweater and a beanie, and you noticed that he was pale with slightly red cheeks and nose.

“Sorry for the delay, something’s got in the way.” he sounded haggard and strangely tired. His voice was hoarser than usual and you could tell he wasn’t doing very well.

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly. Even though he was annoying, he clearly didn’t look okay “If you’re not okay, we can postpone it and–”

“I'm fine.” he cut you off in a harsh tone “Let's get this over with.” You stared at him in disbelief at the way he was acting.

“Wow.” You spoke ironically and didn’t hold back “Heeseung, what the hell is wrong with you?”

He closed his eyes temporarily, trying not to say anything. As if any noise would hurt like hell inside his head.

“I was just worried because you’re clearly not okay. If you want to be a jerk, then you can be by yourself.” You got up from the chair trying to leave and Heeseung grabbed your wrist “Let go of me.” You looked at his hand around your wrist and felt tortured by how soft and large his hand was compared to yours.

“I’m sorry.” Heeseung opened his eyes slightly and looked at you in a way that you swore you almost saw some kind of affection “Don’t go, please.”

You swallowed hard and sat back down on the chair, seeing how regretful Heeseung looked. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just…” he sighed as if he didn’t want to admit his weakness “The truth is, I caught a cold and I’m not feeling very well, but I didn’t want to postpone our meeting.”

“Heeseung, you’re sick! We can do this in a few days, we still have time.” You looked at Heeseung with pity, who coughed a little “You need to recover, come on.”

He let go of your wrist, turning his gaze to you, who stood up again “But what about choosing the theme for our project?” he clearly seemed worried about the project, and you sighed.

“You’re not in a position to study, you need to prioritize your health.” Heeseung watched you grab your bag “We’ll decide that after you recover.”

Heeseung just nodded. At that moment he didn't want to argue or study, he just wanted his bed and sleep for the next 10 hours straight.

“Come on, I’ll accompany you.” You waited for Heeseung to leave first and followed him, after all, how could you trust a guy who was clearly sick.

Before he could leave campus, you bought a warm drink from a vending machine that was right next to the door.

“Here.” You handed the can to Heeseung “It’s good for you, it’s orange juice so it must have vitamin C.”

“Okay, thanks mom.” he replied and your eyes widened at his audacity “Hey!”

“I was joking, silly.” Heeseung gave you a smirk that disconcerted you.

It was the first time he had ever genuinely smiled at you. It wasn't a mocking smile or a fake smile after he said the most passive-aggressive thing possible. He was actually giving you a genuine, real smile.

And you definitely didn't want to admit that he had a very beautiful smile.

“Well, uh… anyways, take your medicine and recover. We’ll reschedule the meeting.” he looked down at the hot drink and gave you another smile before looking back at you. “Okay, see you later.” He – shockingly – kindly said “Thank you.” his gaze was fixed on yours, and for some reason, it made you feel embarrassed.

“It’s nothing.” You looked away “See you later.”

He gave you one last smile before leaving first. As you watched him walk away you began to wonder what kind of man Lee Heeseung was, who insisted on going to your meeting even though he was sick.

☆

You were choosing a movie to watch with Gaeul when your phone vibrated. Gaeul was putting the freshly popped popcorn in the bowl when you saw on your phone that surprisingly Heeseung had texted you.

[Lee Heestupid] — Hey

[Lee Heestupid] — Just wanted to say thank you for the orange juice.

21:46 pm

You smiled a little, seeing that he had the courage to send you a message about something that isn’t your project.

[You] — It's nothing. Are you feeling better?

21:48 pm

[Lee Heestupid] — Yeah, I'm way better now.

[Lee Heestupid] — If you're free, let's meet tomorrow for our project.

21:51 pm

[You] — Sure, it works for me.

21:52 pm

[Lee Heestupid] — Great

[Lee Heestupid] — See you then

21:53pm

[You] — See you.

21:53pm

“Who are you talking to?” Gaeul asked suspiciously as she approached your couch “I was just rescheduling the project meeting with Heeseung.” You locked your phone and tapped the fabric of the couch next to you indicating that you wanted her to sit there.

She stopped in her tracks and gave you a mischievous smile, looking at you. “I can’t believe you were smiling like that while you were texting Heeseung.” You rolled your eyes at Gaeul's suggestive tone “What do you mean? I was normal.” You looked away to the TV “Nuh-uh.” She was clearly enjoying the whole thing “I think you’re starting to like him after all this time.”

“Girl, you’re crazy.” You sighed thinking about Gaeul’s fertile mind and she sat next to you hugging your arm “Come on, admit that you changed your conception of him. Even if it’s just a little.”

You paused for a moment and thought “He’s still insufferable, but this time he was polite.” Gaeul chuckled, taking a handful of popcorn. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

“Babe, let’s just watch the movie.” You changed the subject and Gaeul was laughing beside you “Okaaaay.”

☆

As much as you didn't want to admit it, the atmosphere between you and Heeseung had certainly changed a bit. It was noticeable that although his thoughtless sarcasm hadn't changed, you two fought less about your project. Heeseung's posture was still as confident as ever, but a part of you had gotten used to this eccentric trait of his. Maybe he was naturally like this in any area of his life, or maybe he was forced to be like this.

“While I was recovering, I thought about how to combine our interests in our project.” Heeseung looked much better. His face had a healthy glow, his lips were pinker and, curiously, you noticed how his nose was perfectly shaped. Did he always have this insane profile?

“What’s your suggestion?” You asked, adjusting your seat, trying to dispel the strange thoughts that were distracting you “We can talk about criminal accountability and the evolution of post-war human rights within international law.”

You thought for a moment “That might work.” The smile that formed on your face didn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung who was taken aback “It’s just going to be harder than expected, since it’s a topic that we’re going to have to delve into in depth so we can’t leave any gaps.”

“I accept the challenge.” He smirked while looking into your eyes “And what about you? Are you scared?” You rolled your eyes, seeing how he never misses an opportunity to tease you.

“Of course not.” You snorted “You know I never run away from a challenge. After all, I’m the best in the class.” Heeseung’s eyebrow twitched slightly at your insinuation “Actually, we’re tied and you know it.”

“Fine, maybe you’re right.” You sighed “But it doesn’t change the fact that we’ll have to work hard with this topic.” Heeseung gave an airy laugh through his nose seeing how excited you were “Indeed, but at least we were able to officially set the theme of our project.”

“Now we need to define the next steps.” You stretched your arms and Heeseung couldn’t help but see part of your waist when your shirt rose slightly “I guess that’s a good idea, because we also have to study for that civil law presentation in three weeks.” He looked away to the screen of his laptop.

You widened your eyes and turned to Heeseung “Oh my God, I thought it would be in a month!” Opening your tablet's calendar you came across the date marked on a Tuesday in three weeks “I was so worried about our project that I lost track of time.”

“You're welcome.” Heeseung said without looking at you as he researched the subjects he needed to study for your project “It seems like I’m taking up too much of your mind for you to forget a presentation.” He snickered and you grimaced.

“Ugh, you wish.” You sighed as you typed on your laptop causing Heeseung to give you an enigmatic smile.

Yeah. As you thought, Lee Heeseung was still a pain in the ass.

Miraculously, after weeks of not going out, Heeseung was at a party. Contrary to what many people think, Heeseung doesn't go out to many parties. Since he has a scholarship to take care of, his main focus is on studying. However, when he has some free time, he allows himself the luxury of enjoying some kind of fun.

Today was no different as Jake managed to convince him that he needed to clear his head after being sick.

Since part of the international law project was well underway and he had made progress on his civil law assignment, he allowed himself to relax for a few hours at that random party on a Friday. Jake and Jay seemed more lively, taking advantage of the opportunity to play beer pong with boys from other courses.

Heeseung had been drinking for a while now, but nothing seemed very interesting. The music was great, but he was still feeling tired from working twice as hard during the week, so he decided to sit on an old couch that was empty. As he slowly drank, he began to analyze his surroundings, and noticed that he was surrounded by couples or people who were there with the aim of flirting and hooking up with someone.

Personally, Heeseung didn't have many girlfriends. He had gone on a few dates, talked to a few girls, and even had a serious girlfriend for a year and a few months during high school, but nothing had lasted that long. Life hadn't been easy for Heeseung's family, so all he could think about was how he needed to help out at home with the money from tiring part-time jobs and how to pay for his upcoming college expenses.

Love was a distant topic for Heeseung.

Most of the time he was worried about his future and the reality he wanted to improve. That's why love and relationships were foreign subjects on his mind. Jake used to say that he needed to relax a bit and at least try to meet someone during college, but he was too busy.

Too busy studying, working and self-improving but mainly busy thinking about you.

The amount of times you wandered through his mind seemed unhealthy. It was as if you were always there unconsciously, terrorizing the corners of Heeseung's mind. Like a presence he couldn't get rid of, like you were a sticker glued in the album of his thoughts.

He always swore he didn't care much about your appearance, but his breath caught for a moment when from afar he saw you with a short black skirt and a brown turtleneck blouse clinging to your torso. Heeseung felt his body sober up in an instant and he leaned over his knees so he could confirm his suspicion.

That shiny hair and that unique smile were unmistakable in his eyes. Yes, it was you.

Heeseung swallowed hard and felt strange for not being able to take his eyes off you. “Sure, sure… but you can't deny she's hot.” Jay's sentence from that day kept echoing in Heeseung's mind as he tried to convince himself that this was no big deal.

You've always been beautiful. No, you're always impeccable. As if you never had a bad day, you're always well-tied up, wearing a sweet perfume, unbeatable, gorgeous... stunning. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. In a way, your determination to always show your best version is impressive, especially in the world of law where Heeseung knows how much appearances matter.

But he never really stopped to look at you. Heeseung’s judgment was always clouded by his anger at what you represented. At the spoiled, privileged girl who would never experience what it was like to suffer from not having enough money for leisure or having every penny counted to pay the bills.

Your existence was almost an affront to him—even though you had never done anything to him.

But even though he knew all of this. Even though he had convinced himself that you were his rival, his eyes couldn't take their eyes off your figure. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, or the fatigue, but your legs seemed even more toned under the dark blue light of the place.

He swallowed hard, seeing how your eyes seemed to sparkle as you talked to a girl beside you that he assumed it was your best friend. Have you always had an outfit that adorned your waist flawlessly like that?

'It's okay, I can admire a beautiful woman.' Heeseung argued in his own mind as if he needed to justify himself for the thoughts he was having at that moment.

Thoughts of how hauntingly attractive you are.

Heeseung bent the cup he was holding a little from squeezing it so hard and ran his hand over his face. He was wondering if he should talk to you or just let it go. Even if he decided to go to you, what would he say? 'Hi, good to see you project partner.'? Absolutely not. That would be too pathetic of him.

After a few seconds of struggling, he decided to stay still. It could have been really awkward if he tried to say something out of the blue. Besides, you were with your friend, so he decided he wouldn't bother you.

However, as if life was playing tricks on Heeseung, he saw a weird man approaching you. A guy he had seen before at the party, and who was clearly not feeling well after drinking way past his limits. From afar Heeseung watched with his eyes as the clueless guy approached and tried to say something to you, which showed instant discomfort.

When the guy dared to touch your shoulder, Heeseung stood up at the same time, feeling his blood boil. You had a frown on your face and were obviously saying no. Even with the loud music, he could tell that you weren't enjoying that approach by the gestures you were making as you got away from the guy.

As he couldn't contain himself, Heeseung stomped towards him and pushed the guy back hard with his forearm. In a single movement he hugged your waist and pulled you towards him, slamming your back into his chest.

“Hey! Are you stupid? She said no!” Heeseung spoke harshly and you turned your face to him, shocked by the situation “Get the hell out of here, son of a bitch!”

“Ahh shi–” before the guy could finish his sentence Heeseung pushed him hard and the guy staggered back while cursing some swear words. The people around started staring at the guy who was clearly drunk and out of his mind.

“Let’s get out of here.” He whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You just nodded and turned around with Heeseung as the other guy walked away aimlessly, bumping into other people.

As Heeseung led you through the crowd, your heart was racing. In less than 10 minutes of partying, Gaeul had gone to the bathroom, a drunk man disturbed you, Heeseung had saved you and now had his arm behind your back and his right hand firmly gripped on your waist while the other made room for you to pass.

It was almost like a scene from a movie where the security guard makes room for the protagonist to pass without touching anyone.

Your mind was spiraling when you arrived at the backyard near the kitchen that didn't have many people and had a bench for you to sit on. Heeseung let go of you and closed the kitchen door behind him seeing how shocked you looked at everything that happened.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung’s gentle tone made you finally look at him that night.

Your breath hitched and your mouth hung open seeing that he was wearing a white tank top showing his collarbone, a silver chain over it, an open dark gray jacket and dark jeans.

“Yes...” You felt your cheeks heat up as you noticed how his intense dark eyes didn’t look away from yours “Thank you, Heeseung.” You shyly mumbled feeling your stomach stir as he sighed, running his hand through his hair which was slightly messy, showing a bit of his forehead.

Even if you wanted to deny it, it would be an obvious lie, because clearly Lee Heeseung was so hot that you were at a loss for words.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can get you a water or something.” He looked genuinely concerned and didn't know what to do to make you feel better, but you smiled gently. “It’s okay, really.” You sighed in relief “You really helped me out back there. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, as a man it’s what I should do.” He sat down next to you “That guy is an idiot; I should’ve kicked his ass.” You laughed and propped your face on the back of your hand looking at Heeseung “It would have been great entertainment, but you don’t need to harm yourself because of a drunk idiot.”

Heeseung allowed himself to relax after what happened “I guess you’re right… but what really matters is that you’re okay.”

“I am, thanks to you who saved me.” Heeseung gave an almost imperceptible smile, slightly embarrassed by the tone of your voice, but he calmed down when he saw how you looked fine and out of danger. You continued to observe Heeseung's face thinking how curious it was how different he looked when he genuinely smiled.

Heeseung's smile is splendid, like the perfect complement to his handsome profile.

He turned to you and suddenly you felt aware of his gaze.

“To be honest, I was surprised to see you here.” Heeseung confessed “I don’t remember seeing you at the parties I went to.”

He noticed how you gave a weak smile and looked up at the starry sky “It’s because I’ve only been to a few parties since I came to college.”

“Because of studies?” He asked and you nodded “That’s all I care about honestly.”

He gave an empathetic side smile “I know how it is… I can’t fail my grades.”

“You gotta be on top of the class, don’t you?” You teased him with your sarcastic tone and he rolled his eyes smiling “It’s not just that.”

“So, what’s the reason?” You turned and asked him, feeling curious, as he looked at you for a few brief seconds.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment as he didn't know what your stance would be towards his answer, but a part of him wanted to be honest.

“It’s because I need to keep my scholarship.” He confessed and looked at you hesitantly, expecting some kind of exaggerated reaction. Maybe a joke, disdain or humiliation, but he was surprised by your bright face.

“A scholarship?! Wow, that’s impressive!” You were surprised and your face showed it “I had no idea you were a scholarship holder, that’s amazing! Only the best students get a scholarship in our course.”

Heeseung was stunned by your reaction. Maybe he had misjudged you for expecting the worst, but your relationship wasn't the best, so he didn't know what to expect.

"I mean, it's not that impressive. I just worked my ass off to get this scholarship, so yeah... I need to keep it.” Heeseung scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn’t know how to react to being praised, especially a compliment coming from you. His rival.

For Heeseung, the feeling of receiving recognition from someone who doesn't like him very much is more real and impactful than anyone else. Especially because you have all the weapons to criticize him, so receiving a praise from you hits different.

“It’s just the truth.” You moved a little closer to Heeseung, adjusting your skirt, making him glance at your smooth thighs “You know, I just realized something.”

Heeseung’s eyes rose and met yours again “What?”

“I think this is the first time we’ve talked about something that doesn’t have to do with our project.” You laughed and he noticed the gloss you were wearing. Your lips were shining in a mesmerizing way.

“You’re right…” He smiled “I mean, you haven’t cursed at me yet, so I say it’s an improvement.”

“Huh?” You dramatically let out a breath of air and pointed at him. “Heeseung, drop the act. You’re the one who always provokes me and starts bickering.”

Without letting go of eye contact, he brought his face closer to yours and you suddenly felt butterflies in your stomach “You’re not innocent either, you’re always teasing me.” He whispered, making you snort and look away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Heeseung laughed and you noticed how warm the sound of his laugh was “Yeah, let’s pretend you don’t know.”

You were surprised. He seemed different that night, as if he wasn't the Heeseung you knew. The rival you felt so much despise for.

Beneath that serene air he looked like just a normal college boy. And you liked that — but you wouldn’t admit it to him.

“I need a drink.” You suddenly commented and he looked at you “Me too.” Heeseung got up from the bench and stood in front of you “Let’s go inside, the party isn’t over yet.”

“I know and Gaeul must be worried about me.” You stood up sighing thinking about how you’ll have to find your best friend in the middle of the crowd.

“Ladies first.” Heeseung opened the kitchen door and made room for you to go in first.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and walked through the door with your arms crossed “Who would have thought… Lee Heeseung is such a gentleman.”

Heeseung smiled and whispered as you stood beside him “There are still many things about me that you don’t know.”

Heeseung's deep voice was like sweet poison that seemed to penetrate your skin with ease. You swallowed hard, feeling your body heat up slightly, and just walked in without saying anything.

Normally you hated losing any kind of argument with Heeseung, but tonight you would let it slide.

As the night unfolded and you entered the venue together again, Gaeul watched the interaction from afar with a satisfied smile on her face.

Heeseung and you together? Without fighting? You guys would definitely talk about it later.

☆

“Okay girl, spill.” Gaeul leaned against the doorway of your room as you changed the sheets on your bed “What the hell happened between you and Heeseung?”

“What do you mean?” You pretended not to understand her insinuation as you finished fluffing the pillows so you could lie down.

“You know what I'm talking about.” Gaeul came in and sat on your bed, looking at you with that look she only did when she wanted to tease you “I saw you and Heeseung interacting at the party.”

“And what about it?” Gaeul sighed at your stubbornness “I thanked him for helping me with a drunk idiot there who tried to hit on me.”

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Your best friend looked at you worriedly and you sat down next to her “It was nothing big. When you went to the bathroom a guy was completely wasted and tried to hit on me, but Heeseung helped me.”

Gaeul put her hands over her mouth in shock and her eyebrows furrowed “Babeee, I didn’t know! I’m sorry I left you alone, I never imagined something like this would happen.” She touched your hand and you smiled.

“It’s okay Gaeul, I’m fine.” You squeezed your best friend’s hand, and she smiled sweetly.

“Sooo, you were saying Heeseung saved you?” She looked at you with a teasing face and you laughed “He helped me, like a good human being, okay?”

“Girl, there’s no point in hiding it. I know something has changed between you two.” She seemed 100% convinced and you just rolled your eyes “You’re very creative Gaeul.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t feel anything different after he saved you.” She approached you, watching you ponder her question for a moment.

In fact, since that event and the brief conversation in the backyard, you started to see Heeseung in a different light. Not to mention how much more attractive he seemed.

��Okay, maybe he’s not that bad.” You confessed and Gaeul’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock.

“Oh. My. God. You totally like Lee Heeseung!!!!” Gaeul stood up excitedly and you made a face “And don’t try to deny it! Your eyes don’t lie! You’re falling for your rival!”

You chuckled and shook your head “Gaeul, I don’t like him, I just think he’s improved as a person… that’s all.”

Before leaving your room, she turned and looked at you with affection and a sweet smile on her lips “Okay, you can keep denying it. But just know that when you are ready to admit your feelings, I’ll be here for you.”

You sighed knowing that Gaeul wouldn't change her mind about this.

But you couldn't help but feel that strange feeling deep in your chest when you remembered how he had held your waist tightly and protected you. The way his eyebrows were furrowed showing the anger he was feeling against that idiot on your behalf. How protective he was at that moment…

His strong hands, along with the bright smile he gave you and how his dark hair seemed to fall perfectly over his forehead.

Okay, you can admit that Lee Heeseung is attractive, but that doesn't mean you like him.

Right?

Heeseung was walking down the halls while Jay was talking about some random basketball topic when he saw your beautiful figure from afar grabbing his attention. You were stunning, as always, but you looked different.

You were smiling as you watched something interesting a boy was showing you on his phone. He recognized the boy as Jungwon, the president of one of the clubs you were a part of. Heeseung couldn't help but feel awkward about the scene. You looked so comfortable and relaxed as you talked to the boy who was undeniably handsome and put together.

A wave of sour feelings flooded Heeseung's chest. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, trying not to make it too obvious how much he was staring at you. Heeseung, who had always had this chill aura, felt insanely bothered when he saw how excited the boy seemed while he was making you smile so easily.

It was nothing special. Even he could make you smile if he wanted to, there was nothing special about this guy.

“Hey man, are you listening?” Jay asked and Heeseung looked away trying to ignore the dissatisfaction bubbling inside him “Sorry, can you repeat?” He ran his hand through his hair and Jay sighed “Dude, if you’re going to be jealous of her, please be more discreet, you look like a creepy staring at her like that.” Heeseung dumbfounded stared at his friend “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m certainly not jealous.”

“Give me a break man, you were practically staring at the girl.” Jay gave a smirk and Heeseung kept walking trying to resist the urge to look back and see your smile one last time “I'm fine. Let's go.” Jay shook his head and continued walking alongside Heeseung who remained silent for the rest of the way.

He wasn't jealous, was he?

☆

Civil Law was fun until you had to do a detailed essay and slides on dispossession in your bedroom on a Wednesday night. It was already past 11pm and you were still halfway through the paper. Your presentation was due next week, and you were still going over the details of the requirements for reinstatement of possession.

Being a perfectionist was a characteristic of yours that hindered you more than it helped you most of the time. You wanted your work to be perfect and meticulous to the point of not leaving any room for questions. The problem was that this cost you precious nights that you could have been having fun and enjoying life like a young university student.

You were stretching your arms when you were surprised by the sound of your phone ringing on the table. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Heeseung's name on the screen. What was he doing? He had never called you before.

'Is this an emergency?' You instantly thought and worriedly answered the phone.

“Hello? Heeseung?” The hesitation in your voice was clear “Hm—” Heeseung’s deep voice and breathing suddenly startled you “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry for calling you so late.”

“It’s okay. Did something happen?” Your heart was suddenly racing, and you couldn’t explain why. His laughter on the other end warmed your ear “No silly, I wanted to talk about our project.” The way his voice sounded deeper over the phone made you swallow hard and cross your legs instinctively.

This was pathetic. How could you feel nervous about a phone conversation? And worst of all — with Heeseung?

“Oh, right.” You gave an awkward chuckle “What is it?” It was like you could feel his smile through his breathing on the phone call.

“I was just thinking… maybe it would be interesting to talk about criminal liability for crimes committed during the Second World War with the creation of the Nuremberg Tribunal.” Heeseung said in a calm and soft voice. As if he was flirting, but you knew that couldn’t be possible. He had no reason to flirt with you “Ah, you mean the International Military Tribunal?”

“Exactly.” Was his voice always this sexy? “I think it would be a good topic, and I know you like the criminal side of things, so it could be interesting for us to address this.” Your stomach turned as you realized that Heeseung had paid attention to what you had said weeks ago and thought of this idea based on your personal taste.

“I think that’s a great idea!” You gave him an excited smile as if he could see it “I think it would be wonderful to include this part.”

“Yeah.” He laughed in a way that made you feel like a little girl interacting with her crush “I’m glad you liked it, we can work on that at our next meeting.”

God, you were hating yourself mentally. How could you let yourself be affected and have impure thoughts while Heeseung was talking about the Nuremberg Tribunal?

“Sure!” Was all you could manage to say before he interrupted you “Speaking of which, are you free in the afternoon on Friday? We can start right away.”

“Wait, I’ll check my schedule.” He laughed at your answer and said playfully “Of course you have a schedule.” You usually can’t stand it when Heeseung answers you sarcastically, but this time it was different. It was like he was teasing you, but not with the intention of irritating you, but just joking with you. “I’m an organized person, of course I’ll schedule my appointments in advance.”

“Alright, Miss Organized. Are you free?” You could hardly believe that you were having a friendly conversation with Heeseung over the phone “Yes, we can schedule it at our usual time.”

“Great, it's a date then.” The way he said it was normal, you know that, but the butterflies that invaded your stomach made you feel like a loser. He wasn't asking you out on a date, it was just the work meeting you always had, but you couldn't stay calm like before.

“Uh– Heeseung can I ask you something?” You gathered the courage to continue the conversation “Sure. What is it?” He seemed curious and you bit your lower lip trying to get the courage to ask what was eating you up inside “Why did you call me? You could have texted me…”

Your anxiety reached its peak when he was silent for about 5 seconds and all you could hear was his breathing “I guess I just wanted to talk to you directly about the subject.” He broke the silence and you let out an ironic chuckle “Woah?! I never thought I would hear those words from Lee Heeseung.” Unbeknownst to you on the other end of the line Heeseung had slightly pink cheeks while he had his hand over his eyes “Seriously, this topic is quite detailed so I wanted to get my point across as easily as possible, and over text it would be a hassle.”

“And why didn’t you Facetimed me?” You argued as you jumped onto your fluffy bed “I can’t.” He replied seriously and you hugged your pillow “Why not?”

Heeseung stopped for a second and laughed through his nose, which you could hear through the phone “Because I’m already in bed and I’m shirtless.” You froze, feeling your cheeks heat up at what he said and blamed yourself for imagining him shirtless calling you in the middle of the night “So… it would be a little complicated for me to have to get up, put on a shirt and turn on the lights just to say that.”

“I see… that makes sense.” You swallowed, feeling like an idiot for not knowing how to react with this bombastic information. Shirtless Lee Heeseung calling you at night is something you never expected to happen to you.

'I hope he doesn't think I'm weird.'

“And you? What are you doing up so late?” He asked and you laughed seeing how you needed to turn off your laptop and organize your materials “I was doing my civil law essay.”

“Yeah, this essay is really tiring. It took me a long time to research my topic, but you’ll finish it soon.” He said with that usual confidence with absolute certainty that you would kill the subject “Well, unfortunately I had the misfortune of getting the subject of dispossession, so it's more complicated than it seems.”

“Damn, dispossession is full of details.” He sighed, feeling his eyes grow heavy “My topic is about inheritance law. Heirs and shit like that.” You laughed, noticing how his voice was getting slightly choked with sleep “Are you sleepy?”

“Hmhum.” He nodded even though he knew you wouldn’t see it “I’m tired, I had a lot of work today.” Your legs were swinging in the air as you listened to Heeseung “Well then, I guess it’s time for you to sleep.”

He laughed and agreed “Yeah, you're right. Good night, Y/N.” His sleepy voice tickled your ear and you smirked “Good night, Heeseung.”

With one click he hung up the call and you buried your face in the pillow, giving a liberating scream after the unexpected call.

'Damn it, Lee Heeseung, what did you do to me?'

☆

Despite your good mood, this civil law essay was taking up a lot of your free time and it was tiring you out. You had been reviewing your paper and making slides for your presentation for 3 hours straight.

The civil law professor was known to be strict and detail-oriented, so you wanted everything to be perfect. As you were finishing your slides to clear your mind, your phone vibrated and you felt your body freeze when you saw that Heeseung had sent you a message.

[Lee Heeseung] — Hey

[Lee Heeseung] — Are you busy?

16:47 pm

Your heart jumped into your throat and with slightly trembling hands you picked up your phone and quickly thought about what to say.

[You] — Kinda.

[You] — Finishing the slides for my Civil Law presentation.

16:48 pm

While you were trying to calm down, Heeseung was already answering you at the speed of light.

[Lee Heeseung] — Oh.

[Lee Heeseung] — Want some help?

16:48 pm

The smile that appeared on your face was automatic. How could such a simple message affect you so much?

[You] — Really?

[You] — I mean, it would be nice if it doesn't bother you though

16:49 pm

[Lee Heeseung] — Yeah, it doesn't bother me.

[Lee Heeseung] — Where are you now?

16:49 pm

You took a deep breath, feeling your stomach churn at the excited feelings that were rising from the tone of his messages.

[You] — I'm at the library rn

16:49 pm

[Lee Heeseung] — Alright

[Lee Heeseung] — I'll be there in a few

16:50 pm

[You] — Okay

16:50 pm

Your hands went straight to the front camera of your phone to see how you looked. You started to despair because you hadn't done a more elaborate makeup that afternoon, but you didn't expect to see Heeseung.

Luckily, you had some blush and a reddish gloss in your bag. You touched up your makeup and checked your teeth for any signs of something between them but smiled in relief when you saw that they were perfect.

You adjusted your posture, your blouse, and ran your hand through the strands of your hair to comb them carefully. After feeling that you were minimally tidy, you tried to focus on your slides before Heeseung arrived.

Within 10 minutes Heeseung was already walking past the library door looking for you. When he found you, your eyes met in a second and he smiled. Your anxiety increased considerably as you watched Heeseung walk towards you. With each step he took, you were afraid that your face would show how anxious you were.

It was insane how Lee Heeseung could look so hot wearing a simple black shirt and dark jeans.

“Hey.” He pulled out the chair next to you and sat down while keeping his gaze on yours “It's been a while.”

“Yeah…” You let out the air you were holding “I've been busy with this essay and presentation.”

“I see.” he smiled and leaned forward "What do you need? I'm here to help you."

You hated yourself for not being able to look at Heeseung for so long, so you looked away to your laptop screen.

“I just need to review a few points.” You showed the summary of what you were going to present and the main points “Everything is ready, so I’m editing the slides now because I feel like I need to improve the design of them.”

Heeseung had spent so long without hearing your voice that he was almost grateful to hear you talk so much, even if it was about a stupid presentation.

“If you want, I can show you what I do on my slides.” He moved his chair closer to yours and looked at you. “Okay.” You nodded and made him comfortable so he could do whatever he wanted.

Heeseung placed his left arm behind your chair and brought his face closer to yours coincidentally as he pulled his laptop closer to him.

You felt your heart race when you smelled Heeseung's perfume. That mixed scent of chamomile shampoo married perfectly with his woody scent. It was a soft, punctual and addictive blend. A perfect masculine scent that caught your attention.

“Do you still use PowerPoint?” He mockingly smiled and you raised an eyebrow at him “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, but I personally think it’s hard to work with.” he opened a website in his browser “Try this site, it has easy designs for quick slides.”

“Okay.” You were trying to focus on what he was saying, but his face was distracting you.

His forehead was more exposed than before. His hair was parted in the middle so you could see how perfectly defined his eyebrows were.

How had you not noticed before how handsome he was?

“Look… you can put these dots in a different font so that they are more readable and don’t clutter the view of the slide.” he leaned in closer and spoke close to your ear, making you swallow hard “See?”

“Yes.” You replied, trying to ignore how much Heeseung’s velvety voice tickled your ear.

“Your slides are excellent, they just need some polishing.” Heeseung’s voice was gentle and he seemed focused on the task at hand. A warm feeling filled your heart at the brief compliment he gave you.

“I just want to get this over with.” You sighed “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” Heeseung chuckled and looked at you “You’ll be fine.” Your gaze met his and his eyes gently fixed on your mouth.

Crazy thoughts ran through his mind as he roamed his gaze over your mouth and eyes.

“Thank you for helping me.” You whispered and Heeseung smirked “Of course. I'm your partner after all.”

He looked away from your laptop screen, trying to control himself. You both were in a public space, but he was there to help you, so he would control himself for now.

“What else do you need?” He asked looking at the rest of his slides “I'm all yours today.”

You bit your lips trying not to smile too much at the way he said it.

“We can move forward with our project after I finish my slides.” You suggested and he glanced at you with an amused face “If you have time, of course.”

“Sure.” he smiled and scratched the back of his neck “I have all the time in the world.”

You smiled and decided that it would be perfect to work in something with Heeseung on that peaceful afternoon.

And suddenly you realized that Heeseung's presence had become comfortable to you.

☆

The day was cloudy, with an atmosphere that made you feel lazy and do not want to study at all. However, contrary to the statistics, you were dressed up with your hair brushed, a light pink button-up blouse, a gray ruffled skirt and lots of perfume.

You knew you were dressing up more than usual for a simple work date with Heeseung, but you couldn't help it.

It was as if your body moved on its own when it came to seeing Heeseung.

Without you realizing it, your personal opinion of him gradually changed. Lee Heeseung was extremely complex. At first, he seemed like a jerk who did everything he could to irritate you, but suddenly he showed a different side with his actions. He could actually be an interesting and nice guy when he talked to you like a normal human being and didn't argue for no reason.

He was smart too. Not that you didn't know that before, but the way he was punctual, organized and focused on what he wanted was your type. You couldn't stand people who didn't keep their commitments, and surprisingly Heeseung never missed a meeting you made — to the point of him going to one of your meetings even when he was sick.

It was impossible to ignore the signs that yes, Lee Heeseung could be a nice guy, but that you couldn't see it because you couldn't stand each other for some inexplicable reason.

However, you knew it wasn’t totally your fault for your previously bad relationship. You started to feel a bit resentful ever since he started picking on you. Your theory was that maybe he felt threatened by your academic performance, or maybe there was something more to it. After all, he was now keen to work well with you and didn't care if you also got top marks.

Maybe you misjudged him, or you spent too much time not liking each other for such superficial reasons that you didn't give yourself a chance to get to know each other better.

In any case, you had already come to the conclusion that despite your differences, you had finally managed to understand each other — to the point where you began to feel an undeniable and overwhelming attraction to him.

As you looked at your reflection in the mirror you felt slightly embarrassed. Deep down, it was embarrassing to admit that you were feeling so shaken by Heeseung, the guy you swore you couldn't stand, but so many things had happened that you couldn't deny your forbidden feelings.

And you had already decided that this would stay in your mind and that was fine. It was okay to feel a slight attraction to a man, even if that man was Lee Heeseung.

The difficult part was not showing what you felt when he seemed to be staring at you so deeply whenever you were together. Or when he smiled in a way that made your legs feel weak.

You grabbed your things and left the apartment, trying to distract your mind from those deep thoughts. Today would be a good day, especially since your work was progressing nicely and it was one less thing to worry about.

On your way to the library you decided to buy some juice from a vending machine and came across Heeseung in front of the machine. Suddenly you felt a strange chill in your stomach and tried to give a soft smile to him — one that didn't look forced.

Heeseung turned around and saw you approaching. He looked up and down before giving a smirk that warmed your body. “Hey, came to buy a drink too?” Heeseung kept looking at you intently as he grabbed his soda.

“Yeah, I think we had the same idea.” You awkwardly laughed as he pulled away slightly, grabbing a juice as well “You can't kick your soda addiction, huh?”

“You know caffeine is a must before studying.” He laughingly replied as he opened the can and handed you the orange juice you liked the most “For you.”

Automatically your eyes opened in surprise and you felt your heart warm at Heeseung's sudden action. “What?! Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I can buy some juice for my project partner.” You took the juice feeling your cheeks warm by his action “Thank you…” you replied giving a small smile that didn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung.

“So, are you done with your civil law essay?” he asked, leading the way to the library. His company was no longer strange, and you had to admit that you were really enjoying talking and spending time with him.

“Yeah, but I struggled to finish it all. I was tired of reading about property invasion.” Heeseung laughed and took a sip of his soda “I know how it is. I’ve read so many cases about wills that I don’t want to hear about it any time soon.”

As Heeseung told you about an interesting story he had seen on social media, you analyzed his profile. The way he smiled without realizing it when he told you something he was interested in made you lose focus on the subject.

The way his lips moved was as if they were inviting you. They looked silky, soft and shiny. You barely realized you were staring when he turned slightly to look at you and smiled, waiting for you to answer what he asked. “Sorry, what did you say?” he sighed and smiled ironically “You weren’t listening to me, were you?” You felt your face burn with embarrassment “Sorry, I got distracted for a moment.”

“Damn, what’s so important that made you distracted like that?” He teased you and you gave him an awkward smile.

'Your lips'

“Nothing much, just worried about some things.” Heeseung narrowed his eyes, analyzing you. He knew it was nothing like that, but he wasn’t going to pressure you to talk.

“Okay…” He took one last sip of his soda before throwing it in the trash. From afar, the library door was wide open, revealing that on that afternoon, the flow of students was way bigger than on other days.

When you finally entered the library and found the place completely packed, you felt defeated. There were practically no free tables for you to work at.

“What the hell? Why is the library so crowded?” You whispered and Heeseung scratched the back of his neck “I have no idea, maybe it’s because of upcoming exams?”

You tried to think about something, but nothing came to mind. “Well, I think it’s going to be impossible for us to do our work here.” You said seeing how there was no free space and Heeseung sighed trying to think of a solution.

“What are we going to do now?” You asked, turning to Heeseung, waiting for some suggestion.

Suddenly an idea popped into Heeseung's mind, but it was a dangerous idea and he didn't know if you would accept it.

You bit your lower lip, feeling anxiety hit you with the thoughts that were coming into your mind as you saw how deeply he seemed to be thinking. “I have an idea.” You noticed his cautious tone, as if he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

“What is it?” He turned to face you fully and you noticed how tall he was. Your insides were churning as he tightened his grip on the strap of his black backpack. There were plenty of places near college that you could go to study, but it might be more difficult and complicated.

“We can go to a nearby cafe, or somewhere else that’s quiet, like my room.” You felt the air catch in your throat and he pursed his lips without taking his eyes off your figure “You can choose whatever’s most comfortable for you.”

You bit your lower lip quickly thinking about his suggestion “But we can go somewhere else if you want.” He reinforced the other option, feeling embarrassed by the sudden suggestion he made.

“No, it’s fine.” You replied almost instantly as you ran your hand through your hair “If your room is quiet and has enough space, then it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” He didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything you didn’t want to do, so he decided to ask again to confirm “Yeah… the most important thing right now is going to a quiet place to work.”

“Alright, I’ll show you the way.”

You and Heeseung always spent time together, so being alone in his room wouldn't be a big deal.

That's what you were trying to convince yourselves.

☆

There is nothing as unexpected as feelings. This is a fact that Heeseung knows. He understands that human beings are endowed with emotions, thoughts and decisions. Yes, human beings are complex by nature and it is possible for them to evolve and change their thoughts and beliefs over time.

But even knowing all this, he couldn't understand why you were messing with him so much.

He had already rationally decided that he would not get too involved with you. You would do this project and each of you would go on with your lives as normal. However, lately Heeseung realized that his rationality wasn't connected to the things he felt whenever he saw you.

Suddenly he started to feel strange butterflies in his stomach when you smiled at him. The way you spoke was no longer so annoying and he started to find some of your jokes funny.

And the most worrying part was that he no longer felt stressed at the thought of working with you. A part of him was already used to your presence and not only that — he felt excited at the idea of seeing you.

You who didn't used to talk much before, now are sending articles, posts and messages about work and things related to law. Including funny and random things. Someone from outside would say that you seem like friends. Talking, laughing and being seen walking down the hallway together when you meet from time to time.

He knew he no longer felt the same anger as before, but he didn't understand what kind of relationship you had. You weren't really friends, but there was clearly an inexplicable chemistry between you, a kind of invisible tension that was created whenever your eyes met for a few seconds.

It was obvious that you had changed with him. In Heeseung's old vision, you were rude, inconvenient, and completely annoying.

Now you're nice, kind, and helpful whenever he asks you anything. But what scares Heeseung the most is the undeniable attraction he's feeling for you. He's always considered himself a man of values and respect, but his eyes can't help but wander to the curve of your neck when your hair is loosely tied back.

It was impossible not to notice your torso being hugged perfectly by your pink long-sleeved blouse, the smell of your sweet perfume and your shiny mouth; and ever since the party he couldn't stop thinking about your waist and how it felt between his fingers.

It was becoming mental torture to see your mouth almost every day and think about how soft it must be but not being able to do anything about it. It was scary how he seemed to not think straight when it came to you, but what was even scarier was that you agreed to go study in his room.

Even though he was the one who had suggested studying in his room, the fact that you accepted was surprisingly exciting. Yes, you would study as usual, but this time you would be at his desk and in his environment. It was inevitable not to feel nervous about the situation.

He tried to talk about anything random on the way and you even laughed a few times, but both of you were clearly tense. Maybe you just needed to start studying and this would pass.

Heeseung stopped at the door of his dorm, opening it slightly, feeling aware of your presence there. He entered first and took off his shoes, making room for you to pass. “Come in.”

You smiled and left your shoes at the door, feeling slightly shy as you entered his place “Thank you.”

The place was simple, tidy, and decorated differently than you’d expect. Even though he has an eccentric personality, there wasn’t much decor. Heeseung and his roommate were surprisingly minimalists, except for a few pizza boxes on the kitchen counter that Heeseung picked up to throw in the trash. “Don’t mind the mess, Jake and I had pizza yesterday and we passed out after we ate it.”

You chuckled looking at your surroundings “It’s okay, everyone has those days.”

He gave you a side smile, guiding you to the door of his room. Surprisingly, the dorm was bigger than you expected, seeing as he still managed to have a room just for himself.

“This is my room.” He walked into his room, making space for you to observe everything while he grabbed another chair so you could sit at his table.

“It’s really cool.” You felt like you were entering a forbidden and very exclusive place. You never imagined that you would get the chance to see Lee Heeseung’s room. The decor was peculiar, with a framed basketball player’s jersey on the wall and minimalist posters about sports and music.

Interestingly, he liked rock music. You noticed after seeing that he had a few music CDs together on the table, giving it a sophisticated and personal air. You smiled when you saw that there was a photo of him as a child with his parents on the nightstand next to his bed.

But surprisingly, what shocked you the most was seeing the amount of books he had in the place. Yes, Lee Heeseung really liked reading, and especially doctrines of law from the library.

Obviously, he worked hard to be one of the best on the course along with you, but seeing this reality up close was even more impressive.

His bed was tidy, but the books scattered on top of it gave the final touch to what truly meant to be in Heeseung's environment.

“You have a lot of books.” You commented when you saw Heeseung placing the other chair next to his at the table and he mischievously smiled “Of course I do. I want to be an attorney, so I need to read a lot.”

“Attorney?” You raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s cool if you want to follow that path… You’d probably enjoy talking to my dad.” You spoke softly at the last part, but Heeseung heard it anyway.

He noticed that the way you spoke insinuated that you didn't want to follow that path and curiously, as if your father was a distant figure for you.

“Don’t you want to be an attorney?” Heeseung asked you, seeing you going towards his desk and sitting down with a serious expression. “To be honest, I don't know… it’s not my dream.”

He sat down next to you and came closer, trying to make you comfortable. “Do you have an idea of what you want to do?”

“Maybe a prosecutor?” You confessed and smiled shyly. It was the first time you had talked about this dream with anyone other than Gaeul. “It’s still a distant idea, I guess I’ll become an attorney first. That’s what everyone expects of me anyway.”

“Everyone?” He asked gently. “It’s complicated.” You sighed and he realized it was still a sensitive subject that you might not want to explain, and he wasn’t going to pressure you into doing so. He also had things to deal with that he didn’t open up about easily.

“Well, regardless of what you choose, I know you’ll do well.” He commented as he placed his notebooks and laptop on the table. “You’re the only one who’s managed to beat me sometimes, and I know very well that not just anyone can defeat me easily.”

You gave Heeseung a smile, realizing he was trying to cheer you up in his own way. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He smiled and watched you placing your materials on the table, noticing the post-it notes with legal concepts on the wall in front of the table.

“Your room is… interesting.” You commented as you analyzed all the mnemonics and tips he had written on a post-it that was almost falling on the table. “Are you trying to start a fight?” Heeseung looked at you suspiciously and you laughed.

“No, I just think this room suits you.” You grinned “It’s cute.”

“Are you calling me cute?” Heeseung smirked, bringing his face closer to yours. “I’m talking about the room.” You replied, swallowing hard, opening your laptop.

“Well, that's a pity then.” You felt your cheeks burn and your body fizz at the suggestive tone of his comment.

Maybe you were seeing things, but it looked a lot like Lee Heeseung was flirting with you right now.

“So, before we start,” He continued to look at you while you tried to pretend that you weren’t feeling weak with his presence so close “I’m going to the kitchen to drink some water. Do you want something to drink?” He asked and you shook your head “No, I’ll drink the juice you gave me later.”

He gave a little smile of pride seeing that you actually accepted the juice he bought for you.

“Alright then, I’ll be right back.” Heeseung nodded and stood up as you tried to calm down.

'It's okay, he was just teasing me. I just need to calm down and focus on my studies.' You thought as you tried to convince yourself that the tension in the air was just some kind of illusion and not the harsh reality.

☆

Heeseung was in the kitchen getting a glass of water trying to understand the situation he was in. You were there, in his room, with your beauty shining like the morning breeze.

It felt like a dream. At first he didn't even know how to explain why he suggested it, but his intrusive thoughts were faster, shockingly you had accepted. In a way, you were there to study like you always do in the library, but this time he was feeling strange.

He wanted something to happen and this wasn’t good.

Because it meant that Heeseung had finally accepted his feelings of attraction towards you and was considering doing something about it.

He took a deep breath and decided to control himself for the sake of your project. However, as much as he tried to focus on his studies, the moment he walked past his bedroom door and saw you sitting cross-legged, your hair loose showing your neck, and the way you were biting the tip of your pen while focused on your laptop screen, all his common sense went straight out the window.

“So, can we start?” Heeseung asked, swallowing hard and scratching the back of his neck, feeling nervous. “Sure, where do you want to start?” You asked, looking at him with the sexiest eyes he swore he had ever seen in his life. “We can read the article you suggested.”

“Alright.” He smiled seeing how excited you seemed about the project. “By the way, I saw your CDs and posters.” You changed the subject as he opened the file on his computer “You’re quite… eclectic.” He chuckled and turned to you “Why? Did you think I only listened to one type of music?”

You shook your head and gave him a side smile. “I thought you were more into the classics.”

“I like a little bit of everything, you know? I can appreciate different types of art.” He noticed the way your skirt seemed to have ridden up the moment you adjusted yourself in your chair.

“I’m surprised.” He looked away, trying to control his thoughts. But it was hard when you looked like a goddess next to him. “Every day I discover something new about you.”

“Well, I told you that there are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.” He replied as he locked gazes with you. Heeseung definitely had a unique charm.

“Fair enough.” You replied and he gave you that smile that made your legs lose strength. “I think I made too many assumptions about you.” You confessed, leaning against the table and he brought his face closer to yours “Yeah? Maybe you should get to know me better then.”

You felt your body catch fire at the way he whispered an octave lower than normal and smirked “Yeah, maybe I should.”

Heeseung felt his face and ears heat up at the way you were looking at him.

He knew something had changed between you and the tension was so intense you could cut it with a knife.

His eyes dropped to your exposed neck. Your sweet scent was intoxicating the air and the necklace you were wearing was shinier than usual. It adorned your collarbone magnificently.

Did you have to look this good for a measly study date?

He didn't know if he could cross that invisible line between you, so he slowly approached you, lowering his gaze to your mouth. Since he was sitting on your left side, his right hand went up to your face and tucked a single strand of your hair behind your ear.

You felt a shiver run through your body as his fingertips lightly touched your ear.

His face moved closer to yours agonizingly slowly, and you felt his sweet minty breath fan your face.

Heeseung instinctively wet his lower lip with his tongue and you felt your breath catch as he lowered his right hand to the corner of your neck, touching you gently.

Your eyes locked into Heeseung's intense, dark eyes, and you felt your body fizz at the way he was staring at you. It was intense, serious, deep, as if he wanted to convey a message that only you would understand. You didn't need to say anything. The way you looked at each other was the answer to the unspoken question that floated implicitly in the air.

The desire you both feel is mutual.

He moved closer and pulled your neck towards him, pressing the spot with his long fingers. You closed your eyes when you felt his mouth brush against yours as if he was testing your reactions.

Heeseung kissed you, gently pressing his lips against yours, sending a dose of pleasure through your body. He gave you a long peck and quickly pulled away to make sure that this was really happening.

He was kissing you. This is real.

He smiled over your lips and kissed you again, with more intensity, making you pull him by the collar. Heeseung's left hand landed on your left thigh, squeezing the skin there and you felt your stomach churn.

Heeseung bit your lower lip and you moaned, making him feel a wave of pride invade his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck, while your hands went straight to his soft hair.

All you wanted to feel was the soft strands of his gorgeous hair between your fingers and you finally knew what that felt like. Heeseung groaned into your mouth as you pulled his hair and scratched the back of his neck with your nails.

Heeseung felt like he had ascended to heaven as he felt your soft lips moving over his. You were like water on a dry day that he couldn't get enough of.

Not even his deepest thoughts could recreate the exultant feeling he felt when he finally kissed you. He was thirsty and wanted more. As much as he tried to hold it in, his deep desire was stronger and he happily gave in to its sweet taste.

You separated for a brief second to catch your breath and he licked your lower lip making you open your mouth slightly sighing as he deepened the kiss with his tongue.

The kiss that started soft was now intense, passionate and more desperate. You ran your hands down Heeseung's neck until they stopped on his chest. Heeseung intertwined his right hand in your hair while his left rested on your lower back.

Heeseung kissed you intensely, as if he couldn't stop. You lost track of time as you let yourself be numbed by the feeling of Heeseung's tongue exploring your mouth.

He sucked on your bottom lip before attacking your neck with longing open-mouthed kisses. “You're so beautiful.” He whispered against the skin of your neck as he brushed it with his lips making you press your thighs together and sigh in pleasure “So fucking beautiful.”

You held onto Heeseung’s hair and his left shoulder as he got closer “Heeseung.” You whispered but were interrupted by his mouth kissing the column of your neck with desire.

“You drive me crazy.” He whispered in your ear making you roll your eyes back and moan embarrassingly. Heeseung felt his pants tighten at the reactions and sounds you made.

His left hand went to the buttons of your pink blouse with slight desperation. He was panting and you were spaced out with so many things happening at the same time.

You knew you wanted Heeseung, but you didn't know it would be this intense.

“Baby” He trailed kisses from your throat to your collarbone, allowing the scent of your perfume to sweetly intoxicate his senses “It’s hard to contain myself when you’re like this.” He whispered over your mouth, kissing you again.

You couldn't form a coherent sentence. Your heart was racing, your breathing was short, and even though you were sitting down, you felt all the strength in your legs evaporate.

His hands went to your thighs, smoothing them up under your skirt. You reached out to take off the denim jacket he was wearing and he smirked over your mouth.

"So eager, huh?” he teased you and you sighed, frowning “Look who's talking.” You whispered wryly trying not to be embarrassed at how breathless and needy you sounded.

“Thought you liked it when I teased you, babe.” Heeseung’s sensual tone as he took off his coat made you lose the last of your breath. His shoulders looked even bigger up close.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” You whispered and pulled Heeseung by the collar of his shirt, making him give you several kisses and smile on your lips “So bossy…”

The way Heeseung's mouth seemed to fit perfectly into yours was impressive.

Heeseung's hands went under your shirt, squeezing the bare skin of your waist, giving you goosebumps and making you moan into Heeseung's mouth.

He was relentless. Heeseung's mouth devoured you with fervor and desperation, leaving you breathless. You held onto the hem of Heeseung's shirt as he pulled away slightly, turning his head for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, feeling your entire body tremble.

“Wait.” Heeseung reluctantly moved away a little more, hearing noises from outside “Do you hear that?” He turned to the door and you breathlessly tried to focus on what he was saying.

Until you noticed – the sound of keys moving near the principal door latch. You adjusted your skirt down and buttoned the first few buttons of your blouse that Heeseung had unbuttoned.

Suddenly you were paralyzed and stared at each other when you heard the key opening the main door in the room.

“Man, I'm dead, I want to sleep the rest of the afternoon.” Jake spoke loudly and you and Heeseung quickly separated from each other as he tried to fix his hair and appear as natural as possible.

You adjusted your seats as if you were studying your computer screen intently.

“Heeseung, are you there?” Jake knocked on his friend’s bedroom door and opened it at once “I need to tell you what happened to me at the coffee shop—” Jake’s eyes widened and he froze when he saw that you were in Heeseung’s room.

Heeseung glared at him with a menacing look. That look that implicitly said 'get the hell out of here'.

“I’m kind of busy right now, Jake.” He said through gritted teeth and his friend gave an awkward smile and scratched his head “Oh sorry to disturb you guys. I didn’t know you were studying … but it’s good to see you y/n.” He greeted you and you nodded politely “Hi.” Your voice came out soft and thin with fright.

“Well then, we’ll talk later.” Jake said to Heeseung with a teasing look making Heeseung want to kill him at that moment.

He closed the door to Heeseung's room and you were left in absolute, awkward silence.

Your heart was racing and your breath was still coming in short gasps. What the hell had happened?

“Sorry, I forgot Jake could come back earlier today.” Heeseung sighed as he ran his hand over his face, trying not to feel embarrassed by the awkward situation you both found yourselves in.

“It’s okay.” You gave a small laugh through your nose “We can try studying now… if you want.” Heeseung looked at you and mischievously smiled “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m in the mood to study right now.” He confessed looking into your eyes, hitting you like an electrifying lightning bolt.

You nodded and smiled, feeling your insides stir at Heeseung’s gentle tone “Yeah, me too.”

So, in silent agreement, you decided to organize the table and put away the materials. Even though the tension was still there, Jake cut the mood, so all that was left was the weird tension and the end of this unsuccessful study session.

After you packed your things, Heeseung walked you to the door and looked at you apologetically “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back?”

“No, it’s okay.” You smiled and felt embarrassed remembering what happened moments before trying to calm your heart.

“Okay.” He leaned against the side of the door, crossing his arms and smiling at you “We’ll schedule the next meeting later.” He whispered as he tried to contain a smile with his teeth biting his own lip.

You nodded and slowly turned around “Bye, Heeseung.” He gave you that shy smile that only he knew how to do “Bye, y/n.”

After he closed the door and you walked out into the hallway, all you could think about was what had happened that afternoon.

You kissed. No, you had made out intensely and passionately, but the scariest thing is to think of what would have happened if Jake hadn't interrupted you.

And the worst part is that you wanted more.

Heeseung was still awake, staring at his ceiling as he remembered what had happened that afternoon.

After you left, Jake tried to talk to Heeseung but he went off to clear his head — which clearly didn't work out very well. Even though he tried to occupy himself and do other things he was still numb to the feeling of your mouth on his.

Heeseung couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, you appeared in his mind. He couldn't forget the feel of your soft skin under his fingers, your bright, pleading eyes, and how soft your mouth was.

He ran his hand over his face trying to control himself, but he couldn't help but feel hot when he remembered your kiss. He had taken the risk of kissing you, but he didn't expect your response to be as intense as his.

Heeseung couldn't pinpoint when everything changed, because 3 months ago he couldn't stand you, but now he couldn't wait to see you.

He picked up his phone and saw that it was almost 1 am and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your scent was tattooed on his mind and he knew he wanted to smell it again.

Heeseung wanted to see you, touch you, kiss you again.

But a doubt hovered over his mind: what about you? What did you want? Do you regret it? Or did you also like it and want more?

Heeseung knew there was no way to guess that now, but he would do whatever it took to find out.

☆

It's been 3 days since you and Heeseung were in complete silence.

After what had happened in his room, you were still in shock. But the fact that you and he didn't talk anymore was worrying and it irritated you.

You guys made out in his room and he couldn't send you at least a good morning text? Or anything else? How would you communicate and behave when you had to meet for your project after this?

Deep down, you didn’t know whether you regretted it or not. You don’t want to mess up your – finally – good relationship, but at the same time, you want to kiss him again. You don't know how this will impact the two of you, but you know you don't want to get ghosted by Heeseung or get weird by it.

Like a mature adult, you tried to occupy your mind with your civil law presentation, but the worst part was that nothing could get the vision of Heeseung out of your head. The words he whispered and how he kissed you like he’s been longing for it for a long time… it was too much.

The day of the presentation had already arrived, and even though you were confident in your knowledge, you were afraid to see Heeseung again.

You don't know how to behave or what to say when you see him. You could barely translate the things you were feeling at that moment when he intensively kissed you. In the end, all you knew was that even though you were irritated, you could barely see him without feeling your stomach twist and your body heat up.

On the other hand, for the first time in his life, Heeseung was excited to see your performance.

You were already at the front of the class with your slides turned on and waiting for the professor to give the go-ahead for you to start presenting.

Heeseung was sitting a little further forward so he wouldn't miss any details. His gaze met your and he gave a smile that made your insides melt.

It was different to feel that this time Heeseung's presence made you more nervous than usual.

When you started your presentation, everyone stopped and hung on every word.

Mainly Heeseung.

It was curious how you didn't look nervous while you clicked on the slides to explain your topic. Your confidence exudes how much you had prepared for the presentation, making him admire you even more. He eyed you attentively, not wanting to miss any of your moves. Your hands weren't shaking, and the way you presented yourself was so delicate and so fierce at the same time. He smirked watching how you pointed to the topics on the slide.

You really used his idea for your slides.

'Such pretty hands.' He thought about how it would feel them touching his face, his skin, him. The horde of forbidden thoughts filling his mind.

He swore he was really paying attention to what you were saying, but he got distracted so easily that even he couldn't explain why.

Suddenly he realized that he was thinking about things that definitely had nothing to do with possessory dispossession but had to do with what it must be like to see you on top of him while his hands roamed over your body.

His thoughts were interrupted when you finished your presentation perfectly making the sound of claps fill the room.

Once again you had outdone yourself in a presentation, but this time Heeseung wasn't analyzing the way you explained or trying to see if you would make mistakes in your diction. Now he could only think about how admirable your effort was.

Especially how he wanted you so bad.

However, when class ended, you had disappeared without giving him a chance to talk to you, leaving Heeseung even more anxious. What did he have to do to finally be able to talk to you again?

The ballroom was adorned with bright lights and chandeliers with sparkling stones that could blind you if you stare at them for too long. The buffet tables were extravagant (as always) and contained every type of food you could imagine. Seafood, pasta, and a variety of drinks. The exaggerated extravagance mixed with the forced, discreet laughter was a known sound that made your ears itch.

People were dressed in all the elegance that the event required, and everyone seemed polite and well-behaved. However, even from a distance you could capture several fake smiles, carefully placed on the faces of poor university students who were trying to survive in this environment by flattering more well-known and experienced attorneys in search of a possible internship or job at a renowned firm.

The P&J Foundation event was one of the only ones open to university students and law school graduates looking to meet future work partners or new opportunities in the job market.

And of course you would be there, “enjoying” the extravagant decorations, the lectures and the valuable advice from several experienced professionals — that’s the main reason why people go there anyway. But one of the biggest reasons was that your father was one of the sponsors, so missing out was not an option.

Even though it was a beneficial event for several college students, you felt slightly uncomfortable due to the judging looks people gave you when they saw you standing there drinking whatever was on the table without talking to anyone.

You were silent, observing the environment. Since you arrived, you had only greeted a few attorneys who approached to ask about your father, and not about you. It was as if you weren't even an option, but just the daughter of the great attorney Park.

In a way, it was comforting to know that the event wouldn't last long and maybe someone you knew would show up to relieve your boredom.

Someone like Heeseung.

“You look lonely.” Heeseung’s unmistakable voice behind you stole your attention, making you turn around at once “Maybe you need some company?”

Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes widened at the sight of Heeseung in a black suit and parted hair in front of you.

Your eyes shamelessly roamed over Heeseung's entire body seeing how the suit was intricately molded to his torso and waist. The black dress shirt he was wearing underneath was plain and was slightly open to reveal a bit of Heeseung's collarbone and his thin silver necklace.

“Oh, it’s you.” You swallowed hard and kept your face straight, nonchalant at seeing him. After 3 days of not talking to you, this is how he shows up?

He had his hands in his pants pockets and approached you with that smirk that drove you crazy “You look beautiful.” He took your hand and gave it a soft kiss on your knuckles while piercing through you with his intense eyes.

You felt butterflies in the pit of your stomach and a shiver ran down your spine seeing Heeseung's delicacy. Even if you wanted to be angry at him, it would be difficult to remain that way when he acted like this, it’s like he knew exactly what to do to disarm you.

“Thank you.” Heeseung’s eyes couldn’t move away from your figure, making your neck heat up.

“Your suit looks good.” You spoke sincerely and Heeseung chuckled “Just my suit?” He whispered, bringing his face closer to yours and firmly held your waist making you look away.

“What do you want, Heeseung?” Your cheeks were burning and your lips puckered in a cute pout that Heeseung found adorable even if you were speaking in a harsh way.

“Can we talk?” You felt weak at his gentle tone combined with the way he sweetly stared at you “Talk about what?” He chuckled through his nose and tilted his head so he could whisper in your ear “Stop pretending like you don't know.” The way his warm breath tickled your ear made you dizzy.

“Fine.” You sighed and crossed your arms trying to maintain your posture “Let's go somewhere.” You weren't going to talk about this in front of everyone, so you decided to lead the way to some secluded place where you would have the privacy you needed while you struggled to organize your thoughts. What was he going to talk to you about? The kiss? What did it really mean?

Your anxiety was already at its peak, but you felt a sense of deja vu when he placed his hand behind your back as you walked down the hall.

“So, are you enjoying the event?” He asked in a whisper and you snickered “’Enjoying’ is a strong word...” Your sigh made Heeseung raise an eyebrow “It’s boring.”

“I thought these parties were your thing.” He confessed and you mockingly glanced at him “I’m just used to them, but they’re usually a drag.”

“Yeah, it must be hard growing up going to rich people’s parties and eating the best of the best.” He said ironically and you pushed him lightly, giving him a sour smile “It’s not that fun when you have to flatter others so they don’t talk bad about you or your father.”

Your confession made him stare at you for a moment and go silent. Heeseung knew that you were a layered person and that in the past he had a lot of bad impressions of you, so maybe he needed to admit that he was wrong and try to see things from your point of view.

Suddenly you left the main hall and managed to find an empty room in an isolated corridor away from everyone. You entered and realized that it was a small storage room full of folders on dark grey shelves, a table and a locked cabinet.

After you both entered the room, Heeseung locked the door behind him, and you stood in front of the table with your arms crossed, impatiently staring at him. Unfortunately for your heart, it seemed like his addictive scent was even more evident in this closed room.

“So?” Your tone was impatient “What do you want?” He slowly smirked and approached you cautiously.

“You seem angry.” he stood in front of you making you scoff and put your hands on your hips “You didn't answer my question, Heeseung.”

Heeseung took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. He spent the whole afternoon mentally rehearsing what he was going to say, but now that he was in front of you it was different. Your red dress was making him lose his mind.

He needed to be honest, and he wouldn't run away anymore.

“I'm sorry.” your face softened at the sincerity in his voice “I’m sorry for disappearing, I know I should have said something.” Heeseung looked at you tenderly and touched your cheek “But ever since we kissed, I got crazy, like I genuinely couldn’t sleep, study or do anything without you showing on my mind” he breathed out “So… I needed to understand what I was feeling.”

You swallowed hard as you waited for him to finish.

“The truth is that I can’t stop thinking about you.” he whispered, moving closer to you “I know that since we met, we haven’t gotten along, and maybe I’m at fault at this because I’ve been an idiot to you several times, but there’s just… something about you…” he slid his fingertips under your jaw “You drive me crazy.”

Your heartbeat was already going crazy, while your breath was caught in your throat. The closer he got, the more you felt your feelings stir.

“What do you mean by that?” you frowned and crossed your arms, trying not to be shaken by Heeseung’s words and scent invading your senses.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “What I mean is that I’m here admitting that I want you.” he spoke directly making your legs weak.

Heeseung came closer and you felt your back touch the table behind you. His hands went straight to your waist as he pressed your body against his. Your back arched slightly and Heeseung brought his face closer to yours. “Do you really want me?” you asked shakily under the atmosphere pressure, and he smiled.

"Yes, I want you." he whispered against your mouth as he gripped the corner of your neck with the long fingers of his right hand "Isn't it obvious?"

His body radiated a unique heat that destroyed all your sanity. His dark eyes looked at you with intensity, breaking down all the defenses you swore you had put up against him.

“You’re all I have on my mind.” his smooth lips brushed against yours and your breathing became heavy “Can I kiss you?” his question was like an arrow being pierced through your heart “Yes.” you whispered, holding onto Heeseung’s forearms.

He smiled and kissed you passionately, pressing his body against yours. An electrifying current ran through your entire body when you felt his lips move intensely and passionately.

Heeseung kissed you with an insatiable desire. He couldn't get enough of your taste. He always wanted more and more. Suddenly, you groaned when you felt his tongue slide over yours and his hands grip your hips.

You couldn't deny it. Heeseung knew exactly what he was doing, and it was so hot that you pulled him by his collar wanting more.

Heeseung moved his kisses down to your jaw and you gasped when you felt him grab your body by your thighs and place you on the table behind you.

“Did you dress up for me?” he whispered as he attacked your neck with desire “No, I always dress well.” you tried to answer feeling your breath quicken. Your hands went straight to Heeseung’s hair and he smiled against your skin “Aw, it’s a shame. I thought you wanted to impress me.”

Heeseung kissed your sensitive spot below your ear and you moaned making him smile against your skin “Why? Are you impressed?” you teased Heeseung and he moved his hands up your thigh under your red dress.

“Yeah.” he placed a lingering kiss on the center of your throat making your body tremble with desire “You're looking so fucking beautiful in this dress.” he kissed you again as you pulled him towards you with your legs. This time he kissed you slowly and deeply while holding onto your loose hair.

Heeseung was on cloud nine. How much he had missed feeling your lips on his, clashing in perfect harmony. When you pulled away from his mouth to breathe and began to kiss the length of his neck, he moaned, making you close your legs around him.

“You should see me when I'm not wearing it, then.” you whispered sensually before biting Heeseung's ear making his breath shaky as he squeezed your thighs tightly “Fuck — stop teasing me, baby.” The way he called you made your stomach turn.

“Why? What are you going to do if I don't stop?” You looked into his eyes, faking innocence, and began to slowly open the buttons of his suit, teasing him with your fingertips “You don't wanna know.” he smirked holding your neck tightly “I'm going to ruin you.” he bit your lower lip making you moan and squeeze his hips with your legs pulling him closer, seeking any kind of contact.

When you finished unbuttoning his suit, you ran your hands over his black dress shirt, sliding down his chest to his stomach, noticing how surprisingly defined he was. Heeseung instinctively groaned into the kiss and pulled your hair back to attack your neck and collarbone, making you gasp.

All of your reactions were like fuel that further fueled the fire inside Heeseung. He knew he couldn't go all the way in this storage, but the way you moaned and squeezed him with your thighs was making it difficult to control himself.

“You're making it hard for me to stop.” Heeseung said in a broken sigh with his forehead pressed against yours as his hands explored you beneath your dress “I want to touch you.” You could see the longing in his glossy eyes, especially by the way his cheeks and ears were burning red.

How beautiful he looked in that state of despair. A sight that only you had the privilege of having: seeing Lee Heeseung completely surrendered to you begging to touch you.

“Okay.” You whispered and cupped your hands around his cheeks, pulling his face to yours in a kiss, making him melt inside. It was insane how his mouth fit perfectly on yours, as if it was made especially for you.

Your entire body was on fire. The butterflies danced deep in your stomach when he slowly pulled the sides of your panties down as he ravished your mouth with his desperate kiss.

Heeseung's bangs were already losing their definition from all the movement and small beads of sweat accumulating on both of your foreheads making you think that your clothes were a big impediment.

With trembling hands, you began to open the buttons of his blouse, feeling the soft skin of his neck and collarbone under your fingers making him let out low grunts that shuddered your mind and body.

He forcefully pulled your legs closer to the edge of the table, making your body arch slightly. Your breathing became uneven as he removed your panties completely, letting them fall to the floor.

In a brief moment of sanity, you couldn’t believe you were doing this with Heeseung inside a storage room. This was dangerous, insane, lewd, and unfortunately, you liked it. It’s like your brain shuts out whenever you get involved with Heeseung.

As his hands began to roam the inside of your thigh you began to feel more desperate. “Heeseung, p–please.” Your stutter made Heeseung smile as his fingers slid across your skin teasingly.

“What?” he asked as he left a trail of kisses on your cheek “Please. Touch me.” You were on edge and he wasn’t helping.

He smiled against your skin, taking small bites on your jaw as his right hand slowly rose, as if to test your patience.

“Heeseung.” You dug your fingers into his shoulder, whispering, like a plea.

But before he could give you what you wanted, your phone started ringing madly. You were startled by the sound, and he pulled away for a moment so you could find your phone in the middle of the table.

You looked at the screen and your body stiffened when you saw that it was your father calling you. Heeseung instantly noticed the change in your body language and distanced himself enough to look at your face.

“Damn it.” You tried to steady your breathing “It’s my father.”

Heeseung stood up straight and reluctantly let go of your body, trying to catch his breath. He felt irritated. Why did it seem like someone always managed to ruin the mood between you two whenever you were alone?

He soon noticed that you were hesitating, so he grabbed your panties and gently pulled them up over your legs and touched your cheek with his knuckles “You need to take this call, don't you?” he asked in a tender whisper and you nodded, feeling suddenly ashamed of the situation you found yourself in.

“I'll give you some space.” he stepped away, closing the buttons on his shirt that you undone and straightening his suit again.

As Heeseung fixed his hair, you closed your legs, feeling completely frustrated at the interruption, and jumped off the table, adjusting your dress.

With a cough to regulate your voice, you answered your phone trying to sound normal.

“Hello? Father?” Heeseung leaned against the wall and stared at you from afar as you lowered the fabric of your dress.

Your face showed an expression of defeat, feeling like this situation is more complicated than it seemed.

Suddenly Heeseung began to reflect on how easily he lost control when he was with you. It seemed like it was too easy to lose himself in you, as if there were no consequences.

“What?” You felt your heart stop at what you just heard “Are you here at the event?”

Heeseung and you looked at each other at the same time, knowing what that meant.

You would have to face your father that night.

☆

Heeseung had helped you adjust your dress before you left the storage room first. Since he didn't want to draw attention, Heeseung had the idea of you going first and then he would leave.

You were clearly upset, frustrated, and tired. Why did your father have to come to this event now? Your mind could barely think straight after what had happened in the storage room.

Your heart calmed down, but you couldn’t forget Heeseung’s confession. How sincere and desperate he sounded. Your mind constantly went back to the way he talked, touched you, acted. He was addictive.

As you mingled through the crowd looking for your father, Heeseung watched you from afar, analyzing your behavior. Apart from the fact that you were a begging mess minutes earlier, the way you tensed every time your father was mentioned made him think there was something more about you that he needed to uncover.

You randomly wandered through the main ballroom and Heeseung approached your figure again “You seem lost.” he commented and you laughed lightly hearted “I’m just looking for my father.”

“What’s he like?” Heeseung asked looking at the crowd with you “Serious? A bit scary, I guess...” you whispered the last part, and he arched his eyebrow “I’ll be right by your side then.”

The way Heeseung showed he cared for you made you smile slightly “What a gentleman…” he smiled feeling the irony of your voice “Of course, I know how to treat a woman.”

You glanced at him, seeing how he was giving that naughty smile that meant he was thinking about things that had nothing to do with chivalry.

“Sweetie, I'm glad you came.” before you could say anything, your conversation was interrupted by your father's voice.

Heeseung turned to the side and saw how unusual your posture was. You suddenly looked more rigid, serious and with a monotonous expression.

You turned to your father and gave him that weak smile that Heeseung knew wasn’t genuine. “Hello, father.” Heeseung noticed how you called your father in a distant and formal way. As if you didn’t have the freedom to call him whatever you wanted.

“I didn’t expect you to come.” As always, you communicated only what was necessary with your father. Nothing less and nothing more. “I managed to get some free time to come see you and see my event.”

Heeseung realized what that meant. He was the famous Attorney Park who sponsored events and ways for people from difficult backgrounds like himself to have a chance in the legal field.

He was a legend in his field and his intentions seemed good, so why did you seem so distant?

“And who is this fine gentleman?” He turned his gaze to Heeseung who instantly bowed and extended his hand in a polite way “I'm Lee Heeseung, sir. Pleased to meet you.” He friendly smiled and your father shook his hand while he analyzed his figure.

“He’s my friend from college.” You replied, surprised at your father’s friendly interaction with Heeseung.

Heeseung didn't miss how you had called him friend and how strange it sounded. He didn't want to be your friend, he wanted much more.

“I didn’t know you had such a polite friend.” Your father seemed to be in a good mood while you felt a little more comfortable seeing that your father had taken a liking to him.

Then suddenly you started to realize how important this had become to you. His opinion of Heeseung was important because you really cared about him.

“I feel honored, sir.” Heeseung smiled gently “So, Heeseung.” Your father's attention was solely focused on Heeseung “Tell me, what do you think of this event?” Your father asked Heeseung, who swallowed hard and gave a gentle smile, feeling his gaze fixed on him.

“I think it is a terrific opportunity, sir. I had the chance to have a fruitful conversation with a few attorneys along with a friend and we had some great legal advice.” he was sincere and you bit your lower lip trying to contain your smile at how his vocabulary suddenly went back to being completely formal compared to the way he normally speaks to you.

It was hilarious to see him chatting calmly and composed as if he hadn't been absolutely ravishing you just minutes ago in a storage room.

“That’s great.” Your father gave a satisfied smile with his answer “Me and a few other colleagues sponsored this kind of event because life wasn’t easy for us, so we want to help the next generation in the best way possible.” Heeseung looked away to see Jake seemed more well-behaved than usual as he chatted with two older attorneys from afar.

“It’s an amazing event, sir. We are really grateful for this unique opportunity.” Heeseung smiled sincerely as your father seemed pleased with the conversation “What do you plan to do in the future, son?” Heeseung was left speechless for a moment “I want to be an attorney, sir.” You noticed how his voice trembled a little and you noticed how this was a big deal to him. This is his dream for real.

“That’s wonderful.” Your father gave a smile that left him stunned. It had been a long time since you had seen your father smile like that. “Since I became an attorney, I’ve been able to change my family’s lives, so I would say it’s worth it.” Heeseung felt an instant sense of identification with the sentence your father said.

“That’s why I have high expectations for my daughter.” He looked at you and you gave a tense smile that Heeseung instantly noticed “She’s the best in the class so she would indeed be a sensational attorney, but if I may say this, sir, I believe that regardless of the career she decides to pursue in law, I know she will be successful, because she’s brilliant in everything she decides to do.” Heeseung spoke seriously and you looked away from him, feeling your heart melt completely with his praise.

He could have promoted himself or just kept quiet. But he decided to risk it all by praising you to that degree, even without knowing your father.

And just like lightning strikes a tree and burns it, you realized the obvious truth: you were in love with Lee Heeseung and would accept the consequences that would come with that reality.

Your father looked at the two of you making it obvious he was analyzing the situation and understanding what was happening right there. The way Heeseung firmly said that, and you got shy made it obvious that you two were more than friends.

“It’s true.” Your father’s answer surprised you “If I’m being honest, I wish she could be an attorney like me, without the sufferings I had to go through, but I know her path can change, so I want her to be successful in any field.” You felt your body stiff. It was the first time your father had said something like that about you.

He didn't open up about his feelings very much, so you always thought that being an attorney in his office was everything he dreamed of and determined for you. "That’s why I’m strict with you.” He looked at you with that stoic look you never understood “Well, you know I want the best for you, my dear." You nodded, feeling a whirlwind of sensations.

This interaction was different from what you expected. Your father was a mysterious man, of few words and curious actions, but you knew he was trying his best, despite being terrible atcommunicating his own feelings.

You may need more time to talk until you finally understand what kind of person your father is, but this brief, unexpected interaction is enough for now.

“Since you want to be an attorney, then come visit my office someday.” he turned to Heeseung who was stunned by the proposal “I can give you some advice when I have time.”

“It would be an honor, sir.” He showed your father an excited smile and you held back the urge to tease him right there. He was so cute when he got excited about a subject that interested him, especially about law.

“Father, you’re going to take all his time.” You said, smiling with your eyes, and your father laughed out loud “That’s right, I came here to stop by quickly and ended up talking too much.”

Your father shook Heeseung's hand and turned to you “Come visit me later, sweetie. It's been a while since we had dinner together.” You gave a slight smile and nodded “Of course, father.”

With one last greeting he took one last look at you and Heeseung before leaving without saying anything.

A part of you felt relieved, because for the first time in years you didn't feel so awkward after interacting with your father.

“Who would have thought, I'm alive to see Lee Heeseung wanting to go to my father's office.” You mocked Heeseung and he laughed, running his hand through his hair.

“Is that how you learned to give that fake passive-aggressive smile of yours?” he asked in a comical tone looking into your eyes and you smiled gently “It’s a basic prerequisite for survival in this environment.”

“It seems like a complicated cycle.” he said gently, turning to you “It is. You need to be perfect, always.” You glanced at Heeseung, seeing how stunning he was that all you could think about was how you wanted to attack him again “But I learned to deal with it.”

He looked at you again and felt a wave of remorse hit him. Ever since you met, he had been completely stupid and unbearable with you because of assumptions he made in his mind, but the more he got to know you, the more he realized that you were completely different.

“You know, I think I’ve been misjudging you all this time.” Heeseung confessed and you were surprised by his revelation “I thought you were the kind of insufferable rich girl who had no sense of reality, but I guess I was an idiot for thinking that without getting to know you first.”

“Heeseung—” “No, let me finish.” He looked into your eyes and touched your cheek with his hand as gently as possible “I’m really sorry for being such an ass to you for so long.”

Your heart seemed to explode as you heard Heeseung's sincere words.

“In a way I judged you because you seemed like you had an easy life, while I had to fight for a lot of things.” he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment “I know this is no excuse and I was immature and stupid, but I want to start over with you. Can we?” You gave him a mischievous smile “How can I deny it when Lee Heeseung is admitting his own defeat before me?”

He smiled, taking your hand between his knuckles “I'm serious. I'm sorry for the way I acted. I think you messed with me in some way since the beginning and I didn't know how to deal with those feelings.” the way he was finally opening up and confessing why he was so unbearable made everything fit together in your mind “So that’s why you were so annoying?” your suspicious look drew a hearty laugh from Heeseung “Yes, that too, but to be honest… it's actually really fun to tease you.”

You looked at each other for a moment, making him give that damn smirk that reminded you why you get lost in Heeseung every time you get alone. “I'm really trying to contain myself here, but you're not cooperating.” He whispered and looked away, making you give a discreet laugh.

“Oh, I didn't know you got so worked up because of me.” You whispered holding his arm innocently “I’m sorry mr. Lee, it's my fault.”

Heeseung looked at you like you were the most magnificent thing on the face of the earth. Suddenly he smiled and offered his arm so you could wrap your hands around it. “You better stop, or we won’t get to enjoy the rest of this event.”

You held his arm and smiled excitedly “Why? What are you going to do?” Heeseung sighed and gave one last whisper in your ear “Or we’ll have to finish what we started in that storage room.”

And with a few words Lee Heeseung made the nervousness boil in the pit of your stomach, making you excited about the idea of doing lewd things with him.

If someone had told you at the beginning of the semester that you would now be dating Lee Heeseung and walking hand in hand around campus, you would have thought they were crazy and needed to be hospitalized. But here you were, walking with a wide smile and bright eyes, your hand intertwined with Heeseung's soft fingers.

Gaeul was the first to know and she let out such an excited scream that you swore the entire building heard it. Yes, she was clearly loving the news and repeated several times about how 'she already knew' and 'it was obvious and only you didn't realize it' , but either way it was wonderful to feel like you had your best friend's support and to see how excited she was for your happiness.

Yes, indeed you were very happy, and this was unexpected since it was something you hadn't planned, it just happened. Heeseung had taken you out to dinner, given you roses and a necklace that officially symbolized that you were together. And of course, this was much more than you expected.

Ever since you and Heeseung were chosen as project partners, your mood was constantly tested, and you swore it was the worst thing that could have happened to you this semester. However, despite the initial disagreements, you ended up seeing another side of each other and you were surprised by the person Heeseung revealed himself to be.

A wonderful and passionate man in everything he does.

“Ugh, you guys are disgustingly cute.” Jake commented as Heeseung ate his lunch after putting more tomato on your plate because one day you said you loved the cafeteria salad.

“Thanks? I guess…” Heeseung laughed at his friend’s reaction while you ate your lunch calmly.

After you started dating Heeseung, you got to know more of his friends, and because of that, you realized that you didn't interact as much with people from college, so it's good to feel that your circle of friends has increased significantly.

“I always knew you two were a good match.” Jay said, taking a drink of juice, and Gaeul agreed with him “Oh my God, yes!!! I said the same thing! But she didn’t believe me.”

“Hey, why is our relationship being a topic at lunch?” You replied and they laughed, amused by the situation.

Heeseung was in a good mood. The atmosphere was lively, comfortable, and ideal. It was as if everything was going very well.

Just one thing that was making him nervous: The lack of time for you two to be alone.

Aside from the times you needed to meet up to study and work on your project, his activities and work were cutting into your time together and it was driving him crazy. He simply wanted to spend quality time with you without having to leave quickly because of some appointment or because someone interrupted you.

That's why he had decided that that day would be just for the two of you. He had already told Jake that he wouldn't talk to anyone and that he needed to be at peace with his girlfriend. So, after much debating, he decided that he needed to be alone with you and that was the day you would finally be together.

☆

“Babe, I can't believe we finally have some free time.” Heeseung was lying on his bed completely satisfied while you were lying flat on top of him. His right hand was firmly on your waist while his left rested on your cheek. His thumb drew patterns on your skin while you played with the buttons on the collar of his shirt “I know right? I guess our project and your job took a lot of our time.”

“I was dying to be like this with you.” He confessed, sliding his hand down your back “Just you and me.” You giggled, suddenly feeling shy “Me too.” Your confession made Heeseung smile mischievously.

How good it was to know that no one would interrupt you.

“Yeah?” He smiled, giving you a kiss on the cheek, another on your nose and finally on your mouth, making you smile gently.

Heeseung knew that you had become his calm place. Where he could rest and most importantly, stay.

It was curious how you had snatched his heart completely in just 4 months.

Because despite canceling himself out daily for the goals he felt he needed to accomplish, your presence came like a thunderbolt, changing his reality and allowing Heeseung to feel things he no longer remembered how they were.

He remembered what it was like to feel genuine desire for someone. What it really meant to genuinely care for someone.

“Hmhum.” You murmured in agreement with him, feeling his hands slide gently down to your behind squeezing the skin there making you sigh with pleasure.

“Is this okay?” he asked, acting innocent as he lifted the fabric of your skirt to touch your bare skin. His wet lips slid down your cheek, heading towards your neck.

Heeseung wasn’t in a hurry. He had all the time in the world, and he was going to enjoy most of it.

“Yes.” You replied trying not to lose your senses, as Heeseung kissed your neck at the slowest pace possible “You're so pretty, baby. Did you choose this skirt just to see me?” He asked and you smiled, nodding your head.

He smiled over your skin and nibbled, making your breath tremble and moan softly. Heeseung wanted to show you how desired you were, and he would take as much time as necessary to do so.

The afternoon was calm, silent, just like the afternoon of the day you kissed for the first time. He still remembers your subtle hesitation, as if you didn't know what to do at that moment but still responded to his kiss in a way he never imagined.

With his left hand Heeseung moved up the velvety skin of your back beneath your blouse. Your skin was soft, delicate, with a velvety touch that he loved to feel.

He couldn't get enough of the contrast of how soft your skin was compared to the hardness of his hands. He kissed your jaw slowly in a way that made you close your eyes and surrender completely.

When he finally reached your lips you intertwined your fingers in his hair, pulling him towards you. How you had missed this.

Heeseung kissed you slowly, taking his time as he enjoyed the softness of your lips moving against his. He could taste a faint strawberry from the lip gloss you were wearing.

The damn lip gloss that always caught his attention.

The kiss quickly sped up as Heeseung licked your bottom lip, making you gasp and moan as his tongue entered your mouth. He was no longer patient, after all, it was very easy to lose all control when it came to you. His hands went down under your skirt and grabbed your skin, making your desperate moans be swallowed by Heeseung's mouth.

Heeseung's handprints were left on the skin of your thighs, as if they were a tattoo of his deep desire that you wanted to keep it. He kissed you eagerly, thirsty, wanting to taste every inch of your body and touch you as you deserve.

He pulled your body up tightly, holding onto your hips, making him grunt at the sensation of your body pressing over his pants. He was breathless, but he didn't want to stop kissing you. He moved away slightly to adjust himself on the bed and you felt your head spin with all the action.

Your lips were already bruised from the desperate kiss, and you felt a chill in your stomach seeing how Heeseung's mouth was red and swollen and he still wanted more. He wasn't satisfied, he wanted to taste your entire body and mark it with everything he had: his hands, his lips and his teeth.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and his breath hitched as you sat lightly on top of him and took off your own shirt “Are you blushing Heeseung? How cute…” You teased him by holding his cheeks, seeing how red they were along with his ears. Heeseung was feeling sick at the sight of you topless, wearing only a delicate pink lace bra and your short skirt that was already rolled up.

“Yeah.” Your hands rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat at a frantic pace. He was so mesmerized by you that he could barely respond. His eyes roamed over your curves and he swallowed hard as he ran his hands up the skin of your torso, sending shivers down your spine.

“You're so beautiful, baby.” He whispered into your neck as he marked your skin with his teeth making you weak “Want to see more of you.” You pulled Heeseung’s face towards you, kissing him intensely. The mixture of your breaths with the suffocating encounter of your tongues made the air around you heat up.

Your hands pulled Heeseung's black shirt up as he helped you by giving you desperate kisses. Your body heated up at the sight of Heeseung's defined abs and you slid your fingertips across his skin, making Heeseung moan.

Heeseung wrapped his arms around you and turned you around, placing your body on the mattress and climbing on top of you.

He was absolutely breathtaking.

The strands of his bangs tickled your nose as he kissed you passionately. Your fingers gripped the back of his neck and your nails scratched the skin there, making him let out low grunts that made you even hotter.

Your hands slid down Heeseung's toned back as he trailed kisses along your jaw, down the line of your throat, kissing over the skin of your chest.

Heeseung made it his personal goal to mark all the skin on your body with his mouth if that was possible. He kissed and marked with hickeys whatever was possible while his hand squeezed the skin of your chest under your bra making you whimper.

With his right hand he moved up your back touching the clasp of your bra, opening it as he kissed the skin of your belly going lower and lower.

Amidst your sighs, Heeseung in one action took off your skirt and underwear, leaving you a little embarrassed and shocked with his dexterity.

Instinctively you closed your legs as he looked at you, feeling that his self-control had already disappeared. You were completely perfect.

But he wanted more.

Your soft skin seemed to glow with the small beams of light that escaped from his bedroom window. You were there, beneath him without clothes, and he was sure that you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

No one would ever compare to you.

“Don't be shy, I want to taste you.” he got on his knees, touched the top of your knees and slid down your legs looking at you between his messy bangs as you felt your heart explode inside your chest “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

Your insides churned with agitation, and you obeyed him slowly, feeling your cheeks heat up at the bold way he spoke.

Heeseung's gaze changed. He looked determined, insatiable, and desperate to taste every part of your skin.

He stood between your legs, kissing down your belly to the lower part of your stomach, holding onto your thighs, making you place your hand on his face, caressing him lightly. He felt his heart melt at your affection.

Heeseung placed his face in the palm of your hand, placing a tender kiss on the inside of your skin. He nuzzled into the warmth of your hand before giving you a lewd look that made your breath catch.

He kissed your thighs, making you anxious. His dark brown hair revealed reddish highlights from the light and you noticed the small mole he had on his forehead.

There was no denying that Heeseung was beautiful. And he was all yours.

Every time you felt Heeseung's mouth marking your skin, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes at the overwhelming sensation. He didn't fail to notice how soaked you were already, making his pants tighten.

Heeseung devoured you with desire. He was relentless, savoring and sucking on your skin at an insane pace, as if he was starving. At times, he looked at you, taking it your reactions and feeling a sense of pride fill his chest at how desperate you looked by his marks. Your hands pulled his dark locks, making him grunt as you became numb with pleasure.

Your legs were wobbly, but Heeseung held on tightly while he marked more spots on your skin. You noticed how the veins on his forearms ran up to the back of his hands.

At that moment he was incredibly sexy.

You could not form comprehensible words, only broken moans and loud sighs that couldn't be translated.

“Feels so good, Hee.” You almost cried and Heeseung felt his heart clench at the way you called him “More.”

Heeseung on the other hand loved it all. He loved losing himself in you and seeing how desperate you became as he skillfully worked your body.

“Shi—” He took a deep breath and gave a shaky sigh before sucking another spot at your inner thigh “Say that again, princess.”

“More, Hee—” Your voice could barely finish his name while Heeseung felt his pressure rise at the sound of your voice and panting moans.

As you melted under Heeseung's mouth, he held your hips so they wouldn't move up while he continued to kiss your bare skin from your lower stomach up to your mouth.

He gave you a tender peck on the corner of your mouth “You taste so good baby.” He whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as you felt his hands roam over your body possessively “I want to make you mine.”

“Please.” You nodded with your eyes closed “I need you.” He smiled and kissed you once more as his right hand combed through your hair, intertwining his fingers in the strands on your scalp.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him madly, hoping he would understand all the feelings you wanted to deliver intrinsically with your kiss.

With ragged breathing he got to his knees, undoing his belt, while you tried to recover from everything that happened.

His forehead was wet with sweat and some strands of his bangs stuck to his skin. You felt your body tremble with anticipation, biting your lower lip at the sight of Heeseung giving a mocking smirk while not taking his eyes off you.

“How do you want it?” he teased you as he took off his pants, seeing how completely needy you were for his touch “Slow?” he took off his piece of clothing, hovering over you “or rough?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the question and he smiled watching as you closed your legs lightly around his hips at the last suggestion.

“Rough, huh?” He pulled your body closer by your hips and straddled you again “Is that right?”

That afternoon would be all about you. Heeseung decided that making you feel good would be his top priority and nothing else mattered. If you wanted it rough, he would give you exactly that.

“Yes.” You replied in a low whisper feeling your chest heave with excitement and Heeseung brushed his lips over yours “Yeah? You're so naughty, baby.” he bit his lower lip holding your wrists beside your head “You have this innocent pretty face, but you like it rough, huh?”

He crashed his lips into you with a deep kiss again, exploring your entire mouth violently with his tongue. He came to the conclusion that he would never get tired of your lips.

It was a messy, wet, intense and completely overwhelming kiss. Heeseung released your wrists, wrapping you in his arms, pulling your body into him, making your stomach knot with his aggression.

Your moans were swallowed by Heeseung's mouth as the pressure of his body on yours drove you crazy. He began attacking your neck with open kisses as he positioned himself between your legs.

“Please, Hee.” Heeseung smiled seeing how you begged for him. Just like the way he always dreamed of “I want you so bad.”

Your hands grabbed his strong shoulders, and he sucked in a breath, trying to control himself with the ecstatic sensation of your body enveloping him completely “You want me, baby?” Heeseung members were shaking as he heard your delirious whimpers in anticipation “So, be good for me and wait like a good girl.”

Heeseung's heartbeat was already racing in an insane rhythm as he held onto your hips tightly, sinking it into the mattress, but not giving what you wanted. “S-Stop teasing, Hee.” You whispered in despair, and he breathlessly moaned, feeling your nails scratching the back of his head between your choking whimpers.

“Sorry baby, I just wanna take my time with you.” While you felt Heeseung’s body completely over yours, your nails sank down the length of his beautiful, toned back, scratching his skin, and your forehead rested on his shoulder, hiding your face. Heeseung grabbed your jaw and pulled your face to him, kissing you, making your eyes water slightly “Look at me.” he whispered with a shaky breath over your mouth “I want to see your pretty face.”

“Hah—” You opened your slightly blurry eyes and could barely respond to Heeseung, who was breathing irregularly, adjusting himself at the perfect position “C'mon baby, you can take it.” he whispered, wrecking you completely.

Heeseung felt butterflies in his stomach seeing the sight of you beneath him writhing in pleasure. It was lewd, sexy and scorching. It was everything he wanted: to see you completely surrendered under him while he roughly handled you.

He finally realized that every day he discovered more reasons to love you, and he was happy that your love story was just starting.

At that moment, nothing else crossed your mind other than his name: Heeseung. So, you allowed yourself to give yourself completely to Heeseung and fall apart under his touch and the intoxicating feeling of his body on top of yours, giving you everything you wanted most.

☆

After a long bath and more stolen kisses, you were cuddling on Heeseung's bed while he stroked your hair.

“I'm so tired.” He said, smelling his shampoo on your damp hair “I need to sleep for about 10 hours straight to recover.”

You laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek “How a college student would find time to sleep for 10 hours?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find a way.” he touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, caressing the spot “And you? Are you tired?” You nodded as you let yourself be numbed by the smell of Heeseung’s perfume “This semester killed me.”

“I know right? It feels like we didn’t even have a break.” He stroked your hair affectionately “And speaking of breaks… my dad wants you to have dinner with us next time.” You spoke in an uncertain tone, afraid of Heeseung’s reaction to the sudden invitation “Really?” He smiled at the corner of his mouth and looked at you, noticing how shy you were “Yes, at the last dinner we had he mentioned that he wanted me to invite you. I think deep down he realized that there was something between us since the day of the foundation event.” Heeseung chuckled remembering the interaction they had.

You felt more comfortable seeing how excited Heeseung seemed with the invitation “Sure, I’ll go.” he looked at you with a loving look that filled your chest “And how was dinner?”

“It was kinda weird… but nice.” Heeseung noticed a slight smile on your face. You usually had a strange relationship with your father, but ever since the day of the foundation event it seemed like your father had shown a new side. “We didn’t talk much, but I think I’m finally understanding a bit how my father’s mind works.”

Heeseung remained silent, leaving you comfortable to vent “Did you talk about your plans of not working on his office after graduation?” you smiled a bit “Kinda... I talked about the informal invitations I received from other offices, and he seemed neutral. He said I should analyze the opportunities that will come my way very carefully.”

“That sounds like a good answer.” Heeseung commented and you nodded “I feel like since my dad spent most of his time working to give me the best, we never really talked much, but now I think he’s trying, in his own way.”

“Maybe he’s not good with words, but he seems to care about you.” Heeseung stroked your cheek with his thumb “It was always like that, he never said much, but he tried his best.”

“Well, at least you had the courage to tell him about the proposals you received and now you can rest easy.” You smiled and gave Heeseung a long kiss that melted his heart “Yes, thank you for listening to me, baby.”

“Of course, love.” He gave you a long kiss on the cheek and looked into your eyes with an amused look “So… does that mean your father likes me?” Heeseung wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, giving you that confident smile that made you push his face away as he laughed “Oh, here you go again...”

“What? It's true.” He watched you run your fingers through his hair “I’m the best son-in-law he could ask for.”

You gave a mocking smile seeing Heeseung's confidence “And to think that I'm dating you... maybe I've gone crazy.” He pulled you by the waist, giving you a hug from behind and a kiss on the back of your neck “Yes... crazy about me.”

Yes, you had to admit that he was right.

You were crazy about Heeseung.

Mrs. Jung was attentive with a serene and calm expression as she watched you present your project. The entire class seemed impacted by the union of the best students in the course creating an impeccable synchronization. It was impressive how you were able to complement each other on the points where each of you had difficulty.

You and Heeseung were a duo that seemed to be perfect for chaos, but right now, everything seemed to fall into place as you showcased your incredible project with unique nuances. From the beginning, you overcame many barriers to give your best, and finally you could reap the fruits of your hard work.

“In conclusion, we must recognize that this evolution of human rights within international law is of utmost importance. In short, International States are not only composed of power and sovereignty, but also of individuals who need to be protected and guarded.” Heeseung naturally confidently ended his part by introducing the final conclusion of the project. It was clear that this was the environment in which he felt comfortable, presenting something he had the authority to speak about.

“And therefore, the protection of human rights is not just a mere internal concern of each Internacional State, but also of the entire global legal system.” You finish the presentation to the sound of polite applause filling the room. Mrs. Jung gave a satisfied smile and stood up from her chair holding the evaluation clipboard she was holding.

“I must say, when I paired you up I knew you had potential, but I’m immensely surprised.” You swallowed hard, fearing her assessment, since she was known as a strict teacher. “You decided to approach a complex topic, but the way you both explored and conducted the research was very interesting. It was a pleasant surprise, I’m very satisfied.”

Heeseung and you looked at each other, feeling flattered by the teacher’s praise. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Jung.” You thanked her and went to sit in your seats with smiles on your faces.

As Mrs. Jung called the next pair, Heeseung was feeling elated. You had finally finished this project and you had definitely gotten top marks, but the best part was knowing that he had won the best prize: you.

Heeseung's hand touched your thigh discreetly under the table and you turned to him trying not to smile. "Hee! What are you doing? We're in class!” You whispered in his ear and he gave a small smile “Relax, I'm just recovering my energy.”

You gave an airy laugh and placed your hand over his, intertwining your fingers “Can't believe I'm dating you.” He gave a closed-mouth smile and leaned down to your ear “I know, right? You're so lucky…” Heeseung whispered in an ironic tone and you held back from laughing.

“Oh, please.” You commented playfully “I’m trying to concentrate here, Hee.” Heeseung sighed and squeezed your hand before placing an affectionate kiss on your palm “My bad, baby. You're so pretty I lost my focus.” You rolled your eyes but felt your heart flutter “So cheesy…”

“But you love it.” He smiled and turned to the front.

You really loved the antics of Lee Heeseung, your former rival, project partner and best boyfriend you could ask for.

☆

1 YEAR LATER

Lying in your bed while reading a doctrine was Heeseung's guilty pleasure. Your mattress was much softer than his, your pillows were super comfortable, and the sweet smell of the bamboo air freshener you bought was chef's kiss.

He was calm, reading one of your favorite criminal law books that you had recommended due to the author's impeccable didactics. Your eyes scanned his figure, admiring his concentration.

He was wearing glasses, with messy hair and a black tank top that definitely wasn't cooperating with your thoughts. He looked too perfect, too good for someone who was just reading.

You usually loved doing your makeup or any other kind of activity while Heeseung read something in your room. Even the silence was comfortable between you because of his warm presence.

But today you couldn't concentrate properly. Heeseung was too handsome, and it was disturbing your mind. How dare he be so sexy like that without even trying?

It was unfair how he was so mesmerized by his book that he didn't realize how needy you were just by the sight of Heeseung in your bed.

You climbed onto your bed and crawled towards him, who seemed more focused than ever. When Heeseung felt your weight on his lap, he looked up from his book and stared at your angelic face. “What are you doing?” You smiled, pulling the book down “You need a break.”

“Babe, I was finally getting the grip of The Fruit of the Poisonous Tree theory!” He groaned feeling your body rub against the fabric of his pants “I’m just getting rid of your stress.” You said innocently as you placed the book on another corner of the bed “My stress? I think you are getting rid of your stress, miss.”

He held onto your waist, watching you hold onto his chubby cheeks. It was disconcerting how he could be cute and sexy at the same time. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but I still think a break would be good to you.” You gave him a peck on the lips that made him smile over your mouth.

“Yeah?” he asked, fitting his face into your neck “I guess I need a break then.” You sighed, feeling him run his lips along the length of your neck and smiled against your skin “Great.” your fingers intertwined in Heeseung’s soft hair, making him grunt and attack your mouth.

With your left hand you took off Heeseung's glasses and threw them on the bed as you deepened the kiss. His hands slid down your torso, eliciting broken moans from you.

As your senses were lost in Heeseung, your cell phone vibrated with the notification of your email.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for an internship position at our law firm. We look forward to receiving your answer as soon as possible. — Jung & Taylor Legal Advisors

Perhaps your and Heeseung's journey into the legal world was just in the beginning.

☆

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saatorus · 3 months ago

Text

— freak like me ୨ৎ

based off of this post

wc — 2.8k

warnings — oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, genuinely just 2.8k words of filth bc i need satoru :3

Sometimes, you truly want to grab your husband by the shoulders and genuinely ask him what the hell is wrong with him.

In a purely cute, loving, wifey way, of course.

You had been lounging at home, listless but not tired, charged up but not in a productive way. The kind of restless where you start wiping already-clean counters just to burn energy. Or reorganizing your skincare drawer for the fourth time that week.

Your body felt hot under the skin, like something in you was coiled up and ready to snap. There was only one explanation for this kind of jittery, razor-sharp awareness running under your skin like a live wire. So, like any other normal person, you opened your period tracking app.

Yup. Ovulating.

Fantastic. That explained the horniness bordering on religious fervor. Everything in your body was screaming breed like it was written in your DNA. So, just like any other wife with the patience of a saint and the self-control of a demigod, you texted your husband Satoru at work.

You 12:47PM

hey u

quick q

Husband (derogatory) 12:48PM

answer is yes unless it’s illegal

You 12:48PM

r u busy or r u like pretend busy like usual

Husband (derogatory) 12:48PM

ur sounding like ur abt to ask me to pick up toilet paper and i hate that tone

what’s up

You 12:49PM

im ovulating

Husband (derogatory) 12:49PM

oh👀

ok. and?

You 12:49PM

so when u get home

ur not gonna get to say hi

or breathe

or take off ur shoes

i’m going to destroy you

like i actually might kill you with my pussy

Husband (derogatory) 12:50PM

😳

bold of u to assume i’d try to survive

You 12:50PM

bold of u to send me nothing spicy of u but be mean to me when u know i’m genuinely suffering and shit like omg

Husband (derogatory) 12:51PM

what do u want me to do??? send u a live feed of my cock at work???

do u want me to be on a list???

You 12:51PM

no but like

a lil thirst trap wouldn’t kill u

show me smth for the spank bank

Husband (derogatory) 12:52PM

u want a pic of my abs rn??

i got time

lemme hit my office for a sec

You 12:52PM

if u send me a pic right now i swear i’ll spontaneously combust

Husband (derogatory) 12:55PM

[1 image attached]

🥰

tell me i’m pretty

You 12:55PM

i hope u know this photo just signed ur death warrant

ur gonna be BURIED in me. like to the point where ur dick is like never getting out of me

Husband (derogatory) 12:56PM

ok but like

worth it??

do i look hot

scale of 1 to rawdog me in the kitchen while the rice is still cooking

You 12:56PM

absolutely rawdog in the kitchen with zero regard for the rice

ur not even making it to the bedroom. my clit hard at dis

Husband (derogatory) 12:57PM

god

i’m bricked up in front of principal yaga rn

i hope ur happy

You 12:57PM

good

suffer

consider it foreplay

You stared at the photo again. The audacity of this man to stand there with perfect abs, just barely flexed, pants sitting sinfully low on his hips like he knew the way your brain would short-circuit. The lighting in his office was stupidly flattering—somehow made his skin look so nice and delectable. Not to mention the veins going down to his cock?

You chewed on your lip, pacing the living room like a predator. There was simply no way you were surviving the next few hours. You even considered sending him a photo back—bait for bait, a little tit-for-tat—but decided against it. Let him suffer.

Let the anticipation kill him softly.

When he gets home? You’re not talking. You’re not greeting. You’re not doing anything except dragging him inside and absolutely sucking the soul out of the man you had ended up marrying.

–

It was exactly 6:02PM when you heard the door unlock.

Two minutes late. Not that you were keeping track or anything… except you definitely were, curled up on the couch in a barely-there pair of shorts and one of his old shirts with no bra underneath. Strategic slutty domesticity. A war tactic.

You didn’t even look up right away. Let the tension simmer. Let him walk in and realize what he’s just stepped into.

The door creaked open, followed by the soft jingle of his keys and the unmistakable shuffle of his slides hitting the entryway.

Then:

“I’m home—”

You were already standing in front of him before he could finish the sentence.

The look on his face was criminally satisfied. Like he knew he was walking into the lion’s den and brought himself as the offering. His blindfold was pooled around his neck– it was a habit for him to take it off at home. His white hair was a little tousled from the wind, and he had the audacity to be smiling.

“Hi, babe—”

You didn’t even let him finish his sentence. You fisted your hands in the front of his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss so hot it made your knees buckle. He groaned into your mouth, hands flying to your hips out of instinct.

“Jesus—” he panted against your lips, breath already shaky. “You weren’t joking.”

“I told you I was gonna ruin you,” you muttered, kissing down his jaw, “You think I just say things for fun?”

His laugh was breathless, cocky, but already crumbling. “You do, though.”

You reached between your bodies and palmed him through his pants. “Not today.”

Satoru hissed, bracing one hand against the wall. “Okay, wow. Hi. Hello. I see the demons are home.”

“You started it,” you said sweetly, unzipping his pants like you were opening a present. “Sending me that photo like I’m not clinically insane for you.”

“I was tryna be nice— shit—”

His sentence broke off into a groan as you sank to your knees right there in the hallway. He wasn’t even fully undressed, shirt still on, pants down just enough for you to get what you wanted. And what you wanted?

To suck his soul out like a Capri Sun.

You eagerly took him in your mouth, lips wrapping around him– absolutely no time for teasing– taking him as far as you could the moment he slipped into your mouth. You moaned at the taste of him, at the feeling of his prominent veins on your tongue, and the way that he just sat so hot and heavy in your mouth.

“Baby,” he rasped, one hand threading through your hair, the other gripping the wall so hard you swore it cracked a little. “Not— not even the bedroom?”

You hummed around him in response.

“Fuck—okay, okay—take everything. Take the whole paycheck.”

You didn’t let up—not even when his knees buckled, not when your nose repeatedly kept hitting the smattering of white hair above his base, not when his pink, throbbing tip kept hitting the back of your throat so good that your pussy felt like it was a puddle at this point, not when he was gasping out half-finished apologies to whatever god he believed in, not when he muttered something about filing for short-term disability because of "whatever the fuck this is."

He came so hard you were genuinely concerned for a second that his soul had actually left his body. Filled your throat with him, even. Like a capri sun. Man folded like an origami crane. Sagged against the wall with his shirt all rumpled, hair sticking to his forehead, and the most dazed, fucked-out look you’d ever seen on his stupidly pretty face.

You licked your lips and stood up slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like a villain in a K-drama.

Satoru looked up at you like you were the Messiah and the apocalypse all in one.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“You love it.”

“I do,” he breathed. “God, I really do. I’m in love with the devil.”

You cupped his cheeks and kissed him sweetly, gently, like you hadn’t just given him a religious experience with your mouth.

Then you whispered in his ear:

“Round two’s in the kitchen.”

He made a sound that was not human.

By the time he made it to the kitchen—pants back up but barely, shirt half-untucked like he just walked off a battlefield—he looked like he had one brain cell left, and it was begging for mercy.

You, however?

Unbothered. Glowing. A menace in tiny shorts and smug satisfaction.

You leaned against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, nursing a glass of water like you hadn’t just rearranged his internal organs. “I said round two in the kitchen,” you reminded him, sipping slowly. “You moving a little slow there, old man.”

He squinted at you, chest still rising and falling. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Technically, I warned you.”

“You warned me via text,” he muttered, walking over with the exaggerated drag of a man heading into war. “There’s a difference between texting me you’re gonna ruin me and actually attempting a physical exorcism on my soul through my dick.”

You grinned. “Still had enough energy to come find me, though.”

“That’s because my penis is a traitor and doesn’t believe in self-preservation.”

“Your penis is smart. Your penis is loyal. Your penis knows who feeds it.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You set the glass down with a click, reached for his collar, and pulled him in. “Bend me over the counter,” you whispered against his lips.

He choked.

Eyes wide. Pupils blown. Brain visibly buffering.

And then: obedience.

“I—yes. Okay. I mean—of course. Obviously.” He practically tossed your glass to the side and spun you around, hands already slipping under your shirt, finding your bare skin like he was made for it. His thumbs hooked underneath the waistband of your shorts, halting when he felt the smooth skin of your hip bones and not the waistband of your panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “No panties?”

“I was planning ahead,” you said, bending slightly and bracing your hands against the counter.

“God, I love you so much it actually hurts.” He kissed down the back of your neck, worshipful. “You’re unreal.” He slipped down your shorts, and then his already halfway down pants, aligning his tip with your soaking entrance.

Then he slid into you with a groan so filthy it echoed off the cabinets. You gasped, arching, clenching around him instinctively, and heard him let out a shaky laugh.

“This is a setup,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “I feel like you’re doing this to steal my powers. Like I’m not gonna be able to use infinity after this.”

You couldn’t even form a reply—your mouth was open, moaning, hands scrabbling for purchase. He wasn’t going slow. Not anymore. Whatever restraint he had left burned off the moment he was inside you. It was fast, deep, messy. The kind of fucking that blurred your vision and made your toes curl.

Satoru’s fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you, saying all kinds of nonsense against your skin:

“Been thinking about you all goddamn day—” “—knew I was in trouble when you said ovulating—” “—you were serious about the soul thing, huh? gonna baptize me in pussy—”

You half-laughed, half-cried out as he hit a spot that made your legs shake.

He reached around to rub tight, dirty circles on your clit, whispering, “C’mon, baby, let go for me, lemme feel it, wanna feel you lose your mind—fuck, please—”

And you did—with a broken moan and a full-body tremble that had your knees buckling, your body locking up so tight around him that he swore out loud, dropped his forehead to your shoulder, and followed you over the edge with a deep, shaky groan that sounded like it came from the depths.

The kitchen went quiet except for your breathing. The rice cooker beeped once, like it had seen things.

You both just stood there, still connected, sweaty, wrecked, in the soft afterglow of holy sin.

“…do we have any electrolytes?” he asked weakly.

You giggled. “Top shelf. Pedialyte in the purple bottle.”

“You’re a menace,” he said, pulling out slowly with a wince. “I’m not even mad. I’m just scared.”

You turned to face him, cupping his face and giving him the sweetest kiss imaginable. “You’ll live.”

He blinked. “Will I? Are you sure? Like… can I put you on my life insurance as both the cause and beneficiary of death?” Satoru was still recovering—barely holding himself up against the counter, forehead pressed to the cool surface, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon while holding his breath.

You, on the other hand, were just sitting on the counter next to him sipping water like a perfectly reasonable, not at all deranged wife. Ignore the fact that his cum was steadily drying on your thighs after dripping out once he pulled out.

“So,” you said casually, like you weren’t actively naked in your own kitchen. “You think the rice is done?”

“Baby,” he said, voice hoarse, muffled, like he didn’t trust himself to lift his head. “Please. I don’t even remember my own name.”

You leaned over and patted his ass. “That’s okay. You don’t need a name. You just need to sit up on that counter for me.”

He groaned. “I need food. I need air. I need—what did I even do to deserve this?”

“You sent me a thirst trap.”

“You literally asked me for it,” he whined, straightening up slowly, eyes glassy.

You pushed off the counter—with a slight wobble—and before he could get another sarcastic word out, you moved away from from the counter in the middle of the kitchen, boosting yourself up onto the counter right next to the stove, legs spread, voice sugar-sweet.

“C’mere.”

He blinked. “Oh my god. Are you gonna ride me next to the soy sauce?”

“Would you prefer the spice cabinet?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Spice cabinet.”

—

Somehow, somehow, you ended up on the higher shelf. Not the safe little cozy edge of the island—no. You were straddling him on the counter in the corner by the window, legs draped around his thighs, knee bumping the pepper grinder, and he looked like he was going to have a nervous breakdown about how hot it was.

Satoru kissed you like a man possessed—hands on your thighs, holding you open for him, still too breathless from the last round to be cocky but desperate enough not to care.

“I don’t have anything left,” he whispered into your mouth. “You’ve drained me. I’m just a shell of a man now.”

“Then let me fill you back up,” you said, not even remotely sorry.

“Do you even hear yourself—holy shit—”

You’d sunk down onto him again, slow and deep, pulling a moan out of him so loud it had no business being that pretty. His head dropped to your shoulder as you started riding him, deliberately slow this time, grinding in small, agonizing circles.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he whispered. “You’re gonna have to call Shoko and be like, ‘Hi, I murdered my husband with pussy and now he’s trapped in the rice cooker, can you help me scrape him out?’”

You leaned in close, teeth grazing his ear. “She’d say ‘finally.’”

His hands flew to your hips, grip bruising, and he started moving with you, fucking up into you like he’d found his second wind in the middle of his own funeral.

The countertop creaked under you. The spice jars rattled. A cinnamon container fell off the shelf at one point and he caught it one-handed without breaking rhythm, then threw it over his shoulder like an anime protagonist mid-battle.

“Why is this the best sex of my life—” he gasped, eyes wild.

“Because I’m ovulating and mad,” you panted, nails digging into his back. “Because you purposely sent me your cum-worthy abs.”

“So my ballsack is being drained because of some muscles on my abdomen?—”

“You don’t get it—”

And then you came together in the middle of the kitchen like two idiots in heat, clinging to each other, half-screaming into each other’s skin like the world was ending. Which, in a way, it was. Your knees were shaking. His hands wouldn’t stop twitching.

The counter was definitely never going to recover.

And when it was over, when the both of you were breathless and sweaty and completely unhinged, he looked at you—kiss-bitten, flushed, utterly destroyed—and whispered:

“I don’t think I can eat rice ever again.”

being a virgin and ovulating is not for the weak 🙁🙁🙁

#gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo smut #jjk satoru #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk #jujustu kaisen

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redlinespeedster · 1 month ago

Text

A FAMILIAR TOUCH !! ☆

lando norris 𝒙 best friend fem!reader

[summary] You like taking risks, you crave danger, yet he is your everyday routine… and somehow, that excites you too. You’d been friends for so long that his touch on your skin feels like a familiar whisper: his hands steady on your shoulders, his fingers slowly tracing your hips. You can recognize the warmth of his body from a distance. But when he finally slips between your legs for the first time, all that familiarity shatters into a rush of new sensations — an intense, addictive pleasure you never expected to feel with him.

[warnings] Smut !! car sex, oral sex & fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes. (2.5k)

[notes] Just writing this ‘cause I know deep down Lando would be the kind of friend like “you’re my best friend… but I’d totally wreck you if I got the chance” 🙃

He wasn’t in love with you, or anything like that.

Or maybe he was? He wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that he’d wanted you pretty much since the day you met in school. Even back when his preteen brain couldn’t fully grasp what desire or attraction even meant.

He didn’t know if it was your personality, how kind you were to everyone, the sun-kissed blush on your cheeks, or just how pretty you were—but he wanted to be close to you. And maybe that alone was enough to make you inseparable. Best friends. Almost like siblings? No, that was something your mom said once, and it made Lando’s stomach turn with disgust.

What truly mattered was that it wasn’t until his desire began to awaken that he realized what he actually felt for you. Intense fantasies and lust-filled dreams ambushed him at all hours, and you were in every single one of them—whether you were riding him in desperation or lying beneath his body, utterly surrendered. The position or place didn’t matter; what drove him mad was having you there, so vivid in his mind, pushing him to the edge even in the moments he tried hardest to stay composed… especially when you walked around in that summer pajama that barely covered the essentials.

You didn’t even try to make it easier for him. You’d sit on his lap, brushing up against him without realizing it, as if he weren’t a man, as if he couldn’t feel every one of your movements or sense what they were stirring inside him. For years, you never understood why he had to distance himself from you—you thought maybe you were crossing a line, taking advantage of his trust. But as you got older, you remembered it clearly and finally understood.

Still, you never spoke of it again.

It had never crossed your mind that he might be attracted to you—not even after everything that had happened. Sure, you’d noticed that constant need he had to hug you, to cuddle you, to run his fingers through your hair. You also remembered the times he’d move you off his lap because he was getting hard and his pants were too tight—but you figured it was just a natural physical reaction. Maybe his body just responded to the slightest touch, because in adolescence it’s common to get aroused from something as simple as a bit of contact. You were a complete idiot for not realizing what was really going on.

Because as you grow older, things become clearer—and the sexual tension between you becomes unbearable. To the point where neither of you really knows what you’re feeling… or how to define it.

Lando can’t stop imagining himself inside you, losing himself between your legs. And you’ve started to crave his touch—the one that used to be just warm and friendly—hoping he lingers longer, hoping his hands start to explore you with more intent and desire.

But despite it all, the two of you keep pretending in front of the world that you’re just best friends, both convinced that you’ll never be anything more than that.

That discomfort resurfaces every time you’re alone with him again. Even now—coming back from a party you didn’t want to go to and he didn’t want to leave, but did anyway, just because you asked him to. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly you can tell even without looking at him, because your eyes are lost in the car window.

He looks at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes, shamelessly, staring especially at the part of your thighs you left exposed. You feel that gaze—heavy, filthy—and a chill runs down your spine. Because you know he thinks you don’t notice. Like you’re naive. And that’s what pisses you off the most: that he’s such a coward. That he doesn’t have the guts to look you in the eye and admit he’s dying to fuck you.

You squeeze your thighs together just because you know he notices. You do it slowly, deliberately, like a silent challenge. What used to be an awkward tension between teenagers is now a game you play to perfection. You can almost hear him clench his jaw, feel his whole body tighten. And the best—or the worst—part is, he knows you’re doing it on purpose. To provoke him. To drive him insane.

His eyes don’t leave the road, determined not to get distracted—though the temptation you represent is nearly unbearable. He tries to convince himself that the sexual thoughts consuming him now are just a consequence of the alcohol he had earlier at the party. But he knows that’s not true. Those burning, forbidden desires have always been there, every time he’s with you. And not even alcohol can justify all these years of obsessive fantasies, of the deep urge to hold you in his arms.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

But Lando pretends not to understand. He thinks you’re talking about the party you just left, or about the fact that he’s driving at a snail’s pace after a few too many drinks.

But it’s clear that’s not what you mean.

“What d’you want me to say?” he asks. The car stops across the street, and he lets go of the wheel to focus all his attention on you.

The tension between you is almost unbearable.

You stare at him intently, and he notices a different sparkle in your eyes, something he had never seen before, almost as if it were new. He doesn’t know how to describe it because he was never used to you looking at him that way. It’s a gaze full of desire, intense and almost tangible, as if you longed to have him so close that you wanted to move until you were sitting on his lap, in the driver’s seat, invading his space and his skin.

His pupils dilate. Only he can decide when to kiss you, how to do it, and how much he’s going to leave you trembling afterward. Maybe that’s why his hand grips the back of your neck tightly, forcing you to lean in until his lips crash against yours with fierce need. The kiss is anything but gentle: it’s intense, clumsy, desperate. He bites you, licks you, invades your mouth as if it were his own. As if he had been holding back for years, when in reality it was only half a lifetime.

No one had kissed you like that before. No one had made you feel that a kiss could leave you breathless, without pride, without control. He kisses you as if he wanted to mark you, break you, tear your soul out with his tongue. As if with that kiss he could devour you alive and still be hungry.

You want to move toward his seat, but he’s the one who lunges at you, pinning you against the closed car window. His body presses against yours urgently, and your hands clutch his jacket, squeezing it hard to pull him even closer. He kisses you hungrily, as if what’s making him drunk isn’t the drinks he had but the taste of your mouth, your tongue, your hot saliva mixing with his.

His hands roam over your clothes with a slow touch that gives you goosebumps, as if he wants to memorize every curve through the feeling. He kisses you with desire while his fingers explore the sequins on your dress, stopping intentionally at your neckline. There, he strokes firmly and precisely, and for a moment, you feel your breath catch, as if his touch could ignite you from within.

Your heart pounds hard, almost painfully fast. Every brush of his hands against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and the heat pooling low in your belly becomes an urgent need. You’re so wet you can feel it clearly, soaking through the fabric between your thighs. Lando notices—he drinks in the sight with his eyes. Without hesitation, he pushes your dress up to your waist, leaving you exposed to him. A desire-filled smile spreads across his face as his fingers trace the edge of your underwear slowly, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail before taking it off.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, voice rough. “So fucking wet for me.”

And then he lowers his head, dead set on tasting you.

His lips press against your pussy, still covered by your clothes, licking and kissing with an intensity that seeps through the fabric. His hands grip your thighs firmly, forcing you to open up for him, exposing you, wanting you vulnerable beneath his mouth. You feel him move right where you need him the most, his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles, but everything is still filtered by the fabric, and it’s driving you insane. You want him with nothing in between—raw, skin to skin—but he just smiles against you, savoring the power of making you beg without a single word.

“Why are you so fucking desperate, baby?” he whispers. “You want my tongue to ruin you? Drive you insane?” He lifts his head slightly, and his eyes burn with a lust that mirrors your own, igniting the fire between you.

You nod desperately, and Lando leans back down until his warm breath grazes your underwear again. The fabric slides to the side with a single movement of his fingers—not taking it off, just shifting it enough. Your legs tremble on either side of his head, open, exposed. Then his tongue begins to slowly glide over your pussy, tracing soft, deliberate lines—so slow it feels like sweet torture. Each stroke pulls a muffled moan from your lips, while he clings to your thighs like he has no intention of letting you go.

And then, when he hears you moan with a broken voice, writhing beneath his tongue and begging for more, he sinks between your legs with an almost feral devotion. He sucks you, licks you, devours you like the world ends there—like your body is the only drug capable of making him lose control. His tongue moves with precise rhythm, soaking in you, savoring every part of your sex, stopping to suck your clit until you’re trembling. He doesn’t let up: he spreads you open with his fingers, explores you, takes you to the edge again and again. Your back arches uncontrollably, your moans fill the car, your legs shake and your fingers tangle in his hair while your hips move on their own—seeking more, demanding more. You’re completely his, undone with pleasure, lost between his mouth and your gasps.

“Lando… fuck,” you whimper through sobs, voice trembling and your body utterly given to him. You’re so on edge that every touch, every thrust of his fingers, pulls you closer to the brink. You feel them pushing in and out of you with a steady, deep rhythm, then curling inside, rubbing that spot with a precision that makes your back arch and his name fall from your lips like a prayer. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every move he makes leaves you wetter, more desperate, more his.

He hadn’t realized just how long he’d craved having you like this—completely surrendered. It didn’t matter if it was in the car, his place, or your bedroom. He had only dreamed of seeing you like this: breathless with every lick, moaning with pleasure while his eyes glazed over with desire—never stopping, tracing every inch of you with his tongue until you were trembling, soaked, and drained of all strength.

He could spend hours between your legs, but he knows you won’t last much longer. Not like this—not with his tongue plunging deep inside you, exploring every spot with shameless hunger. There’s no resisting it. He feels the way you shudder and twist beneath him, right on the edge, seconds away from coming all over his face. His grip tightens around your thighs, ready to take the heat of your complete surrender.

“Bet you fuckin’ love my tongue inside you, huh? Didn’t even stop to think this shit might be wrong—that maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

You feel his eyes locked on you, unblinking, as his fingers drive into you without mercy, going deep until you can’t take anymore—until the pleasure overwhelms you and you have no choice but to give in.

His smile is wicked, not a trace of guilt in sight, fully enjoying the mess you’ve become under him. He loves how you let go, how you lose your mind with every touch, whether it’s his fingers or his tongue in control.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess—all wrecked and humiliated, you know that? Yeah, you fuckin’ know it. And you love every second of it.”

His fingers thrust into you with a steady, deep rhythm, until pleasure overwhelms you and your vision goes blurry. You gasp, breath ragged, back arched against the seat, heart pounding. It’s too much. More than you thought you could take. More than anyone had ever made you feel.

You can’t understand how something so spontaneous —fifteen minutes in a car, half-drunk, on an empty road— could make you lose control like that. It’s beyond any previous experience, beyond anything you ever expected sex to be.

And it’s with Lando. Your best friend.

Even thinking about it feels unreal… but the heat between your thighs and the trembling in your body are far too real to ignore.

“Hey, you good?” It’s the first thing he asks.

But you can’t even speak clearly; your body is still trembling from the orgasm, from the shiver that ran through you and hasn’t completely faded. It felt fucking amazing… and at the same time, something inside you twists, because you both know exactly what just happened, even if you didn’t technically have sex. It was just foreplay, sure—but it felt like something more.

His fingers—the same ones that were buried deep inside you just minutes ago—still glisten with the wet trace of your pleasure. His mouth, the one that devoured you like he was addicted to your taste, is still marked with your desire. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, like your body has completely surrendered, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to stand up anytime soon.

You’re satisfied. Not completely full… but deliciously sated. Though you know you’d need much more from him—more of his body, more of his strength—to feel truly complete.

You nod with a faint smile, and barely manage to whisper, “Yeah.”

Lando tries to put his clothes back in place with slow, almost distracted movements, because his eyes never stop watching you. His hands keep roaming over you, but no longer with the urgency from before. Now he caresses you calmly, with a softness that feels almost reverent. And in that touch, you recognize something familiar, something your body hasn’t forgotten. Because he has touched you like this before, and the way he does it still lingers on your skin like a living memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he lets his fingers gently sink into your sweat-damp hair. “I want you to keep touching me like you did today…”

He doesn’t answer with words, only nods with a slight smile, heavy with desire.

And you know he will. That he will touch you again with that same devotion every time you let him, until your body belongs to him by memory.

#lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x fem!reader #lando x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader

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papayainsectorone · 2 months ago

Text

Nothing Personal.

summary: you show up after a breakup, not really heartbroken, only to be met with Lando’s usual mix of sarcasm and comfort between teasing banter and shared fries, a way-too-smooth suggestion changes the dynamic

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, friends-to-lovers, fuck, oral (f!receiving + m!receiving), teasing, dirty talk

word count: 5.4k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader a thought: new series who dis i clearly cannot overcome my ln4 obsession so... guess who got his own series now lol. i hope you enjoy it!! feel free to hit me up if you wanna be on the taglist alsooo — new divider?? made it myself?? it’s cute right?? let me have my moment walls are way too thin - series

Lando’s couch is still too deep, too soft, and far too familiar. Your legs are flung over his like they always are—like muscle memory—and his hands rest on your shins, thumbs moving in lazy circles while you tear into a box of fries like they personally wronged you.

Somehow, this is the only place that makes sense tonight.

“It wasn’t even good sex,” you mutter, chewing aggressively.

Lando lets out a bark of laughter, tipping his head back. “That’s the worst part.” “No,” you say, pointing a fry at him like a gavel. “The worst part is wasting three months on a man who thought eating you out was some kind of annual treat.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re joking.”

You just glare at him. “I’m genuinely considering writing a Yelp review.”

“Leave a voice note,” he suggests, voice deadpan. “I’ll animate it. ‘Hi, I’d like to report a man for crimes against pussy.’”

You laugh, loud and short, and it echoes into the comfortable silence between you—the kind only years of knowing someone can earn.

Because this? This has always been you and Lando.

Since you were kids sneaking out of karting camps to buy energy drinks and snacks, since you watched his first podium in your pajamas screaming into his voicemail. Since your first heartbreak, when he brought you a single Ferrero Rocher and said, “I’m shit at feelings, but I know this one’s your favorite.”

You were the first person he told when he got his F1 seat.

He was the first person you called after losing your virginity—drunk on cheap cider, whispering into his voicemail like it was a state secret.

When he started getting morning boners, you were the one he told, beaming with this stupid, smug pride.

“Rise and shine, baby,” he’d said, holding up a hoodie in front of his crotch. “I’m a man now.”

You’d almost pissed yourself laughing.

People always assumed there was something more—always. Teachers, teammates, partners. But there never was. You were chaos and sarcasm and trust, not slow-burning desire. The kind of friendship built on late-night FaceTimes and brutally honest advice and knowing exactly how to make each other laugh when it really counts.

It had always been a problem in past relationships.

“Too close,” they’d say. “Too flirty.” But neither of you ever cared.

Because Lando had always been your person. Still is.

You’d crash at his place more often than not—after parties, after races, after long days that didn’t even need an excuse. Sometimes you’d show up with nothing but takeout and he’d just nod and slide over on the couch. No questions. No explanations.

The walls in his flat were thin—paper-thin. You heard the whispers, late at night, from the girls he dated. Their voices just sharp enough to cut through the drywall. "Why does she stay over so much?" "Why don’t you send her home?" "Are you sure she’s just your friend?"

Lando always told you about them. Not to make you feel bad. Just... because he told you everything.

And yeah, sometimes you felt sorry—guilty, even—for being the shadow in the corner of his relationships. But you never apologized. Because it was always Lando and you. You and Lando. Friends. Always friends. The kind who knew the worst and best of each other and stayed anyway.

You knew the way he took his tea. The way his knee bounced when he was nervous. The way his voice dropped when he was pretending not to care. And he knew the song that always calmed you down. The nickname only your dad used. The face you made when you were about to cry and didn’t want anyone to notice.

There was no one else. Never had been.

So it wasn’t exactly surprising that you ended up here—on his couch, legs draped over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Lando sat casually, one hand resting on your shins, the other stealing fries from the carton balanced on your stomach. Your head was tilted just enough to eat, the rest of you sprawled comfortably beside him. In the hallway, your hastily stuffed suitcase waited—silent proof that this was where you always landed when the rest of the world fell apart.

You sigh, flinging a fry into your mouth. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Three months and not one orgasm that wasn’t self-made.”

He looks personally offended. “You stayed with someone who gave bad sex?”

“I’m mentally ill,” you say, deadpan.

Lando groans, loud and dramatic, flopping his head back against the couch. “At least you were getting laid!”

You smirk. “Oh, poor baby Lando. Don’t tell me world-famous F1 driver isn’t getting any.”

He squints at you, skeptical. “I’m serious. It’s not like that.”

You arch an eyebrow. “What, the women throwing themselves at you just aren’t your type?”

Lando shrugs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t have time.”

You tilt your head. “You make time to beat Max at sim racing at 2am, but you can’t fit in a blowjob?”

That earns a crooked grin, but it’s softer this time—almost sheepish. “I don’t want hookups. I don’t want it to be… awkward.”

You blink. “Hookups are literally meant to be awkward. That’s half the point.”

He laughs, but there’s something under it. A flicker of honesty. “I mean, yeah, but—I want good. Not weird silences and ‘this was fun, see ya.’ I want someone who knows me. Who won’t make it feel like a transaction.”

You sit with that for a second, caught off guard by the realness in his tone.

And then he looks at you.

And you’re already looking at him.

Something curls in your stomach.

“I mean…” you start, voice quieter now. “You could be getting laid.”

The words are light, teasing on the surface—but they land heavy between you.

Lando doesn’t smile. Doesn’t deflect.

He just blinks. Slowly.

His hand tightens slightly on your shin.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he says, voice low.

You blink at him. “I mean… I wouldn’t necessarily not fuck with you.”

Lando stares at you like you just offered to punch him in the face and hand him a trophy for it. Then he abruptly shoves your legs off his lap and stands, muttering, “I think you’re having a stroke,” as he walks toward the kitchen.

You twist around on the couch, tracking him with your eyes. “Lando. It’s not like I’m in love with you.”

He pauses.

“It would just be—convenient?” you say. “You need someone. I need someone. We know each other. Why not?”

He turns slowly to look at you, like you’ve just asked him to join a cult.

“Why not?” he repeats, incredulous. “I know about a million reasons why not.”

You scoff. “What, do you not think I’m hot?”

He laughs—really laughs. “I’ve known you since you had one front tooth at age seven and would only wear mismatched socks. How could that possibly be hot?”

You gasp, mock-offended. “Wow. Wow.”

He grins. “What? You think I’m hot?”

You shrug, a little too casual. “I’ve obviously had worse.”

That wipes the smirk off his face.

He stares.

You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes—quick math, risk analysis, moral breakdown. His brow furrows. His mouth opens, then closes again. You swear he stops breathing for a second.

Then he says it.

“Fuck… okay, I guess. But we need rules.”

You groan. “Oh my god, Lando.”

“I’m serious!”

“Fine. Rules,” you say, throwing your arms up. “What, like no spooning after?”

“No sleeping in the same bed.”

“No feelings.”

“No one finds out.”

“No drama.”

You point at him. “No falling in love.”

He mirrors the gesture. “No ruining the friendship.”

You reach out your hand and he takes it instinctively, falling into the rhythm of a secret handshake you made up when you were twelve, all palms and slaps and pinky swears.

Your fingers lock one last time and neither of you lets go.

Not right away.

And when he pulls you closer, it’s like gravity.

The smirk fades from his face. Yours too.

You don’t know who moves first, only that his mouth is on yours again and this time there’s no pause. No second-guessing. Just the sharp, charged click of teeth and breath and want.

He kisses you like he’s proving a point.

You kiss him like you’re trying to win.

There’s nothing slow about it. His hands grip your hips like he’s allowed to and yours tangle into his hoodie, yanking him closer as your knees press into the couch cushions. You’re already climbing into his lap when he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, lips brushing your jaw. “This is so fucking weird.”

“Shut up,” you breathe, nipping at his neck. “Less thinking, more undressing.”

“Bossy,” he mutters, but he’s already lifting your shirt over your head. You help, clumsy and rushed and laughing a little when you get stuck halfway.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you tease, breathless.

“Not with you.” His voice dips lower, eyes dragging down your chest like he doesn’t know where to land. “Not like this.”

It’s cautious for half a second—his hands smoothing over your waist, the slow drag of his thumbs just under the band of your bra—but the second you reach for the hem of his hoodie, it sparks again. Like pulling a match against the box.

Everything ignites.

Clothes come off in fast, impatient pieces. You laugh when his sock gets caught on the couch. He curses when your belt loops fight back. There’s a short, chaotic scuffle over who gets to be on top—until you push him down with a smug look and he just stares, breathless and flushed, like maybe this was a terrible, amazing idea.

“You’re gonna have to back up all that shit you’ve talked over the years,” you say, hovering above him. “Mr. ‘I’m so good in bed I should get Michelin stars.’”

He groans. “I literally never said that.”

“You literally did. Karting camp. Fifteen years old. You said—quote—‘I’ll be better than anyone she’s had before.’”

His hand slides up your thigh, grip tightening. “Fifteen-year-old me had ambition.”

“Fifteen-year-old you had a big mouth and was barely not a virgin anymore” you grin.

He smirks, eyes dark. “And you’re the one who raved about that guy who said you gave the best head of his life.”

You blink innocently. “It’s not my fault I’m talented.”

“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, dragging you closer by your hips. “Prove it.”

Your smile sharpens.

His laugh cuts off halfway when you grind down on him again, slow and deliberate. One of his hands fists in the fabric of the couch while the other roams up your side, touch hotter now—more confident. Still careful in flashes, like he doesn’t quite know what parts of you he’s allowed to touch, even now.

You lean forward, lips ghosting over his. “Nervous?”

He exhales sharply. “I just… didn’t think the best head of someone’s life would come with a pre-roast.”

“You get what you pay for,” you whisper, and then you slide down his body.

“Fuck,” he groans, tossing his head back.

You pause, breath hot against his skin. “What was that? I thought you were the one with ambition.”

His breath catches when your mouth touches his abs. And again when you look up and raise a single eyebrow—taunting, smug, completely in control.

He grits his teeth. “Okay. I deserved that.”

You hum in response, slow and deliberate. “Damn right.”

Your fingers tug at the waistband of his boxers, and Lando’s whole body goes taut beneath you. It’s subtle—barely a breath—but you feel it.

He’s nervous.

You pause, looking up from where you’re knelt between his legs, hands braced on his thighs. “You okay?”

His eyes snap open. “Yeah. Just…”

“Never imagined me here?” you tease, voice low and laced with a grin.

He huffs out a breath, shaky. “Not like this. Not ever. And definitely not while terrified I’m about to embarrass myself.”

You laugh softly, warm and fond despite yourself. “Relax, Norris. I already know all your worst secrets. One more won’t kill you.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s gratitude in it—like your teasing steadies him more than reassurance ever could.

You hook your fingers under the fabric again, slower this time. “Let’s get this off, then. Time to see what you’ve been bragging about since puberty.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, throwing an arm over his face.

You pull the last piece of clothing down, inch by inch, deliberate just to watch him squirm.

And then your teasing falters—just a beat.

Okay. Maybe not all talk.

He peeks from under his arm, a smirk creeping back in. “You good?”

You clear your throat, recovering. “I’ve obviously had worse,” you echo back with a wink.

He groans like you’ve wounded him.

And then you lean down again—mouth brushing skin, warm and careful, letting him feel your breath before anything else. You start slow. You always do. One hand on his hip, the other anchoring you as your mouth finds him, slow and deliberate and way too confident for someone who’d been joking about this two minutes ago.

Lando’s hand jumps to your shoulder instantly, fingers twitching. “Holy shit.”

You hum, eyes flicking up—pleased, knowing, smug as hell. You’re good, and you know it. And now so does he.

He tries to keep quiet. Tries to breathe evenly. But it’s all unraveling fast—the shift of his hips, the way his mouth falls open with a soft, helpless sound that’s definitely not friendly.

He mutters your name once, like a warning. A plea.

You don’t stop.

You sink deeper, slow and practiced, using your hand when you have to, mouth when you want to. And you want to a lot.

“Okay,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Okay—Jesus—I get it, he wasn’t lying.”

You smile up at him, lips curling around him as you draw him deeper into your mouth. Your tongue flicks over the sensitive ridge just beneath the tip, teasing that delicate band of skin before gliding up to circle the slit. The reaction is immediate—his breath stutters, and he chokes on a moan, hips twitching as he struggles to hold still.

“Oh my god.”

He’s twitching beneath you, squirming, practically begging now—your name spilling from his lips in broken whispers. It’s fast, it’s messy, it’s too good.

Your name again, this time a warning “Fuck... I´m gonna—Jesus—don´t stop” And you don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. If anything, you push harder, chasing that edge with him.

And when he finally breaks—when his hands grip tight, back arching off the bed, curses torn from his throat like a prayer—it’s your name he chants, again and again. Shaky. Wrecked. Reverent.

You pull off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Then you crawl up his body, smiling like sin, like you know exactly what you just did.

He looks dazed. Destroyed. Wrecked in the most satisfying way.

“I told you,” you whisper against his ear. “Talented.”

Your body stretches over his as you settle on his chest, breath warm against his skin, heartbeat still pounding under your palm.

Lando's eyes are half-lidded, completely blown out, one hand resting on your lower back like he doesn’t quite trust gravity anymore.

He exhales hard. “Fuck.”

You smirk into his collarbone. “You lost all your other vocabulary, Norris.”

He laughs—short, breathless, still wrecked. “No seriously, that was… I mean, you really do have bragging rights about that.”

You prop your chin on his chest, smug. “Told you.”

His hand slides up to brush lightly down your spine. “How the hell am I supposed to recover from that?”

You grin wider. “Come on. That all you got?”

He blinks at you, mouth twitching. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you tease, eyes gleaming. “Big talk for years, and now you’re all ‘oh no, I need to lie down.’”

He stares. “I just had my soul removed via your mouth and you’re taunting me?”

“I’m motivating you,” you say sweetly.

He laughs again, one of those quiet, incredulous laughs that bubbles up from his chest. “Well, I was gonna say something cocky but now I’m wounded.”

You raise a brow. “Say it.”

He bites back a smile. “Just thought it was common knowledge that… y’know, eating out is for annual events only.”

You smack his chest. “Twat.”

He’s grinning like an idiot now, clearly pleased with himself even as your hand lingers, half-playful and half warning.

And then—before you can fire back another insult—he moves.

You’re flipped fast, the room spinning for half a second before your back hits the cushions and he’s above you, eyes dark and mischievous.

“Oh,” you say, breath catching.

He smirks, voice low. “Guess what day it is.”

You barely manage to answer before he’s already sliding down your body—slow and deliberate, hands dragging over your thighs, your waist, your hips. You squirm under him, anticipation crackling through your veins.

He kisses the inside of your knee.

You arch a brow. “You’re just doing this to prove a point.”

“Obviously,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin again, “but I’m also an overachiever.”

His mouth finds your inner thigh and your breath hitches.

This, you realize, is very quickly about to become a competition.

And neither of you plays fair.

He kisses his way down your thighs, hands dragging slow, like he’s taking inventory.

“Still not taking this seriously,” you murmur, but your voice betrays the way your body’s already reacting to him—hips shifting, stomach tensing.

Lando lifts his head just enough to give you a wicked grin. “I’m insulted. You think I don’t rise to a challenge?”

You hum. “So dramatic.”

“I just think,” he says, lowering again, lips brushing close—too close—without quite touching where you need, “if you’re gonna make bold claims about your talents, I should be allowed to respond in kind.”

You squirm as his breath fans over you, and when you go to snap something smug back, his mouth finally meets you over your panties.

Everything derails.

It’s not tentative. There’s no awkward fumble, no hesitation. Just heat. Intention. A surprising kind of focus that makes your breath catch and your hands fly to his curls like instinct.

He hums into you, and you curse softly, head falling back against the couch cushion.

“Fuck, Lando…”

You feel him smile. Bastard.

He slides the fabric to the side and keeps going—slow at first, like he’s mapping out every reaction, every shift of your hips, every sound you make. He starts adding his hands, fingers anchoring you wide open, thumbs brushing soft along your thighs as he buries himself deeper in it.

It’s not rushed. It’s not polite.

It’s intentional.

And it’s driving you insane.

You’re panting now, fingers gripping his hair, one leg hooked over his shoulder because you stopped pretending to play it cool somewhere around the second time he moaned against you.

You manage to glance down once, and the sight nearly finishes you—him, flushed and focused between your thighs, like he’s memorizing you.

“Okay,” you breathe out, voice high and wrecked. “Okay. I take back everything.”

He doesn't stop.

“Lando.”

A flick of his tongue. A curl of his fingers.

You break.

Your hips jerk, your back arches, a sharp cry tears from your throat and you feel everything all at once—your blood rushing, your pulse crashing, the way his name leaves your mouth like muscle memory.

He slows down only when your hands tug at his hair—not to pull him closer, but in surrender.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, dazed, boneless against the cushions.

Lando crawls back up over you, and for a second, neither of you says anything—just panting breaths and the shared knowledge of what just happened.

Finally, he grins, breath still hot against your cheek. “So… just annually, huh?”

You laugh—half-gasp, half-shocked. “You’re an actual menace.”

“And you’re blushing,” he says, full of smug satisfaction.

“Am not.” You give his shoulder a playful smack.

“I mean… maybe we shouldn’t limit that to once a year,” you say, casual but breathless. “Wasn’t exactly terrible.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering. “Not terrible? Sounded like more than that to me.”

You snort, cheeks warming again. “Okay—fine. It was actually pretty fucking great.”

He rolls onto his back beside you, both of you still catching your breath in the hazy silence that follows.

“You still think this was a good idea?” he asks, eyes on the ceiling.

You turn your head, grinning. “Amazing actually.”

He laughs and it feels like nothing’s changed.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #f1 smut #𓊆papayainone𓊇

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pockystickupyour · 2 months ago

Text

unfiltered, 18+

nerd!armin x reader, modern college au!

part 1 part 2

Inspired by current fanart circulating on tt (yes he has a tongue piercing).

Warnings: Vaginal sex, f!receiving oral, blow job, perversion, slight praise kink, fingering, cervix kissing, dry humping

—————————————————————————

What a bummer.

You’d probably spent 20 minutes looking for him amongst the heaps of people and strobes of light, unable to find a trace. Maybe it was your fault for accepting an invite to someone’s party with the intention of meeting someone else. But, now you were stuck wandering around like a ghost, unable to find either of them.

Being here with Mina would’ve guaranteed you a good time and the urge to call her was growing like the bitter cherry flavouring in your mouth. The sting of regret was settling in your system with each passing minute, that or the effects of whatever drink you had.

While loosening and tightening the grip around your phone and contemplating whether to actually do something or not, a purple strobe hit you right in the eye, which ironically enough was all you needed to land in a decision.

You were here after all.

The vibes were decent and you hadn’t been out doing something fun for weeks. Besides, it could be an opportunity to find some new eye candy. So you made your way out to the dance floor, looking to see who was out tonight.

Your eyes traveled across the room and quickly found who you’d been looking for. You told yourself that downing a shot seemed like an easy way to get some courage, but truthfully? Everything tasted bland and like non-carbonated soda.

”Jean! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Did you sound too excited?

He turned around, mullet grazing the nape of his leather jacket as he looked over his shoulder. His eyes turned small as he tried to pick you out in the dim lighting, forming a grimace as he did.

“Oh. Hey,”

“Uhh Hi? You busy or something?” You didn’t deem yourself the most confident, though you were well aware of the fact that you were a catch, and were kind of underwhelmed by his reaction.

“Can I help you with anything?” When he finally turned his full body, a tall yet smaller frame revealed beside him. A black haired girl, pretty with a scar on the side of her cheek.

Oh.

“No, just wanted to say hi. Hey,” You waved at the girl and she smiled warmly. “Hi, I’m Mikasa.”

”Nice to meet you Mikasa. Well, I’m not gonna bother you any longer.” Jean didn’t answer, only returned his attention back to the girl.

You brushed his indifference off and continued advancing towards the other side of the vast space that enclosed the party area. Despite the amount of people, many whose shadows very well could be mistaken for another person in the dark, one person stuck out.

Perhaps it was their green graphic tee that reminded you of a Minecraft creeper, or the thin black frames that covered half of their face. Possibly their timid demeanour that contrasted the white light blaring blindingly behind their silhouette. Or the silver gleam that flashed whenever they lipsynced to the music in the back.

Mostly, it was that you couldn’t shake the familiarity that somehow drew you to them.

With nothing to lose, or gain for that matter, you made your way to strike up conversation with the mysterious person.

“I didn’t come with any of my friends either,”

“Pardon?” Initially, you thought you had approached a girl, but the deep undertone of the single word spoken made you second-guess yourself. The visuals didn’t help either, so you took a step closer.

”Oh sorry, I just kind of assumed that you came alone.” You expressed, and hoped your sincerity was felt through what you said.

“Feels like it,” he spoke and readjusted his glasses with his pointer. ”Hey, I know you.”

You’d always found it hard to distinguish him from a crowd or in a group because of how little he enjoys taking up space. But, certain gestures and mannerisms made him stand out, like tonight.

He laughed, no, scoffed. Tauntingly, like you’d said something ridiculous. “Bet you do,”

”Armin?”

“In the flesh,” you internally cringed when he said that, just as much as you found it funny.

“Arlert. Majoring in marine biology, minoring in engineering. Likes anime and manga, and PC games,” you started listing off things you’d remembered over the few years you’d known him, which was more than you expected. You had never really spoken to him, but up close he was really cute, and you wondered how you hadn’t noticed before.

“Didn’t take you for a stalker to be honest,” he was more candid than you thought, and his venomous sarcasm made you laugh.

“We’ve taken 4 courses together?”

“Yeah, I know. Haven’t spoken to me during any of them so why now? Did Mikasa ask you to? I saw you two talking,”

Amusement tugged at your lips, apparently he’d been taking notes of things other than whatever your professors were saying. “Didn’t take you for a stalker either,”

”Ha-Ha. Seriously though, I appreciate your concern but I don’t need a babysitter. If anything I was hoping Mikasa or Eren would,”

You both kept your gazes straight ahead, walls coated purple and watching people eat away each other's faces or getting messed up and stumbling over. Not really either of your scenes, and the music was only getting louder.

“Armin, no one’s told me to come talk to you. I literally spoke to Mikasa for the first time tonight when I was—“

“Looking for Jean? I was wondering how long it would take you to realise,” His voice was soft and mellow, like a pillow dipped in honey or a marshmallow coated in silk. It could distract anyone from the things he was actually getting at.

“Realise what exactly?”

His glasses had slid down along his flat nose bridge once again, prompting him to push them up, before he said “Come on, you're smart. You don’t need me to spell it out.”

You sighed, he was right. Jean had only entertained trivial flirting instead of genuine conversations. It was obvious that he was pining for someone else. “If I was him I’d also like Mikasa,”

”I was more so referring to the fact the he’s an ass. In spite of his horse-face,”

“That too,” He was right again.

“Hey,” For the first time that night, Armin looked up at you and seemed interested in whatever was about to exit your mouth next. “Do you know somewhere quieter we can go?”

”I think so,”

You were happy that he showed no aversion to your suggestion.

”You’ve been living with Eren this whole time?” You asked, dissecting the intricacies of his room as you landed on his bed.

”Yes, no offense but you’re not really a good stalker.” He smirked and rested his back against his desk, removing his frames and placing them neatly into a maroon casing.

”Clearly not since I didn’t know you were one of those fake-glasses wearers.” The posters around his room were aesthetic, and his shelves were adorned with non-fiction and mangas alike. ”Shojou?”

He pushed out his desk chair, eyeing his shelves as you spoke. ”Nothing wrong with a little romance, and other things.”

”Other things?” Everything he said sounded like an inside joke with himself that you had no part of. For all you knew, you could be the joke.

”That’s what I said yeah,”

”I understand why Jean liked to beat the shit out of you now, with that smart mouth of yours.” Teasing was your way of testing the waters, and you perceived him to have teased you all night. You just hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way.

Luckily, he didn’t. He took it surprisingly well. He cackled in a way you’d only seen when he’s been looking on his phone shadily in a corner or talking to Marco.

It also hinted at another surprise, a metallic one.

”You have a tongue piercing?!”

He suddenly closed his mouth and was from what you understood, a little embarrassed.

”You don’t have to get shy,” You tried your best to give an assuring smile, though his ears only burned brighter.

”It was an impulsive decision,”

He spun around his chair, avoiding your gaze, and you seized the opportunity to take in the rest of his room. ”Is it uncomfortable?”

”Not really. Fun to play around with when I’m bored.” He had a whiteboard and schedule mounted on his wall, with small stickers adorning both.

”Have you tried kissing with it?”

He halted his spinning to choke out a ”Sorry?”

”You don’t have to answer, I'm just curious. Bet your romance books don't give tips on that.”

He got up from his chair and moved towards you on the bed, steady and appearing firmer from above as he approached.

”I wouldn’t say that it gives tips but,” He pulled down a manga with a male lead full of facial piercings. ”They have sex and they seem happy,”

”If my boyfriend looked like this I’d be happy too,” you appreciated the panels showcasing the male lead’s feminine beauty yet masculine aura. Similar to Armin.

”You mean like a girl?” He snickered and slumped down next to you by the bed.

”What’s wrong with that? Besides, you and Historia could easily be mistaken for one another.”

He rested his head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling, brown lashes hitting the high points of his brow bone. ”All blue eyed blonde people look alike,”

”Is that why you and Annie didn’t work out? Felt like dating your sister?”

You made Armin laugh again, and it felt like you were collecting metaphorical golden stars each time. ”More like my twin. And I realised I wasn’t getting what I was looking for,”

Your face took on the look of a pensive one, making Armin wonder what’s gotten you in such puzzlement. ”What’s that?”

”For starters she has no time or energy for relationship related things. I get that she doesn’t like dates and girly stuff but she wouldn’t even do movie nights with me,”

Armin made himself more comfortable and stretched out his body while leaving enough space for you. ”And she never wanted me to hold her hand or touch her,”

”Not even a kiss?” You asked.

”Not even a peck.” He breathed out. ”She’s already not an expressive person so you could imagine how many problems that created too,”

”And that’s why you haven’t had a chance to try the piercing out,”

”I mean, I got it afterwards. Not that it would make a difference, but I’m pretty confident she hates it.” The latter words came out like a whisper, but were just as clear if not clearer than the rest.

”What do you feel like you want from a partner instead then?” Your curiosity was getting the better of you, and the candid questions were fighting their way out.

”Someone who is reassuring, affectionate. Someone who isn’t afraid of talking or touching or just being normal. Someone who is open to try new things and wouldn’t be disgusted by a stupid tongue piercing,”

”Sounds like you want someone who’s just a decent person.” You said, thinking about what you’d want as well.

”Sounds like I want you now that I think about it,” He sat up for a moment, though appearing occupied with his thoughts rather than present in his bed with you.

”Sorry I didn’t—” He closed his eyes tightly, trying to formulate a smart way to undo what he’d previously said. ”I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want to make things weird, I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you. Not because of that, sorry,”

You put your hand on his knee and rubbed it lightly for a second, ”Don’t worry Armin. I don’t find it weird. I think you’re cute for what it’s worth,”

He laid back down, feeling the warmth of your palm as a marking on his leg still, before saying ”I think you’re pretty too.”

”Really?”

”Ever since you sat in front of me freshman year because you didn’t want Mr Smith to see me on Crunchyroll instead of doing his assignments,” He blurted out.

”I thought you didn’t notice that,” you smiled to yourself, glad he remembered something you’d suppressed deep within your memories.

Armin made a sound of relief, ”’Course I did! The one time you didn’t he caught me and made me write an essay by hand.”

”Well I’m happy to have been of service,”

”You know,” He sat up once again, this time to get out of the bed and head towards his wardrobe. ”If you really wanna be of service you should,”

He made a motion with his hand, folded in a fist and moving it back and forth, as his tongue repeatedly poked the inside of his cheek.

At first you didn’t understand what he was doing and wondered if it was some anime thing, but the moment you realised you wanted to bury your face in his blanket. Given what he was signaling, you didn’t know if you could trust the cleanliness of it though.

”Relax, I’m just messing with you.” He pulled off his green tee and the black long sleeve underneath, to reveal an impressively toned body, especially his abs.

He folded them neatly before putting on a loosely fitted white tshirt. Classy and simple. ”Armin,”

He eyed you suspiciously, then made his way to the bed and made sure to keep a safe distance. ”I’ve always wonder what it’s like to kiss someone with a tongue piercing,”

His face flushed pink, probably three different shades. Just like he deserved. ”I’m messing with you,”

He covered his face briefly before rubbing his eyes and chuckling dryly. ”Yeah? I think you do.”

”What?”

”I think you do wonder what it’s like.” He said flatly, like the most serious thing in the world. ”In fact, I think you noticed it before and made a whole plan to end up here in my bed.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, you could’ve been in your own bed by now. Talking to Armin was a mere chance.

”Don’t act surprised, you even started asking me about my relationship to gage my availability, my wants,”

He took up more space, entrapping you in his presence, then proceeded to say. ”My needs.”

You stared at each other, intensely, like you were playing a mind game of some kind. Throwing darts at each other on a psychological play field.

”Armin, what are you talking about?”

”I don’t know. But I saw the way you were undressing me with your eyes just now. And I know I’m not crazy,”

So what if you’d given him some eyes? He was already undressing. ”There was nothing to undress, Armin. You were already half naked.”

”Bet you wish it was more than half. I say, ¾? You seem like you like boxers,”

”I do.”

”Calvin Klein?”

”Anything nice and neat really. Regardless, that has nothing to do with you.” His waistband had been peeking the whole time, why did he have to point it out?

”Isn’t that a double standard?” Armin spoke, soft and sharp, infiltrating your thoughts like a corrupt file.

”I see what you’re doing.” You called him out, earning you another conniving and half-hearted smile from the one and only.

”Enlighten me. What am I doing?”

”You’re trying to make me seem like a pervert.”

”Don’t really have to try, do I?” It was easy, a witty comeback was like bread and butter for Armin.

You rolled your eyes, unable to tell if you were enjoying or feeling patronized by the way he was talking to you. ”See?”

”Maybe I am. Or, maybe I’m just trying to convince you to want me as much as I want you right now.” The indifference in his tone made it seem like he was being sarcastic, but the softness in his eyes told a different story.

”You don’t have to convince me,” You said, the most honest thing you felt you’d said all night.

”It’s the boxers, isn’t it? Either way I want you to say it,” He was making it harder for you. Harder to speak, harder to think.

”How about,” You put a hand on his chest lightly pushing him back and steadied yourself on the bed. ”I show you instead?”

”I’ve always been more or a visual learner,”

The second you lowered yourself to place your lips on his, Armin tilted his head up to meet you halfway. He tasted like cherries, real cherries, not the artificial flavouring that polluted the punch downstairs, and a hint of chapstick.

His lips were soft, plush and warm, and it felt like two polar ends met when the cold metal ball swiped across your lip as you kissed. You almost had to suppress the urge to bite it or hold it between your teeth.

You placed your legs on either side of him and his hands automatically landed on your hips, ready to hold you down as he bucked his hips up.

It was easy to get overstimulated by the pressure from below and the sensory experience you’d gotten a taste of.

You broke your kiss and hovered above his mouth as you grinded down on him, feeling him grown beneath you, through thin layers of fabric.

The sounds that were leaving him were, treacherous and lewd, and you loved it. Sweet and sinful sounds and mantras of your name followed by, ”I need to put it in, can I please put it in? ”

In the neediest and softest yet most demanding cadences you’ve ever heard.

”Armin you feel so good,” He smiled against your skin, and swept the metal ball across your neck as he pressed kisses and nips along the landscape of your throat and chest.

”Can I take this off?” He asked, but was too eager to wait for your answer as he rid your shirt up.

”No bra? Can’t tell if you cared so little about Jean’s attention or were too excited to let me see them on full display like this.”

A hand snaked its way up your waist to your chest, while the other ran a deft finger along the lining of your underwear. Your skin flexed as a response to the tickling sensation.

In response you ran your hands further down towards his stomach and pants, alternating between palming him and grinding.

”Wanted me to put my mouth to use?” You panted out, unimpressed by how low your stamina had gotten.

”Only if I can return the favor.”

You took that as a yes and placed yourself by the foot of the bed. You pulled down his sweatpants and were greeted with how tight his boxers were hugging him.

You looked up at his flushed face, lips bright pink, as you pulled them down. It didn’t take much for you to get to work, holding him and stroking as you took as much as you could in your mouth.

Your hands grabbed his thighs which flexed and were more well-trained than you’d anticipated. He caressed your hair, stroking your cheek with the light of his fingers and tried to tell you how good it felt in between moans and bitten-back whimpers.

”You feel so good, just want you to take all of me—”

Whenever you licked or sucked a little extra you could feel him struggle and his legs become wobbly next to you. He came close to finishing but immediately pulled you off of him.

”Sorry I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just want to return the favor first,”

You felt comfortable with Armin, even though your first real conversation was a few hours ago. But you didn’t feel that comfortable.

”You don’t have to be scared. I’ll take good care of you, I promise. Just relax,”

You switched places and he placed a pillow near the small of your back to get you into a more eased position. ”Trust me,”

He moved himself to kneel in between your legs, most intimate parts still covered. He ran his warm fingers up your calves and along your thighs. Teasing the inner parts of your skin with trails of wet kisses.

He lifted your skirt up, and looked to you for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

“No, just wasn’t expecting you to be this wet already. All for me?”

He pulled your underwear down and moved your legs apart, warm breath fanning you like feathers. He started slow, just kissing and petting.

Then, swiftly motioned with his fingers that knew exactly where and how to touch. It already felt amazing, like you could reach over the edge like this.

However, once he pushed a finger inside, a whole new world opened up. If he hadn’t done anything with Annie, you really wondered where he’d learned all like this.

His tongue and piercing were the cherries on top. Like when you kissed, the heat of his mouth paired with the cold steel that pressed and powered against you made your knees weak and your voice collapse.

Armin didn’t have to ask because he already felt it could by the way you were squeezing around his fingers and gripping his hair and bed sheets.

It nearly pushed him over the edge too and he had to remove a hand from you to stroke himself.

What really set you over the edge was when he started moaning into you. Deep into you, so much so that you could feel the vibrations in your walls more than you could hear them in your ears.

You could only muster an “Armin!” before the moment crescendoed.

“I’d love to do this again but I really need to be inside you right now,”

He got up from the bed and in your hazy state there was little you could do but allow him to adjust the pillows again.

He wasted little time putting it in, only rubbed himself with little friction against you before sliding it in.

You were a perfect fit, and for a moment Armin wondered if you were meant to be together since he could practically feel himself melt into you.

His strokes were deep and slow, at first, hitting your hidden spots that your own fingers could only dream of.

His whimpers didn’t make it easier, but his groans just forced you to wrap around his waist and try to push him in more.

“You look so pretty like this,” He leaned down to kiss you, and it got intense the moment your lips brushed. “I would do this all night and all day with you if I could,”

He picked up his pace, still able to manage to speak between the strokes. “I’d kiss you all over,” He pecked your cheek and jawline.

“And I’d touch you just like this,” His hand found its way to your chest once again and pressed down and moulded, sadistically playing with your sensitivity.

“And”, he almost pulled entirely out before thrusting in you so deep and hard that you felt it in your soul. “I’d be the only to to make you feel this good,”

He pressed down on your lower stomach, which evidently caused you to spasm around him before you reached another high. Barely able to make out a word.

“Fuck,” You both said it, you loudly and him under his breath. Mantras of swear words and borderline love confessions kept spilling out of both of you.

“I’m gonna coat you all over,” he pulled out, just in time to release a load over your stomach and chest.

“Sorry for messing up your top. You can wear one of mine but I can’t say I’d prefer it.”

He collapsed beside you for a moment, kissing you on the forehead and spooning you to the best of his abilities, then moved up to get a towel.

“I’ll clean you up real nice. Should I get you some food?”

Your legs still felt highly unstable so you didn’t trust yourself to do anything except put on one of Armin’s shirts, which you think he chose on purpose for being 90% see-through.

“Do you have popcorn? I’d love to watch a movie.”

Armin smiled, genuine and without any sign of patronage or sarcasm. “I’ll be right back,”

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert #armin x reader #snk armin #armin aot #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #armin smut #armin arlet smut #armin attack on titan #nerd armin #nerdmin

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niningtori · 1 month ago

Text

freudian

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: freudian - susceptible to analysis in terms of unconscious desires. or, your parents have forced you to be "best friends" with minji, a woman you're convinced was put on this earth specifically tailored for you to have a mutual hatred with, since elementary school. she's confident, beautiful, and charming; and her boyfriend, beomgyu, is just as formidable. he's been a pain in your ass, an asshole to you to the most severe degree, since they got together in college. now, you're roommates with minji, but you begin to secretly take interest in beomgyu's best friend, soobin. it's just that... beomgyu's been acting weird these days.

genre: angst, romance, smut (mdni), lowkey yandere

warnings: smut (mdni!!!), yandere!beomgyu but more like pathetic!beomgyu, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, impregnation kink, no real dom/sub dynamic bc it didn't feel right but sub!gyu is coming back in a big way in "our deal"

word count: 13.1k

notes: hello my friends! i know i've been gone for a minute and i told myself i would post this on my bday at the latest... mind u it was in may LOL but this is a bit long for me so i hope that makes up for it a little 🥹 thank you all for being so patient with me. i hope you enjoy, and if you do, please leave feedback—it is truly so encouraging! if you don't like it please spare me i beg you cuz i'm still riding the struggle bus n don't want my feelings hurt

( ཀ͝ ∧ ཀ͝ )

“human beings are funny. they long to be with the person they love, but refuse to admit it openly. some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worse, returned. but one thing about human beings that puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection, even if it kills them slowly within.” - sigmund freud

you’ve never been one to try to work against the inevitable. some would call it pragmatism, others would call it simply being a fucking loser, but you try not to dwell on its meaning. as it is, when your parents forced you to become “best friends” and “practically sisters” with minji in elementary school, you just let it happen. and when she inevitably drew the attention of every boy your eyes happened to linger on for longer than ten seconds, you also let that happen. as the years passed, and your parents forced you to tolerate all of minji’s, frankly, bitchy behavior, you stopped trying to avoid your fate and became as seemingly unflappable as you are now.

to say that minji is cartoonishly evil would simply be a lie, no matter how much you feel that way, but even you can recognize that she’s nice to a lot of people. it’s just, for some reason, you’re not one of them. when you two were forced to hang out together with friends, she would always bring up embarrassing stories to try to get them to laugh at you, and she's so damn charming, it worked. and on the rare occasion in which you felt kind of confident in your looks, she’d wait until you all were in public to point out insecurities you didn't even know you had. and the one time in middle school when you finally tried to tell your parents how awful minji was to you after she lied to the boy you liked by telling him that you called him ugly—which somehow resulted in her “comforting” him and becoming his first girlfriend—minji bawled like a baby during the mediation. in the end, you had to apologize to her for hurting her feelings.

even so, forced proximity is a breeding ground for understanding, and you understood minji from the start. in the same way, she understood you. honestly, regardless of your wishes, she probably understood you better than anyone else; but that is no longer the case. for as much as you two have always hated each other, there used to be fleeting moments of connection. her making a snide comment about an obnoxious neighbor when they compared you to her, and you taking care to make sure nobody ate the rest of her favorite dish when she was late to family dinner. you two may have disliked each other, but there was an undercurrent of… something. it was a twisted relationship, you won't deny that, but it was a relationship, nonetheless. however, all of that dissipated like smoke once you reached early adulthood. to this day, you're not sure why.

yours and minji’s parents pretty much forced you to room together in college, both stating that it was the only way they’d feel comfortable with you two being on your own. regardless of how quickly the two of you would now dismiss such a ridiculous notion, you were both relieved at the idea. it was almost like having a built-in companion. however, very shortly after you two settled in, things went from mildly bad to absolutely abysmal. undeniable, but ultimately menial, feelings of derision from minji became outright disdain towards you. you won't lie and say you didn't become petty in return, and you’ve never cared enough to fix such a strange dynamic, though you sometimes wonder if you should.

as it stands, minji could hear you getting slandered to pieces, and she’d probably join in. as for you, you’d indifferently watch someone gorge the rest of her favorite dish at family dinner rather than speak up for her. now, after both having graduated and joined the workforce, you no longer have to worry about threats to cut your livelihood off. realistically, you could stand up to your parents and say, “fuck minji, fuck her parents, and fuck you both for manhandling me into being her friend!” but that sounds awfully dramatic, so you won’t.

besides, minji, for all of her raging bitchiness, is actually the best roommate you could ever ask for. for example, she never leaves her stuff lying around, and she always rinses off her dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. the only consistent downside has been the men she’s brought home since freshman year of college, which you declare are none of your business, but the sounds of her… passionate encounters are a real drag. still, you could mostly tolerate them, but her current—and seemingly permanent—boyfriend seems determined to elicit the most perverse sounds he can out of her. at first, you prayed that it was just the honeymoon phase, but it’s been literal years at this point, and the screams reverberating through the walls of your apartment would be an inconvenience to anyone; but it’s especially troubling on nights like tonight, in which you have to be up extra early tomorrow morning for a meeting at work.

as you clutch a pillow to the top of your head in a vain effort to muffle out the lascivious noise, you contemplate maybe sending a text message asking minji to try to keep it down. maybe you could knock on the wall, and maybe that'd remind her that you're also a sentient human being who happens to occupy the room right next to hers. but you know it'd be fruitless, know it’d do nothing to actually help your situation. in fact, on the rare occasions that you’ve politely requested that they be considerate of your poor, battered sleep schedule, or even just subtly hinted to having something important in the early morning you needed to be well-rested for, it's always seemed to come back around and bite you in the ass. it's almost like they become even more unhinged than usual when they know you need your sleep, so there's absolutely no point in trying to get them to quiet down. still, as the hour ticks by, you become more and more anxious that you'll be unable to wake up tomorrow morning, so with a sigh, you tentatively knock on the wall between your bedrooms.

surprisingly, the noise ceases, and you really think standing up for yourself might have just worked out in your favor for once, but then you hear minji and her boyfriend snicker, and then there's the damning sound of their resumed activities. she was loud before, but now, it's like minji is being mauled or something. so much for being well-rested.

you wake up the next morning feeling like you got hit by a truck, and you just know you look like shit. you try your best to cover your dark circles, but at this point, who are you fooling? when you finally leave your bedroom, you run into minji’s boyfriend, the one she's been obsessed with since college. beomgyu.

“good morning,” he says with a lazy smirk as he leans over the counter. “did you sleep alright?” god, he’s such a fucking asshole.

“yep,” you mumble as you push past his shirtless body and reach into the fridge for your lunch.

“really? doesn't seem like it. you look like shit,” he chuckles, and while you don't even spare him a glance, you can just feel the smug look on his face emanating off of him and boring into the back of your head.

“thanks,” you say flatly as you fill up your water bottle. you're unsure why he even talks to you, but if you had to put it into words, it'd probably be something akin to the phenomenon of a cat watching a mouse as it backs itself into a corner. even so, you don't know why he bothers with trying to get a reaction out of you. you've never reacted to his taunts very much, but he still seems hellbent on making life difficult for you.

“you know, maybe if you got some good action, you’d understand why minji's as loud as she is,” beomgyu continues, almost as if he doesn't sense your unwillingness to participate in this—or really any—conversation with him.

“i'll keep that in mind,” you say perfunctorily as you shuffle over to the doorway and slide on your shoes before shutting and locking the door behind you. you don't see the way beomgyu’s fists clench at your unrelentingly dismissive tone, and even if you did, you wouldn't understand it.

in retrospect, you didn't have a particularly strong impression of beomgyu when you first met him. you vaguely remember him hanging around minji, and you somewhat recall listening to her rave about him against your will. still, her treating him like he’d been molded by the hands of the muses probably killed any interest in getting to know him in its crib. honestly? you probably should have planted some seeds of doubt in her mind when you two were still somewhat cordial, because if you had, maybe he wouldn't be with her today. your penchant for apathy has cost you peace, it seems, because beomgyu is at every family function and in every family photo, and at this point, it’s only a matter of time before he’s your de facto brother-in-law.

it looks as though his continuous onslaught of criticisms about your appearance, your demeanor, and your very presence have no discernible end in sight; and minji is more than happy to up the ante whenever he's around, which is fucking always. you almost think that you, in some strange way, make their bond grow even stronger. after all, you're pretty passive prey, and it must be somewhat fun to invent new ways in an effort to push your buttons. still, you're older and more jaded now, and you're pretty resigned to your fate. anyway, there's no way to make a completely clean break from them without your family causing an uproar; and for as much as you resent them, you don't want to do that.

you've been staying out more and more these days. after all, you're not getting much sleep at home, so what's the point of being there? plus, you’re effectively harassed by minji and beomgyu every time you have the displeasure of seeing them, so why bother? at least, that's what one would think your reasoning is, but reality is much more complicated than that. and your reality involves soobin, a guy you met in college, who you happened to reconnect with when you went out drinking with some coworkers a few months ago.

how do you know soobin in the first place? well, you initially met him through his best friend… beomgyu. so, complicated is putting it very generously. frankly, you’re surprised someone as sweet and mild-mannered as soobin is best friends with an asshole like beomgyu, but then, you’re “best friends” with someone you fucking hate, so you guess that’s just how things work out sometimes.

even when you are home, you don’t speak to beomgyu, who’s at your apartment so much, you wonder why he and minji haven’t just bitten the bullet to officially move in together and leave you stranded; but you're thankful they haven't because the roommate market is in dire straits. realistically, you never did speak to either of them for any meaningful amount of time outside of deflecting their verbal jabs about how you're an undesirable loser, but now, it’s even less than ever.

you spend the night at soobin’s pretty much constantly, so tonight, your elusive presence at your own apartment is particularly jarring. the kitchen is dimly lit by the moonlight and the fluorescent lighting above the stove, and the only sounds are from you quietly opening up the plastic of the post-midnight snack you’re making. that is, until you hear the door to minji's room opening as beomgyu creeps out and lightly shuts the door behind him. you immediately register his nearly-naked form, but you're so used to it by now, you don't even blink.

“hey," he says tentatively, but you've never been particularly in tune with beomgyu's emotions, so you don't catch the hesitation in his greeting.

"mm," you hum as you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on preparing your snack.

"you haven't, uh, been around much. everything okay?" he asks gently.

“yep,” you reply as you focus on setting the timer.

“have you been working a lot?” he probes.

“not really,” you mumble as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water. it's late, and you've been with soobin all night, only returning home because you didn't bring a change of clothes for work tomorrow, so your inhibitions are lowered. you're not as guarded as usual, and beomgyu is intent on capitalizing off of that.

“you should eat some real food,” he suggests, trying another tactic. “i could… i could make you something, if you want.” this is… weird. beomgyu has never offered to cook for you, and while he's made things before that you happen to like, it’s always been in service of minji; and he’s only ever offhandedly remarked that there were leftovers available to you. of course, you’ve always refused, so his present consideration is daunting, to say the very least. finally, you make eye contact with him.

“uh, thanks, but it's fine. i'm tired, so i want to eat something easy and quick before bed,” you say as you redirect your attention to your timer, willing it to move faster so you can eat and get the hell out of here. you push your hair back as you wait, and you unknowingly reveal a darker patch of skin where soobin had unintentionally sucked too hard on your neck. in the dim light of the kitchen, beomgyu’s eyes immediately zero in on the mark. he draws closer, his tall frame looming over yours as he holds your hair back to get a better look.

“what's this?” you balk at his question and his overly-familiar proximity. you try to pull away, but he just steps closer, essentially trapping you between himself and the counter.

“who were you with?” he asks between clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing with a darkness you’ve never seen from him, or from anyone, really.

you wave his hand away in annoyance.

“why do you care? you're too close,” you defiantly reply. his jaw ticks as he leans down closer to your face, his intent eyes scanning your annoyed ones.

“who were you with?” he repeats, his voice even lower this time. thank god above that your timer goes off, and you push him off of you as you grab your food and scurry to your room, eager to put some distance between the two of you. you shut your door, as usual, but for some reason, you're compelled to lock it.

you think of your bizarre encounter as a one-time thing, though you're still not sure what to make of it. yours and minji’s families have always tried to push the “family” narrative between you two, and beomgyu by extension, so you briefly entertain the thought that he might actually just be buying into the ludicrous idea, albeit belatedly; but that thought is snuffed out when his previous asshole behavior is dialed up to 100. the groceries you buy are always mysteriously gone before you can even finish eating them, your keys are never where you left them, and you swear minji and/or beomgyu are using your shampoo with the intent of draining it immediately every time you buy a new bottle. is this their way of “hinting” at you to kick rocks and find your own place? if so, how petty. getting a new place on your own would be expensive, and while you're not home much anymore, you feel it's far too early in your relationship with soobin to formally suggest moving in together. you'll just tough it out.

among all the preteen-level hazing tactics, though, there is one thing that genuinely unsettles you: things in your room are always slightly out of place. your mirror is slightly tilted a bit differently than usual, the clothes in your dresser are folded a bit more crisply than you remember, and you're trying not to feel crazy when you can't find a few pairs of your favorite panties.

tonight, you're finally home from a long, long day of work, and all you want to do is relax. you realize that soobin's home is a lot more peaceful, but his parents are visiting from out of town until tomorrow evening, which means they’ll be staying at his apartment until then. soobin still kindly offered to have you spend the night, and while you'd be happy to meet his parents, you’d feel a bit awkward with going any further than a simple dinner for a first introduction.

so you're home. while you thought you knew beomgyu’s schedule well enough to successfully avoid him, it seems that he's awake far later than usual, and he's lounging on the couch when you walk through the doorway. his eyes immediately dart up when he sees you.

“damn it,” you mentally curse, and it's like he can hear your unsavory thoughts.

“home late from whoring around again?” he drawls. you roll your eyes while taking off your shoes, but he’s especially relentless tonight.

“that's all you're doing, you know,” he continues. “nobody will ever take you more seriously than that. what do you have to offer other than mediocre sex?” there's a sneer on his mouth, which is normal, but his eyes are burning with the same unsettling intensity you registered when you last saw him; and while you’ve usually considered beomgyu as a mildly annoying pest, you start to feel a real inkling of anger. you don’t care—well, you shouldn't care—but it’s like he's dealing even lower blows than usual. you're about to answer with something —anything—but he does not take kindly to your silence.

“see, even you don't know the answer to my question,” he says with a mean laugh. “that poor bastard must be desperate for pussy to settle for you. but easy is easy, i guess.”

for the first time ever, you actually do respond, and of all the things you could conceivably say, you unintentionally utter a string of words that happen to be particularly soul-crushing to beomgyu: “you're fucking disgusting.” you don't stick around after that, because he clearly doesn't give a shit, so why should you? you could rub your relationship with beomgyu’s very own best friend in his face, but he's not worth it. you’ll go back to ignoring him like you usually do, and you genuinely consider scouring the web for roommates. you even consider just moving out and paying this city’s exorbitant amount of rent on your own. you'll see.

beomgyu, however, is reeling from what you said. for reasons he can't possibly begin to understand, those three seemingly innocuous words, probably uttered without much thought, seemed to dig at something inside of him he can't quite explain. the pain is there, but its source is buried deep down, down, down in his stomach. he tells himself it meant nothing, that you didn't even think about what you said before saying it; but for some reason, the notion that you didn't have to think about it, that you just said what you honestly felt for him, makes him feel even worse.

he's not sure what outcome he was expecting. after all, he wanted to push your buttons, so why did succeeding for the first time feel so… so strange? he feels a sense of unease unlike anything he’s ever felt before. he’d talk about his feelings, but he doesn't understand where they're coming from, and even if he did, who would he tell? minji? the thought alone is laughable. while she has absolutely no qualms about dumping all of her problems on him, he’s never reciprocated. besides, any mention of you quickly devolves into shit-talking. he could tell soobin, but his so-called best friend has been flaking on him for reasons unknown.

between the two, the answer is clear: soobin. still, having a non-conversation with him sounds unappealing, so he'll simply make soobin come out with him and the rest of their friend group. even if he can't quite articulate his feelings, just getting wasted with his friends should be enough to tie him over. he texts his group chat naming a day, time, and bar. everyone eagerly agrees, even his recently dodgy best friend.

being fifteen minutes late is one thing—even thirty minutes would be acceptable—but when soobin still hasn’t shown up an hour after the agreed upon time, beomgyu is thoroughly irritated. he tries to text, but when they remain unanswered, he harshly pushes out his chair and heads to the bathroom to call his increasingly unreliable best friend. the phone rings… and rings… and rings. beomgyu’s jaw clenches as he begins to accept that soobin, in fact, will not answer. then, just when he’s about to hang up, a groggy voice echoes into his ear.

“hello?”

beomgyu tries to rein in his temper as he snaps, “soobin, where the fuck are you?”

“huh?” soobin mumbles.

“you were supposed to be here a fucking hour ago. why are you bailing again? are you hooking up with someone without telling me?” usually, beomgyu couldn't care less about who soobin’s latest fuck is, but he feels the barest amount of dread in his stomach for reasons he will soon understand.

“uh, no,” soobin replies, his voice a little clearer this time in lieu of beomgyu’s edge. “i’m just… really tired. look, i’m sorry i bailed again. we’ll go out soon, okay?” beomgyu is temporarily placated until the following moment.

“come back to bed,” beomgyu hears someone whine in a sleepy voice. it’s too low for beomgyu to pinpoint whose it is, but the dread he feels makes a resurgence.

“are you fucking serious right now?” beomgyu snarls. “you keep bailing on me because you're shacking up with someone, aren't you?” he's not sure why, but he's compelled to ask, “who is it?”

“no! it’s… it’s just the tv, i swear. look, uh, i’ve gotta go. i’ll text you later, alright?” soobin thinks he hangs up the phone, but unfortunately for everyone involved, he does not. beomgyu knows he should end the call and grill soobin for some answers later, but something tells him to keep listening, so he does—which is a decision he will come to regret.

“you're such a baby,” soobin coos as he loudly plants kisses down somebody's body. fuck whatever decision beomgyu thought he was making, he’s hanging up now. but then, a voice he’d know anywhere cuts through the haze. your voice.

“mmm, soobin, i need more.”

what the fuck?

beomgyu gasps sharply as if he’s been kicked square in the chest, the breath leaving his lungs until they start to burn. he thinks it can't get any worse than this, but then the real noise starts. it’s all a blur, really, but between the breathy moans, the cries of pleasure, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, and soobin’s filthy words of satisfaction, what really stuns beomgyu the most is your stomach-churning praise. he can barely comprehend where he is, can barely register anything outside of the noises that threaten to break a barrier within him that he never even knew existed.

beomgyu’s eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is nothing more than a rasp as he says, “soobin, i’ll fucking kill you.” he’s surprised at how much he means it, because right now, he really could imagine stringing his dearest friend up like prized game; but soobin’s phone has long been forgotten, tangled up in his sheets as he continues to sloppily fuck you.

“you feel so goddamn good,” soobin growls. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart.”

you cry out wantonly, and finally, finally, beomgyu hangs up and rips his phone away from his ear as if it burns him. he’s panting now, and he’s unsure why, but his hands are shaking as he throws his poor phone at the bathroom wall, watching it shatter with reddened eyes.

he won’t let you and soobin do this to him.

you’re fast asleep after your passionate indulgence with soobin, snugly curled up in his sheets wearing nothing other than one of his t-shirts. soobin smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, murmuring something about loving you. his head whips up when he hears his front door unlocking, and he carefully extricates himself from your tangled limbs, but he’s not quite fast enough to intercept beomgyu before he enters the bedroom.

beomgyu is shaking with rage in a way soobin has never seen him do, but if beomgyu had the capacity to comprehend it, he’d notice that soobin seems surprisingly calm in what should theoretically be an unsettling situation.

beomgyu, though, is too shaken to wrap his mind around anything except for the sight of you curled up in his best friend’s bed. it’s a brutal confirmation of what he already knew, but wanted to deny. beomgyu can't bring himself to leave the bedroom, but he keeps his voice as low as he can despite his rage. he does not understand why.

“you fucking bastard. you’re supposed to be my best friend, how could you do this? you’ve been fucking my girl’s best friend for god knows how long now, and you didn’t think to tell me?” beomgyu snarls, his voice low and dripping with venom.

“this has nothing to do with you,” soobin says flatly.

“has nothing to do with me? she may be a fucking loser, but she’s family to me, and you turned around and fucked her without asking me first?” beomgyu is filled with righteous indignation, and soobin’s incomprehensible demeanor shifts from dismissive to awed.

soobin silently stares at beomgyu with wide eyes and a gaping mouth before he incredulously asks, “oh my god, you really don't get it, do you? even after all this time… jesus, you’re either stupid or in denial.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” beomgyu says fiercely, but soobin only sighs in exasperation.

“beomgyu, i knew you were clueless, but i didn’t think you were this clueless. look, she’s your girlfriend’s ‘best friend’, and even that is debatable, and you’re just the guy who happens to be dating her friend. so what? you won’t marry minji, won’t even officially move in with her, even after all of her ‘hints’ for ages now, so what exactly makes you family?” beomgyu falters at soobin’s words, but he doesn't back down. not yet.

“because i’ve known her for years! i’m still a part of her life, and she… she’s basically like family to me. i mean, i see her every day, i’m at every fucking holiday with her, every family dinner, and i know her better than you do.” beomgyu feels a bit pathetic having to explain his place in your life like this, but the words are still asserted with conviction. his next words, though, are not. “and she’s… she’s not like all your other flings. she’s not supposed to deal with bastards like you who only want to use her.”

soobin, again, sighs.

“there’s only so much shit you can do behind your ‘protective brother figure’ bullshit, but if you want to go there, we can go there. what kind of brother figure jerks off to his sister figure after he gets done fucking his girlfriend? and don’t lie, because i used to live with you, and i’ve heard you whine her name in the bathroom a million times.” beomgyu turns beet red as his jaw drops in sheer shock at the brazen accusation, no matter how true it may be; but soobin is not near finished.

“and what guy threatens every man who ever takes an interest in a girl that's 'basically his sister’ before they can even say anything to her? you’ve been doing that shit since college, beomgyu, and the real reason you’re so scared to see her with someone else is partly because you’re terrified that they’ll turn out to be exactly what you are: obsessed—not because you’re waiting for the right guy.” beomgyu opens his mouth to retort, but he finds any words he might say dying in his throat before they can quite make it through his lips. soobin continues matter-of-factly, no room for debate.

“the rest of it is because you want to be the right guy for her, but you know you can’t be, because to her, you’re just the asshole who’s shacking up with the girl she’s hated all her life. you won’t live with minji, because that means you two would probably have to live alone, so you wouldn't be able to see the person you really want. and you won’t marry minji, because then, things would really be over, and you’d have no chance.”

beomgyu feels like he can’t breathe, let alone speak, at soobin’s merciless deconstruction of his repressed feelings. he desperately wants to deny it, but when he looks at your sleeping form, the only thing he wants even more desperately is to hold you. you look so devastatingly beautiful like this, and he would say he wants to see you like this forever, but that’s not true. what he really wants is for your eyes to flutter open just to look at him, and for him to be the only one you see, just like you’re the only one he sees. he wants you to sleepily smile up at him before letting him touch you, hold you, kiss you, just like he’s wanted from the day he first met you. his eyes turn red as they begin to ache with unshed tears.

beomgyu swallows thickly as he feebly chokes out his next words.

“i know. i know i'm… i’m a coward. but i love her. what am i supposed to do?” despite soobin’s unforgiving speech, beomgyu has no one else to turn to with this. he momentarily forgets that the man he’s pleading for guidance from is the very man who’s taken you away from him. and that man is now irritated.

“you're not getting it,” soobin scoffs. “you already have no chance, and you never will. instead of just approaching her like a fucking normal person, you were too much of a coward to risk being rejected, and because of that, you’ll never be anything to her. i’m not going to sit here and help you win my girlfriend over. you don't deserve her, and even if you did, i still wouldn't help you.”

… girlfriend? girlfriend? soobin is many things, a man-whore being one of them, so beomgyu had assumed soobin was just hooking up with you behind his back. truthfully, the thought of anyone in this world having you in that way, the way beomgyu never could, makes him feel like he’s going to vomit; but to know that you’re not just one of soobin’s flings, to know that soobin sees what beomgyu’s seen in you since the moment he first laid eyes on you… that’s what truly makes him feel like he’s going to be fucking sick.

he's angry. of course, he's angry. but more than angry, he's distraught. he’s never felt so stripped bare—naked and vulnerable for anyone with eyes to see—his usual arrogance failing to cover the ugliness that's been the crux of his true nature for longer than he can remember. he’s been exposed, belly up, with his insides torn out and put on display like a fucking frog stuck under a microscope. and all the while, soobin has been sitting and watching beomgyu squirm as he futilely tries to free himself.

“so, you… you knew how i felt this entire time, and you still got with her?” beomgyu chokes out between strained breaths. this makes soobin pause, and for the first time, he looks like he feels somewhat guilty for what he’s done.

“... yeah. yeah, i did. i thought, well, if you're never going to do anything, why can’t i? i… i’m sorry.” beomgyu knows soobin is not a malicious person, and deep down, he knows he can't blame soobin for seizing the chance to be with you. if he were in soobin’s shoes, if he had a fraction of his bravery, he’d have done the exact fucking same. but still. still, how could soobin do this to him? he could have chosen anyone else in this world, just not you. anyone but you.

“sorry? you’re sorry? you just sat there and fucking ripped me apart, and now you're telling me you’re sorry?” beomgyu accuses with a bitter laugh, his voice unconsciously raising with every word. how could soobin make him confront his unrequited love for you only to rip it out from underneath him? soobin’s supposed to be his best friend, and now he's stealing the love of his life away. but then, he supposes you were never really his in the first place. he's panting now, flushed and angry and at the very precipice of snapping into something unrecognizable.

soobin pauses before he placatingly says, “look, i know you're overwhelmed right now, and i know you're hurting. but you—”

“are you seriously trying to fucking level with me right now?” and he's pretty much shouting now. “you don't love her the way i love her. you don't even fucking know her. i know everything about her. i know what she loves, what she hates, what she eats, what her favorite words are, what kind of medicine she prefers to take when she's feeling sick. i know fucking everything about her. you don't love her like that, you can't love her like that. nobody can love her like that, besides me!” how dare soobin say beomgyu doesn't deserve you? beomgyu has hurt you, yes, but he still loves you the most. he loves you so much, it hurts.

beomgyu feels his restless fingers aching, and though he's never really been much of a fighter, he wants to wrap them around soobin’s neck to choke some sense into him.

but then, he hears the bed creaking. you're awake.

you rub your eyes before you sit up with the sheet precariously clasped to your chest, looking disheveled and beautiful and like everything beomgyu’s ever wanted. you're tired from your activities with soobin, but you're also a little disoriented from the wine you two drank earlier. your voice is hoarse when you ask, “beomgyu? what are you doing here? what the fuck’s going on?”

beomgyu feels his heart clench in his chest at the sight of you. he wants to shush you and cradle you to his chest as he coaxes you back to sleep, but you're not in his bed, you're in soobin's. with a longing he's never acknowledged before, he gently pleads, “c'mon, get up and get dressed. i'm getting you out of here.”

the fog over your mind clears and your eyes widen as you finally grasp how potentially cataclysmic this situation is. beomgyu is probably pissed that you're dating his best friend, and who knows what kind of machinations minji will create to tear you two apart when she finds out. you already kind of resent your parents, so if she spreads lies to them about soobin, you wouldn't really mind cutting them off; but how would that make soobin feel? and if minji wants to destroy your reputation to soobin’s friends and family, you know she'll have no trouble doing it. soobin would try to defend you, of course, but you don't want to put him through that.

beomgyu’s deeper intentions fly over your head, and you warily hiss, “what do you want from us?”

beomgyu’s breath grows even more ragged when soobin’s shirt slips off your shoulder and he sees the mark he left on your neck. god, he wants to scrub every trace of soobin off of you, wants to erase every memory of soobin's treacherous touch from your mind. he wants to occupy every cell of your body, wants to make you forget about every other man who's dared to touch you. he tries to force the thought of what you two and soobin were doing before he got here out of his mind, but his eyes are watery as he pleads, “i want you to come home with me, okay? please? we need to get out of here, we can’t—”

“i’m not going anywhere with you,” you snap. “you're not my fucking family, you're not even my friend. you don't get to tell me what to do.”

“don't say that, and please… please don't look at me like that.” beomgyu is fully crying now, and the haze of shock finally makes you register how distraught he looks. you're about to ask what the fuck is happening yet again, but he says something you could never imagine he’d say.

“i love you. all i want to do is love you. please, just let me show you how much i need you, okay? just come home with me—i'm begging you.”

… love? as a pseudo-sister-in-law? you want to believe that's the case, because no matter how far-fetched the notion is, it's still a million times more believable than a romantic explanation. but even so, you simply can't dismiss the way he's looking at you like he needs you to breathe, which is certainly not platonic, let alone familial.

you're absolutely rendered speechless, and you look to soobin for silent confirmation; but he's not calm, cool, and collected like he’d usually be. he grabs the trembling beomgyu by the collar and drags him out of his apartment. after he pushes beomgyu out of the door, he yells, “i don't give a shit about your fucked up feelings, leave us the fuck alone!”

beomgyu is far too stunned and distressed to comprehend what's happening until the door is slammed in his face, but when his mind finally catches up, he goes from distressed to hysterical. he's bawling now, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks as he hiccups pleas to you—and threats to soobin—from outside the door amidst his frantic knocks.

but it's not enough. he can't hear if you two are shuffling around or talking about him, even when he presses his ear to the door and tries to shush his own cries before going back to pounding on the sturdy wood. before any progress can be made—if such progress were even possible—apartment security is dragging him out of the complex and warning him not to return unless he wants to be thrown in jail.

beomgyu trudges back to his apartment. it's quite a bit of a walk from soobin’s place, but he would rather stumble home than call for a ride and risk someone seeing him like this. he cries until he can't cry anymore, and he's still shattered about it all when he finally makes it home. all he wants to do is pass out in his bed so he can briefly forget any of tonight ever happened, but he knows he'll somehow end up producing a few more waves of tears before he can do that. he unlocks his front door and he can already feel his eyes preparing for more tears to fall.

but, like always, minji has a nearly preternatural knack of appearing when he wants to see her even less than he already does.

“beomie, baby, what's wrong?” she asks concernedly as she walks up to him from her spot on his couch and fusses over him. he knows he looks utterly defeated, like he's just got done being steamrolled, and she seems eager to console him. in a way, he thinks she's probably a bit happy to see him so vulnerable, because he never is in front of her; but he doesn't have the time to dwell on that.

he's not really sure what to say, honestly. how does he verbalize tonight's events? how does he tell her soobin uprooted his most twisted feelings for the girl minji has an equally-twisted relationship with? he decides that the best thing to do is to let her go, and that he needs to tell her the truth for once. he sighs and pries her gentle hands off of him.

“minji, i need to tell you something,” he says shakily.

“what is it, babe?” she asks with furrowed brows. “what's got you so worked up?”

he pauses and bites his lip as he tries to figure out how to word things delicately. he may not like her very much, but she still deserves better than what he's given her. he settles on telling her, “i think we should break up. i just don't… don't think i'm the right person for you. i'm sorry.”

surprisingly, she laughs. “don’t be stupid, you are the right person for me, just like i'm the right person for you.”

beomgyu blinks as he tries to process her reaction. he finds his voice and tries again. “no, i'm not. and no, you aren't. i—”

“why?” minji interrupts. “because of your weird obsession with my ‘best friend’?”

beomgyu is speechless for the millionth time tonight. all he can seem to squeeze out of his throat is, “w-what?”

“you heard me,” she shoots back, disturbingly calmly. “what, did you finally tell her how you feel and get rejected?”

“... what the fuck?” beomgyu gasps, too taken aback to say anything else.

“it's been a long time coming, i guess, but i could’ve saved you the suspense and told you what she'd say,” she snorts. “you didn't have to get all worked up over nothing.”

“you… you’ve known about it all these years, and you never said anything? what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he exclaims. did everyone in the world know besides you and him? he hates the very idea of it. he hates that he's been suffering in silence, and hates that you’ve never cared enough to notice.

minji has been incredibly tame during this bizarre discussion, but now, she’s hurt, and she’ll say anything at all to hurt him back.

“oh, please, beomgyu,” she sneers with a grating, teary laugh. “you were so fucking obvious with everything you ever did. the way your eyes trail after her like a goddamn puppy, the way you never want to hang out at your place instead of mine, the way you always get so pissed off when she wears a skirt that’s a little too short. do you think i’m stupid? do you think i don't realize that touching me makes you fucking sick? come on, beomie, you make that pretty goddamn clear with the way you only ever fuck me with the lights off, and how you only really want to touch me when she can hear us.”

beomgyu feels like he might throw up, or maybe even pass out, he’s not sure, but he thinks he’ll find out soon. he’s utterly humiliated and disgusted with himself to a level he previously couldn’t fathom, even more so than before, but he just can’t wrap his head around one last thing.

“then why did you stay with me if you’ve known how i feel this entire time?” he asks weakly, and she lets out a scoff at his cluelessness.

“because i love you. because you belong to me. we just make sense together. she doesn't deserve someone like you, i do.” she says it like it's the most natural thing in the world—like she's mulled over her ridiculous reasoning a million times over, and she has.

“you’re… you’re fucking crazy. you don't—”

“beomgyu, be reasonable. look at her, then look at me. nobody else in the goddamn world would pick her over me!” her words falter a bit as she says that, a few pesky tears unconsciously escaping her beautiful eyes; but she composes herself enough to continue. “listen, i know you think i'm a crazy bitch, but don't you get that i'm the only one who really understands you? i know who you really are, and it doesn't bother me. as long as you take your feelings for her and put them towards me, i won't be disgusted by you like she is. i'll accept you, no matter what. don't you want that?”

“why the fuck would i want someone like you?!” he snarls. “you're—”

“i’m what?” she asks as tears finally fall freely from her eyes. “insane? i hate to be the one who has to break it to you, but you're just as bad as me. that's why we suit each other. from the start, you’ve only ever seen her, not me. it’s not fucking fair that she gets to have you when she doesn't even have to try! she doesn't have to try to take you from me, she doesn't have to try to get people to like her, she doesn't have to try at all. i try so hard to be perfect for you, and here you are, telling me you don't want to be with me because of someone who doesn't even like you.”

no, no, no. this isn't how it's supposed to be. his world has been thrown off its axis in the span of one night, and he’d rather fucking die than hear another word. minji latched onto him because she couldn't comprehend someone wanting you over her, and in her own way, she loves him. and you… you're with soobin because beomgyu is a coward above all else. he wants to go back in time and never call soobin tonight, he wants to live in the thinly-veiled ignorance he's been occupying for years now, he wants to be the person he thought he was mere hours ago. lastly, he wants to feel used by minji, but he doesn't even deserve the dignity to feel that way, because he was using her right back.

“get out,” he murmurs.

“beomie, come the fuck on. you’re letting your emotions get to your head. think about what you're doing!” minji borderline shrieks.

“you're right, you know,” beomgyu replies after a pause, and minji is temporarily relieved. she steps closer to him and tries to reach for his face, but he snatches her hands and keeps them in his firm grip as he continues. “i'm just as crazy as you are, but that doesn't make me want you. i hate myself, but i hate you, too. all your life, you've been trying so hard to be better than her, but no matter what you do, you can't force me to want you. i love her, and i'd rather keep wanting and never having her than keep pretending that i can fucking stand being around you. now get out,” he growls as he forces her out of his apartment and slams the door in her lovely face.

if beomgyu really thinks about it, he's always teetered right on the brink of knowing the truth, but he's been successful in fooling himself just enough to keep his feelings tamped down. when minji made a mocking comment about you losing your virginity in college, he'd gone home and cried, but he told himself it was because of the stress of finals looming over him. when he consequently spread a rumor about you being a mediocre fuck around campus, he told himself it was because anyone who'd believe him simply didn't deserve you. and when he'd zoom into the background of photos taken with minji just to get a better look at you, he told himself he was simply scrutinizing your appearance.

every time he stole your panties, he'd blame it on the taboo principle of it all rather than it explicitly having to do with you in particular. every time he’d get turned on only when you were around, he'd blame it on some secret exhibitionist kink he didn't know he had. every time he’d pretend to come in his condom during yet another unsatisfying fuck with minji, he reasoned that he was only pounding into his fist in the bathroom while imagining it was you because… well, he didn't really read into his actions for fear of what he might find.

it's a miracle he was able to live in denial for so long, and he should be grateful that the truth didn't come out sooner. still, as the weeks since the night he pathetically confessed his feelings to you pass by, he doesn't feel grateful in the slightest. he could stalk you, probably. he could threaten soobin and make him pay for what he's done. there are a million twisted things he could do to get you back in his sight, but he doesn't want to do any of them. because you wouldn't like them. because you might hate him even more than you already do. and if he's learned anything from minji, it's that you can't force someone to love you in any meaningful way.

so, he rots. he wakes up alone, goes to work on autopilot, comes straight home and drinks until he's incoherent, then goes to sleep, well, alone. he should probably try to go back to how he was before he met you, but he feels like that was another life—like he was a different person. time seems to be split before and after he met you, as much as it pains him to admit it.

it's a lonely, rainy night like any other when he's home late from work. he’s been here more in the past month than he has since he began dating minji, but he's adjusting to his newly single life as well as he can. the apartment is devoid of many personal pieces, furnished sparsely and lacking any real character. he cracks open a bottle of whiskey and begins drinking directly from it, not bothering to even use a glass. he sits on his uncomfortable couch, like he always does, and thinks about all the things he's done wrong. he doesn't even get the chance to get tipsy when he hears a knock on his door.

it's probably minji again. she's come by a few times since he dumped her, and while he could probably get a restraining order or something, he kind of enjoys seeing her suffer the way he suffered. it's not healthy, he knows, but it's one of the few forms of pleasure he feels these days. something is different tonight, though. the knocking isn't frantic, it's almost hesitant, and it doesn't last for very long. he furrows his eyebrows, and for some reason, he shoots up from the couch and rushes towards the door. his breath catches when he looks through the peephole.

there you are, standing awkwardly—almost like you're not even sure why you're there. you're drenched from the rain, and one of your arms is wrapped protectively around yourself as the other reaches towards the door, perfectly poised to knock again. just before your fist can quite make it to the door, you pause and retract it—folding it on top of your other arm. you stand still for a moment, and beomgyu is simply too stunned to move. at least, he is until you turn and begin to walk away.

with a speed he didn't even know he possessed until now, he wrenches the door open and grabs your arm before you can even react.

“wait,” he pants, not from exertion, but from adrenaline. “what… what are you doing here?”

he thinks he sees you gulp, but that could just be wishful thinking. your lips part and close again a few times before you manage to ask, “can we talk?”

“y-yeah, of course. um, come in,” he stammers awkwardly as he reluctantly releases his hold on you.

what is this? some kind of psychological torture? you’ve never sought beomgyu out until now, which should give him a spark of hope, but he knows better than to delude himself.

he steps away from the doorway to let you in and lightly shuts the door behind you. he clears his throat and asks, “if you're—do you need anything? a towel, maybe, or clothes. and i have… i have water, if you want. i mean, if you're thirsty.” he hates how fucking stupid he sounds right now, but it's almost like he can't stop talking.

you're quiet for a moment before asking, “can i have some clothes and a towel?”

his eyes widen a bit before he eagerly nods. “o-oh, yeah. just give me a second.” he tries not to sprint to his room, and he prays to god that he has clean pajamas for you. luckily, he's able to find something suitable. he returns to the living room and offers the clothes and towel to you with trembling hands. “here,” he says. “you can change in the bathroom down the hall. i… i’ll put your clothes in the dryer, okay?”

you purse your lips and nod. he watches you pad down the hallway until you're no longer visible. he lets out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding and seats himself on his stone slab of a couch. fuck, he should’ve gotten a better one like minji nagged him to. also, he’s been meaning to wipe down his bathroom mirror for a while. most importantly, though, what the fuck are you doing here?

he doesn't have time to dwell on it before you're walking back into the living room. his eyes snap up, and he feels a lump in his throat when he sees his clothes on you. his clothes, not soobin’s this time. it feels like he's hallucinating, to be perfectly honest, but he's fine with that. he just hopes the illusion continues.

it’s all too real when you plop down on the couch beside him, maintaining a respectful distance. fortunately, the couch is not only hard as concrete, but small to boot, so you end up only being a few inches away. maybe it isn't so bad after all. his thoughts are halted when you clear your throat and speak.

“soobin, uh… well, he told me everything he knows, but i just… i mean, i wanted to hear it from you,” you stammer. he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he wishes he didn't.

“what do you want to know?” he asks in resignation.

“everything,” you tell him, and he purses his lips with a stiff nod. he's had plenty of time to think about the unfortunate circumstances that led him to his sorry state, so the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“i’ve always thought that you were so… so pretty. i saw you laughing with your friends on the way to class one day, and i knew i wanted you to look at me like that. and when i listened to you talk to your friends, i thought you were so smart, funny, and… and nice.” his lips are turned up in a wistful smile, and his eyes are uncharacteristically gentle. “but you never saw me, not really. you just saw me as minji’s friend, and i thought—i don't know—that if i just hung around her more, you'd warm up to me. i don't even think you remember, but i tried to be nice to you, to include you in conversation, to stand up for you. i swear to god, i did. but… but i saw the way you looked at someone else one day in the library. i remember it so clearly—you actually smiled at him and laughed at his jokes, and he wasn't even trying like i was. i was so fucking angry, but i thought i could make you see me if i made you as jealous as you made me, and i thought that there was nobody better to do it with than the girl you hate the most.”

oh, god. you actually feel… kind of guilty? is guilty even the word? you haven't done anything wrong, you know that, but you feel like you've unintentionally twisted the knife in his chest with your apathy. for as much as you've always wanted him to drop his antagonizing demeanor, you don't like how pitiful he looks right now. “beomgyu, i…”

“yeah, i know. i was wrong,” he continues, his soft smile twisting into a self-deprecating one. “i went from being nothing to less than nothing, and it just… it made me desperate. so, i kept trying, got mean; but you never cared, no matter what i did. i guess i thought that if i could never have you, maybe i should stay with minji, because then i could make you feel something for me. even if it was only hatred and disgust—anything was better than nothing.”

“beom—” you begin to say, but he's so lost in his feelings, so lost in the foreign sensation of talking to you and actually having you listen to him, he can't stop himself.

“i just wanted you to pay attention to me. and i could—you know—keep an eye on you. but you… you don't give a shit about me, you don't even consider me as a man,” he laughs. “if i think about it, maybe i was trying to make myself an option for you, at least, and that i could show you what you're missing if i tried hard enough. but you could never actually see me that way, and… and it's all my fault.” he lets out another harsh laugh, making you wince.

“i… i didn't know,” you say awkwardly. he takes a shaky breath before continuing.

“i've been begging for you just to give me scraps of you, because i thought it'd be better than nothing. all i ever wanted was for you to at least consider me, but you don't, you never did, and because of what i've done, you never will. i know i was wrong, i know everything is my fault; but i just wanted to be important to you, can't you understand that?” his eyes are pleading like they were when you last saw him. he's not asking for much, not even really asking for anything, and for some reason, it hurts your heart a bit.

because beomgyu is right, of course. you’ve never really cared about him, but that's not all of it, is it? you were resolved to your indifference before he even uttered a word to you, and while the disgust you've always felt for him is his fault, can you truthfully say that you’d have given him the time of day if he were nice to you? probably not, because of his association with minji. in your mind, there was no reason he’d like you if he knew her first, so his intentions were rejected before he could ever even understand them.

“i really didn't know,” is all you can think to repeat.

“i know,” he says with a bitter smile. you lick your lips before continuing.

“but i do know that i wouldn't have liked you even if you were nice to me. i don't… i don't talk to guys who are involved with minji. there's just… no point, i guess. and she liked you, and i thought you liked her, so… so i didn’t bother to get to know you.” beomgyu’s eyes are watery, but he retains his smile. he was doomed from the start, it seems.

“i should’ve just talked to you myself instead of using her to get close to you,” he whispers.

“yeah,” you reply, and his smile finally drops; but what else could you possibly say? if he hadn't gotten involved with minji, you'd have probably liked him. he's handsome, of course, and you can't deny that he's funny. and, well, you two do seem to have a lot in common based on what you know from small talk he'd make with your parents during family dinners.

“i'm sorry,” he murmurs. “i'm really, really sorry. even if you didn't like me, even if you never would've no matter what, i shouldn't have treated you the way i did. i don't blame you for hating me, and i should be grateful you haven't done anything other than ignore me.” he means what he says, but it doesn't sound like it, because he doesn't feel grateful at all. he feels utterly hopeless. in the end, your indifference was more painful than any intentional retaliation could’ve been.

you are silent. he's not trying to make you feel sorry for him, and you know it, but that makes you feel even sorrier. you're still struggling to form an appropriate response when he breaks the silence.

“i like listening to you talk,” he blurts out, making your eyes widen. “well, you don't really talk to me, but i overhear you a lot. i like listening to everything you say, and i like the way you say it. i like how you look, how you dress, how you laugh. and i… i like how you see the world.”

“don't you think i'm a little pessimistic?” you ask, your lips subconsciously curling up in a small smile. of all the things beomgyu could tell you he likes about you, that is truly something you never anticipated.

“i think it makes you interesting,” he says quickly, his smile tentatively returning.

you let out a soft laugh—the first one you've ever directed at him—and he can't help but straighten up with a bit of pride at having made you happy, even if just a little.

after your laughter, though, you think back on all the things you've wanted to ask beomgyu since that night at soobin’s. you know he'll tell you the truth, so you ask, “... were you the one who messed with my stuff?”

“yeah,” he replies with no hesitation. the sheer ecstasy of your attention makes him quite forthcoming, no matter how ugly the answers to your questions may be.

“even my panties?” well, that one is a bit more difficult to answer.

“... yeah,” he sheepishly mumbles after a pause, but his next words are hurried. “and everything soobin said i did, i did. scaring guys away, being an asshole to you for attention, uh, jerking off to you in the bathroom… all of it. i know i'm fucked up, and i know i probably scare you, but i would never hurt you. i just want to love you. i just… i want you to care about me.”

you take a breath and begin, “i—”

“wait! before you say anything, i just want you to know, it's… it's okay if you don't like me,” you can tell the words are like lead in his mouth, “but can't you just acknowledge me a little bit?” christ, he's so pathetic. you're not used to him being so… sweet? to you, but maybe you could be.

for as much as beomgyu has been thinking about his failed confession, you can't lie and say you haven't been thinking about it, too. you really did love soobin, but there was always a bit of reservation on both of your parts—a quiet kind of affection that you were happy to let grow organically; but your love was never all-consuming, never desperate, never aching. but beomgyu… beomgyu looks like he'd prostrate himself at your feet if it meant you'd give him the time of day, and he would.

“i can,” you say simply, and his eyes widen.

“you… you can? what do you—”

“i can pay attention to you. i can care about you.”

his face tenses and his adam’s apple bobs. his voice is strained when he asks, “what are you saying?”

“i'm saying, i’m willing to get to know you the way you know me. i just want to see how things go, because… i don't know, i kind of... like how weird you are.”

elation, triumph, and sheer relief overwhelm him. he doesn't want to ask his next question, but he feels like he has to. “what about soobin?”

you purse your lips and answer, “we… we broke up. no hard feelings, we just kind of realized we wanted different things out of our relationship, i guess.”

“oh, thank god,” he murmurs as he releases a shaky breath. theoretically, he should at least offer perfunctory condolences, but you two are way past such insincerity. you both know he's over the moon right now, and he's spent more than enough time lying.

only now do you notice that he's somehow managed to scoot closer and closer to you until your legs are touching without your knowledge. the clothing between you doesn't do anything to tamp down the buzzing sensation at the tentative contact. you look back up at him to meet his gaze, and his eyes are trained on you like you're the only person in the world. now that you think about it, you’ve caught glimpses of this kind of focus before—the kind of focus in which he looks at you as if everything and everyone else besides you has faded away.

his gaze flicks from your eyes down to your lips before refocusing. he leans in so close, you can see every minute detail of his face. long lashes, round eyes, slightly-chapped lips he keeps on licking from sheer nervousness.

his voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “please, can i…” he doesn't dare to finish his question, so there it hangs, unspoken yet unfathomably heavy.

it’s like there’s a strange sort of magnetic pull drawing you to him. before you can recount all of the reasons why this is a bad idea—at least, so soon—you tell him, “okay.”

that's more than enough, it seems, because in a flash, beomgyu cups your cheeks in his big, warm hands and tenderly traces his thumb along your jaw before pulling you in.

the first meeting is pure electricity. your lips immediately slot together as if they were always meant to be that way—as if everything else was simply an obstacle leading to this inevitability. the hums of energy you feel at your clothed legs touching is nothing compared to the way every nerve in your body is set ablaze right now. you feel him shudder before he reluctantly pulls away. his eyes never leave yours, and the look in his eyes is so intense—so hungry—you feel breathless under its weight.

“thank you, i've been wanting to do that for forever,” he mutters breathlessly, and he should be finished by now, but his hands remain on your face. he gently pushes your hair behind your ears before adding, “can i… can i show you what else i've been wanting to do? i swear, i'll be perfect, and i'll stop whenever you want. i know it's fast to you, but it's not to me. i just… i want you to feel how much you mean to me. but… but i won't push you.” he’s serious about that, you know, but he looks like he'll die if you don't let him prove himself to you. his cheeks are flushed, and if his squirming weren't enough, the obvious tent in his sweatpants tells you everything you need to know.

for the second time tonight, you take a deep breath and say, “okay.”

“oh,” he groans as he pulls you back in for another kiss. this one is much more fierce, utterly insatiable. his tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entry, and you eagerly oblige. he moans into your mouth as his tongue tangles with yours, trying to commit every centimeter to memory. he’s embarrassingly hard humiliatingly fast, but he’s fantasized about this for so long, who can blame him?

when you two break for air, his eyes are darkened with lust as he gulps and asks, “can i—”

before he can finish, you cut him off by palming him through his sweatpants. the groan he releases is utterly guttural and animalistic in nature, and you carefully add, “do whatever you want.”

his breath catches in his throat at the permission, and with shaky hands and unsteady steps, he leads you to his bedroom. you're on the bed in an instant, and in mere moments, he's stripped you of the clothes he gave you to wear. you feel a bit uncomfortable, honestly, knowing he’s probably comparing you to minji; but before you can dwell on it, he's gulping and reverently whispering, “you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen.”

before you even have the time to feel shy or embarrassed, his hands are all over you—your chest, your hips, your ass—but he won't let himself get lost in clumsy touches and lose sight of his ultimate goal: making you feel better than you ever have. he kisses down your jaw and throat before planting a searing mark at the base of your neck. he soothes the sting with his tongue, outwardly apologizing for the slight pain, but internally, he's buzzing with excitement at the prospect of leaving something tangible on you—something that ties you to him.

his mouth purposefully trails down to your chest, sucking on one peak and teasing the other before switching over. he beams into your chest when he hears you moan. slowly, he pops his mouth off and briefly kisses you again before planting kisses down your stomach, and finally, finally, finally, to your core. you're not sure how much time has passed, but you do know you've never been so wet before in your life. he spreads your legs open and groans when he sees you glistening for him. then, he looks up at you with watery eyes. there's yet another question there, you can see it, so you spread your legs a bit wider in a silent invitation.

suddenly, his lips are buried in your folds. he leaves kisses, but try as he might, he doesn't have the wherewithal to control his hunger. when he takes his first lick, you feel an infernal heat beginning to consume you completely. he moans in pure ecstasy when he tastes you, and you can feel the vibrations reverberating through your cunt, your legs, your entire body.

“so fucking good,” he whispers, his breath warm against your naked lips, and that's all the warning you get before he begins to lick you and suck up your slick as if he were a starving man.

you can't help but writhe beneath him as his tongue circles over your clit, and he removes one of the hands he was using to keep you spread open for him and presses it on your lower stomach to keep you in place. his other arm remains firmly locked around your thigh, nearly bruising you with his desperate grip. men do not usually treat giving head to women as if women are showing them the greatest kindness of their lives by allowing them to, but he clings to you so hungrily, you know that in his mind, you are.

you begin to reach your peak far too quickly, and you think you moan something about being close—you're not really sure—when he slides his tongue into your hole and begins to thrust it in and out. his nose remains buried in your cunt, and you let out a cry of his name as patches of white explode behind your eyelids. he looks up at you as you come, his eyes shining with amazement and, strangely, gratitude.

as you're coming down, he licks his upturned lips and dazedly whispers, “i made you feel good, right?”

you let out a soft laugh and breathlessly reply, “yes, that was… you made me feel really good. so… what else do you want to show me?”

his eyes go from innocent to dark again as he processes your words. he anxiously bites his lip as he slowly pulls off his shirt, then his sweatpants and boxers. his cock is painfully hard, pathetically leaking with precum and even redder than usual—because of the way he was humping the bed mere moments ago as you were lost in the haze of getting the best oral of your life.

it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, and you have no doubt that he'll stretch you out nearly beyond what you'll be able to handle. it twitches traitorously with need as he stares at you, still dripping into his previously-crisp sheets. he unsteadily grabs his base and looms over you as he begins to tease himself up and down your cunt. he shudders at the contact, but he keeps his eyes locked with yours. he wants to watch every minuscule movement in your face as he finally, finally makes you understand how much he can do for you.

he begins to push in, one hand braced beside your head as his fat tip breaches your entrance. you both let out strangled cries at the insertion, and it takes every ounce of willpower and luck he can muster to not come immediately. he's jerked his cock raw for countless nights wishing he were fucking you, and here you are, looking up at him like he's the only thing you see. just like he's always longed for. it's an intoxicating sensation.

“you're so fucking tight,” he groans as he works himself in. “so perfect around me.”

he draws himself out before thrusting in a little further. then again. then again. each time, he gains a bit more of you, splitting you open further and further with every movement of his hips. his veiny cock drags against the most pleasurable spot in your cunt every time. he's whimpering now, and he'd be shy in any other context, but not right now. he's fucking a girl raw for the first time, and not just any girl, the girl. the girl he’s wanted since… well, always. he couldn't care less about the fact that he sounds like a whore.

when he pulls out and slams back in again, he's finally completely sheathed in you. his eyes roll back in absolute pleasure as he lets out a guttural moan. you, on the other hand, feel so full, feel so right, you're writhing beneath him. with a shuddering breath, beomgyu pulls out almost completely before drilling into you again and again. his pace is frantic—carnal, even. when you thread your fingers in his hair, he lets out a desperate whine.

“you feel so—mm, fuck!—so perfect. squeezing me so fucking tight, i can't—oh, god!” he babbles as he pounds himself into you. he has just enough awareness to take his skilled fingers and roll your clit as he loses himself in you. he keeps up his brutal pace in an act of frenzy.

“never—nngh—never wanna stop,” he whines as tears begin to pool in his eyes. they fall completely when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a filthy kiss. he tastes like you, and you realize you like it that way. you realize you like how pathetic he is, how much he’s loved you all this time, how much he needs you. you break from him and sink your teeth into his neck like he did to you, marking him as your own, and he lets out an animalistic cry he did not know he was capable of making.

“fuck, yes, yes, yes!” he cries out as his aching balls slap against you with every thrust. “please, please come. need to feel you—ah!—feel you come on my cock.”

his gaze finally parts from yours to look at your stomach. how nice would it be to be one with you completely? as much as he wants to, he can't stay inside of you forever, can't enmesh his body with yours, but he can become a part of you in a different way. he can plant his seed in your stomach, can mix his dna with yours in a physical, living, breathing product of his love for you—if he's fortunate enough. that way, he’ll be tied to you the way he never wanted to be tied to minji, and you’ll be tied to him just the same. but you haven't even agreed to date him. you're just lost in lust, right?

“i’m… i’m gonna come,” he pants as he continues to work your clit and fuck you like a crazed man. “have to pull out.” the words are almost painful to say, but he grits his teeth and says them, anyway.

shockingly, you wrap your legs around his waist and say between labored breaths, “you don't have to.”

the whine he lets out is laughably emasculating, but he doesn't care. he fucks you even more fiercely and rolls your clit with even more desperation, and you can feel the tension in your stomach about to snap. you let out a broken moan of his name as you come undone beneath him, your mind flooding with nothing but unmarred bliss, and your cunt clenching around him so suffocatingly, he can barely even thrust.

“oh, sh-shit!” he cries out as his orgasm throws his world off-kilter. his cum floods your insides then—thick and hot—and he can feel you squeezing him for every last drop. he gives a few more weak thrusts before collapsing on top of you. you both pant in exhaustion, but once he catches his breath, he buries his face into the crook of your sweaty neck.

“i love you so fucking much,” he whispers, his breath making your skin tingle. he pulls away and looks up at you. “and you… you’ll love me back. i'll make sure everything—i won't let anything go wrong. and if minji tries anything, i'll ruin her fucking life. i swear, i'll be perfect. i'll be the perfect boyfriend, husband, father of—”

“tone down the crazy,” you warn as you lightly pinch his cheek.

“s-sorry, i just got excited,” he blushes. “but i mean it, you know? i won't waste this, i promise. i'll be good for you every day, and i’ll show you how much i love you until you feel the same way. and our family—i mean, your family, they might be mad, but we'll deal with whatever happens, okay? and if they can't accept us, then we always have my family. they won't treat you badly, i swear.” he means it. his family doesn't even really know minji, and when they did meet her, they didn't care for her.

beomgyu is looking at you with his watery, pleading eyes, and you know he'd give you the entire world if you let him. if yours and minji’s families hate you after this, he’ll be your family, and you kind of hate your family, anyway. he loves you, and oddly enough, you can really see things working out just as he says they will.

you can't help but let out a tired laugh. “okay, i believe you.”

he groans in relief as he kisses you again, deeply and tenderly and lovingly, and you can see yourself falling in love with him, too.

notes pt. 2: i hope u all liked this one! it's been a while since i've written beomgyu this way and i kinda missed him. ik i'm not the best at writing him but pls dont be mean. and again if u enjoyed this please leave feedback!

taglists

permanent: @lonelybutterflytae @sooberryworld @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @notevenheretbh1 @that1sadgrl @archoive @paegesoobin @buttercreamerie @serenityism00 @fairfootedflekk @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @taehyunluvrs @m00gyu @denleave1088 @hwanghyunjinismybae @todorokiskitten @choikanghuening @thispersonlovesbeomgyu @naoristerling @sunnysidesins @beommieternity @peanutbutterjam505 @tkooooop @fairy-jojo

freudian: @soobsfairy444 @bambammtori @ewsnup @younbeanz @weyukinluv @wildernessuntothemselves @dksfml

#niningtori #freudian #beomgyu smut #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #beomgyu fic #beomgyu ff #txt fic #txt ff #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #txt x you #nini's hard hours

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glossdebut · 2 months ago

Text

best laid plans | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You meet Min Yoongi at a GS25 on a nothing Tuesday. You don't expect him to change your life. You certainly don't expect to change his.

✧ TAGS: strangers to lovers, angst (with a happy—but hopefully realistic—ending), smut, fluff, this is a heavy one so please heed the warnings!

✧ WARNINGS: mental health issues, depression, depressive episodes, suicidal ideation throughout, suicide mentions throughout, implied suicide attempt (sort of?), panic attacks, specifically panic attacks after (consensual!) sex, smoking, recreational marijuana use, vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of unprotected sex (but no real unprotected sex), MINORS DNI, please do not read this fic if any of these warnings are triggering to you!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay. so... i said i wasn't going to post any more fics until june. and i won't post any more until then after this! i'm still on semi-hiatus! but something happened in my personal life last week, and i couldn't... not get it all out, somehow. so... here's this almost 14k monster. thank you claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading and giving me so much love and support while i was in the process of writing this! i love you! and thank you yoongi, for writing/releasing so far away (and the last) in 2016 and teaching teenage aqua how to stay, even when i didn't want to. and teaching adult aqua the same thing every year since. i hope this fic helps someone. that's why i'm posting it.

P.S. i recognize that i haven't edited my taglist since my hiatus. if you want to be removed, let me know.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 13.6k words

It’s a Tuesday night, which means nothing. Just like Monday meant nothing. Just like Wednesday won’t either.

The buzzing fluorescent lights in the 24-hour convenience store stutter overhead. You’ve been zoned out in the ramen aisle for at least five minutes now, doing the same song and dance you always do. Pretending you’re going to try something different this time, be a little spontaneous. Because you must break the pattern today or the loop will repeat tomorrow, right?

Still, though, your hand hovers over the same one you always get—the spicy one in the black package that scorches your mouth and makes your nose run. But at least it makes you feel something. So, you grab it.

Into the basket it goes, landing beside a bottle of Milkis and a crumpled bag of gummy worms. You sigh, turn around—

—and nearly walk straight into some guy you didn’t even know was in the store.

You both do that awkward side-step thing, freeze, then side-step the same way again.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” the guy mutters, voice low and scratchy, like it hasn’t been used yet today.

He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the drawstrings uneven. His hair, bleach blonde, is tucked messily under a beanie, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from what was clearly a very intense nap. He’s holding a can of cold coffee and a pre-packaged egg sandwich in one hand, clutched between long fingers.

His eyes flick up to yours, and you realize, belatedly, that you’re staring. You should probably move, or say something.

“No, I—sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Your basket clinks against your knee. “Didn’t see you.”

Both of you are still kind of in each other’s way. There’s that weird, hesitant pause where you’re not quite sure who’s supposed to move next.

You clear your throat, nodding at his sandwich. “Midnight craving?”

“Something like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to the ramen in your basket. “You going for pain, huh?”

You blink, then smile a little. You didn’t expect him to be game. “Only the kind I can control.”

That makes him huff a short laugh through his nose. “Hey, no judgment. I’m out here buying coffee at midnight, so.”

You nod toward the sandwich again. “And that. Bold choice.”

“I wasn’t ready to commit to tuna.”

“Fair.”

It feels dangerously like flirting, just for a second. Awkward, clumsy flirting, sure, but flirting nonetheless. But the moment ends just as quickly as it came, like you’ve both run out of things to say at the exact same time.

You awkwardly step in opposite directions after that.

You return to your mission. First, hot water from the machine by the coffee counter. Plastic fork from the stack that’s always slightly sticky. You sit on one of the cracked stools by the window while the noodles steep and sip from your Milkis while staring out at the empty street.

By the time you make it to the register, the guy is gone. You kind of expected that.

He was cute, you think. A year ago, when you were a different girl and sort of had your shit together, you probably would’ve asked for his number. Batted your eyelashes or something stupid like that.

But now? You barely have the energy to brush your teeth most days. You’re certainly not in a place for romance. Not when your big life plan has boiled down to ‘survive one more month.’

So no, you’re not mourning the possible missed connection with the kind-of-cute stranger in the GS25. Just acknowledging it.

But then, when you’ve paid and make a move to shuffle out, the automatic doors slide open—and there he is.

Again. Leaning against the low brick wall, trying to light a cigarette with the wind working against him. The flame sputters out twice before catching.

You could leave. You should. But you linger, and since the street is pretty much desolate, he notices.

“Didn’t mean to loiter behind you,” he says, glancing up.

You shrug. “Didn’t mean to run into you. Twice.”

He waves his free hand dismissively, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips, plastic bag dangling precariously. “No harm done.”

That should be it, probably. End of conversation, end of interaction. Two strangers walk in opposite directions to wherever it is they call home.

But something about the slump in his shoulders, so similar to your own, makes you momentarily brave.

“You got somewhere to be?” you ask, gnawing at your bottom lip.

“Does it look like it?”

It doesn’t. Neither do you.

“Wanna sit?” you offer, gesturing towards the curb. “I’m just gonna eat before it gets cold.”

His eyes widen, like that’s the last thing in the world he expected you to say.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You sit. He settles a little awkwardly beside you, pulling the sandwich out of its crinkled plastic. It’s predictably silent between you, but you don’t hate it.

He eats. You slurp noodles.

And eventually, inevitably, you glance sideways.

Okay. He is cute. Decidedly. Maybe even hot, if you caught him on a better day. In a bleary, worn out way. The kind of good looks that sneak up on you, delicate and masculine all at once. Pale skin. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. You’re not going to do anything about it. Obviously. But… still.

“What’s your name?” you ask around a mouthful of noodles.

“Yoongi.”

You nod. Don’t offer yours yet.

Yoongi takes another bite of his sandwich. Swallows. “You here often?” he asks, immediately grimacing. “God. That sounded—"

“Like a line?” You laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

Small talk comes easy after that. You find out he used to live on the other side of the river and only recently moved to this part of the city because of a roommate situation that imploded. You tell him that you only planned to live in your current apartment for a year, until you could afford something better. It’s been three now.

He tells you he’s currently between jobs. You admit you’re technically not sure if you still have your night gig, because your boss hasn’t texted you in three days and you don’t want to ask.

He gives you the remaining half of his sandwich. You pass over your ramen wordlessly, letting him steal a few bites. It’s still awkward, eating so closely with a stranger like this. Sharing your dinner with someone who doesn’t even know your name. But it’s weirdly nice.

When the food is mostly gone, he holds out his cigarette pack. You take one and he lights it for you. You both pass it back and forth in silence for a minute.

“I used to think I’d be famous by now,” he says eventually, exhaling toward the gutter. “Like, not stupid-famous. Just… enough that I wouldn’t be here. You know?”

You nod. You do know.

“I wanted to be a writer,” you offer in return. “But I hate writing. And I hate people who are good at it. And I hate that I still kind of want to do it anyway.”

“I don’t even know what I do anymore,” he says. “I was making music for a while. Then I got tired. Now I sleep too much. Avoid my friends. Pick up shifts at my cousin’s record store when he gets desperate enough to ask.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice.”

He snorts. “It’s not. But thanks.”

You tip your head back, look up at the sky, which is a washed-out navy and completely starless. Seoul smog. “I work part-time at a bookstore that almost exclusively sells erotica. And I cry like, three times a week, minimum. Usually in the bathroom. Sometimes in front of customers.”

Yoongi flicks ash onto the ground. “You win.”

You both sit with it. The warm, awful food. The too-sweet soda and the gummy worms melting in the bag between your knees. The companionship of a stranger willing to share a cigarette and half of his shitty sandwich, whose life isn’t all that different from yours.

You turn your heads at the same time. Your eyes flick down to his lips where they’re sealed around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. To his long fingers, thumbnail bitten to shit.

He’s really pretty, even like this, in the unflattering light of the streetlamp you’re sitting under. Long lashes and dark eyes that pierce through you. You wonder if his mouth really is as soft as it looks.

He’s looking at your lips, too, you realize. When you catch him, he looks away fast, ears pink.

“This is nice,” he says, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes.

You blink. Then, just as quietly, “Yeah. It is.”

He offers the cigarette again. You take it. Neither of you says anything else for a long time.

✧

The bookstore has been blissfully, predictably dead since you opened this morning. That’s really the only upside of the job—nobody shows up. You could count the regulars on one hand, and half of them only come in to use the bathroom, despite the clearly posted sign that says they can’t.

You’ve developed a theory about it, about the shame that still lingers around buying erotica in person. As if reading about sex is fine, but purchasing it in the flesh is something to feel embarrassed about. You could write a dissertation on it, probably. But you won’t. You don’t write anymore. You just clock in, count the till, and reorganize displays no one looks at.

You’ve already done your morning routine. Opened up. Counted money. Packed a frankly alarming number of online orders (apparently people really love vampire erotica). Now, you’re posted up behind the counter, flipping through a paperback about sexy cowboys with a bright red cover and a title that would make your mother blush.

You’re in the middle of counting how many times the author uses the word member on one page (six, and one was throbbing) when the bell above the door gives its half-hearted ding.

You glance up from the counter, fully prepared to give your standard ‘we don’t have a public bathroom’ spiel, when you see him. Hoodie. Messy, bleached hair. Soft mouth.

Yoongi.

Your mouth actually falls open a little. You eventually gave him your name that night, but you hadn’t exchanged numbers. You didn’t even follow each other on social media. And yet, here he is, bearing witness to you in all of your smut-peddling glory.

“I guessed,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds a little breathless. “You said bookstore, and there’s like, two in the area. The other one didn’t have nearly enough erotica.”

“So you just… showed up?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You didn’t give me your number.”

If he wasn’t cute, you might be a little creeped out. He’s lucky he’s got such a nice face. It makes things feel romantic.

“You want something?” you ask, gesturing to the wide variety of bodice-rippers your manager has displayed so proudly at the register.

“Yeah,” he says. “A cigarette. And maybe to talk to you again.”

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Come on.”

You lead him through the back, past the haphazard ‘Employees Only’ sign that no one respects. Outside, the alley smells like stale piss. Very romantic, indeed.

Just like Tuesday, he lights a cigarette for you to share. You take it, and he leans against the brick wall, watching you.

“I kept thinking about you all week,” he says suddenly, no preamble. His eyes are fixed on the smoke curling off the end of the cigarette.

You take a drag, the smoke clinging to your teeth. “I thought about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your shoes. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, though.”

He gives a quiet little laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. Stubbornness? Hope? Boredom?” He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want to go another week without feeling like something mattered. Even if it’s just a conversation in a piss alley.”

That earns a smile from you. A real one. You pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says eventually. “I don’t even know if I’m in a place to have a thing. But I liked talking to you. And I’m tired of not liking anything.”

You look at him. He’s not exactly looking back, more at the space near your shoes. But his profile is soft, a little hopeful.

“I feel the same way,” you say, cheeks hot and heartrate climbing. Something you haven’t felt in a long time—not for good reasons, at least.

He smiles. It’s small, but it feels real.

“You’re gonna give me your number this time, right?”

You dig your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He types in his number one-handed, cigarette dangling from the other, then calls himself so he has yours too. When it buzzes in his hoodie pocket, he hums like that settles something. Like now, technically, you belong to each other in some tiny way.

You take the cigarette back from him. Your fingers brush, knuckles stay touching longer than they should.

“You’re not gonna ghost me now that you’ve won the chase, right?” you murmur.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You think that was a chase?”

You shrug. “It was something.”

For a moment, you just stand there in the alley. The world keeps moving, traffic hums in the distance. Your shitty boss is probably inside wondering why you’ve been gone more than the regulation five minutes.

But you don’t move.

You look at him. His mouth. The cigarette between your fingers. And your body makes a decision your brain is too tired to argue with.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your lips a little dry, the angle off, but it doesn’t matter. He makes a sound like a surprised exhale against your mouth and then he’s kissing you back, slow and warm and honest.

He tastes like smoke and canned coffee. You drop the cigarette and his hand finds your jaw. Your fingers reach for the edge of his hoodie, twisting in the fabric like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.

You kiss him again. And again.

You’re not trying to make it romantic, really. You’re not trying to make it anything. It’s just—fuck, it’s been so long since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted to.

And Yoongi kisses like he wants to be anywhere but alone. Like he gets it.

When you finally pull back, both of you a little dazed, he lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “So… this is happening.”

You nod, heart hammering. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t.”

And he kisses you again, one more time for the road, hands on your hips like maybe he needs the grounding just as badly as you do.

Yoongi leaves around the back and you go back inside like nothing happened.

But he leaves with your number, and you can still taste him on your lips.

✧

Weeks pass, but you both take full advantage of having each other’s numbers.

You text mostly during lulls, when you’re hiding behind the register pretending to alphabetize the books, or when Yoongi’s stuck in the back room of the record store sorting the new arrivals.

You never say good morning or good night. It’s not like that. But he sends you photos of weird album art, and you respond with blurry selfies surrounded by piles of books with egregious titles.

There’s comfort in the ease of it. No pressure. Just a quiet thread tying your days together.

You: someone asked if we have a bathroom and when i said no they said “then what do you do?” like they wanted me to shit in front of them for proof

Yoongi: People are the worst. Come work here. The pay is shit but at least no one talks to me

Sometimes you send voice notes instead of typing because you’re too tired, and he never comments on how drained you sound. He just sends one back where his voice is raspy and low and he’s clearly half-asleep but trying anyway.

It’s not dating, but it’s not not dating. You’re not friends, not exactly, but you care, at least a little, about whether he eats. Whether he sleeps. Whether he means it when he says he’s fine.

It’s just whatever the two of you are capable of giving right now. Somehow, that’s enough.

It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi: You up?

Yoongi: Don’t say anything about how that sounds btw

You stare at it for a second. Then you type:

You: i am. what’s up?

You: and yes i’m going to make fun of you anyway

You: is this a booty call

Three dots bubble up and disappear. Once, twice, three times.

Yoongi: I just want to see you

Yoongi: Is that okay?

You sit up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

You could say no. You could ask why. You could point out the hour, claim you have work in the morning. But you haven’t seen him since the day you exchanged numbers (and saliva), so instead, you say:

You: yeah

You: come over

You send him your address. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, in the same hoodie as last time. Holding a plastic bag with canned coffee for him, Milkis for you, and a package of cookies you once mentioned liking in a text two weeks ago.

You don’t say anything at first. He holds up the bag like it’s proof that he should be allowed inside, and you take it with a soft, bemused snort. Then you step aside so he can come in.

He enters like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house—careful and quiet and unsure of what to do with his hands.

You close the door behind him. You both fidget for a second.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, standing just inside the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your heart tips, like it’s leaning closer to him whether you let it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you admit softly.

And then, because it’s late and you’re lonely and he’s warm and real and here, you kiss him. Again.

It’s immediate this time. No fumbling. No hesitation. Just mouths pressing together like they’re picking up where you left off in the alley behind the bookstore. His hands find your waist. Yours cup his face, thumbs brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. You kiss him slow, then faster. Harder.

You don’t think about what it means. You don’t try to label it. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his body, the sound of your breaths, the sudden, startling relief of being touched.

His mouth trails to your jaw. Your neck. His hoodie bunches in your fists.

When you finally pull back, both of you flushed and breathless, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I like you,” he says quietly.

You swallow around the knot in your throat and nod. “Kiss me again.”

There's a sharpness to the way your mouths move now. You tug at his hoodie, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin, and he makes a sound against your lips, small and desperate.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, sliding up your back, curling in your shirt like he can’t bear to let go. He presses you up against the door, urgent, and you gasp when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t come here for this, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you say, voice barely there. “I want this.”

That undoes him a little. You feel it in the way his mouth crashes back to yours, the way he exhales sharply through his nose like he’s already drunk on it. He kisses you hard, lips and teeth and tongue with no finesse.

His thigh slips between yours and you move against it, just enough to chase friction, just enough to let him feel how badly you want this too.

“Jesus,” he whispers, low and raw. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head back and let him mouth at your throat, lips wet, sucking a bruise into the skin. Your hips roll down again, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi’s breath stutters.

“I missed this,” you admit, half-ashamed. “I missed being touched. I missed wanting someone.”

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, expression unreadable.

“You’re not the only one,” he says.

And then he kisses you again, deep and dizzying, and slips a hand beneath your waistband. His fingers are warm against your skin. Tentative at first, like he's giving you a chance to stop him, even now. Like some small, rational part of him is still waiting for you to say, ‘don’t.’ But you don’t. You tilt your hips forward instead, breath catching, and he exhales like that’s all the permission he needs.

He pushes his hand into your underwear and groans when he feels how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so—fuck.”

It’s been a long time since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted you like this. Desperate but gentle, afraid of messing it up. His fingers slide through your slick heat and you let out a sharp breath, clinging to his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you whisper, already dizzy. “This is—fuck—this is embarrassing.”

Yoongi huffs a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t care. Come for me. Come fast. I want to feel you lose it.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow, then fast, then slow again. Just enough pressure to make you tremble, to make you cry out softly into his hoodie. His thumb finds your clit, and you nearly sob from the shock of it.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, hands scrambling for purchase. “I—fuck—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me have it. I got you.”

You come fast. Hard. Pathetically hard. Your body locks up and then shudders violently, mouth open against his collarbone, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of your chest. Yoongi holds you through it. Doesn’t say anything. Just lets you ride it out with his mouth pressed to your temple, breathing you in.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. Barely upright. He eases his hand out of your underwear and presses a kiss to your hairline, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting.

You bury your face in his neck.

“I can’t believe I let you finger me against my front door,” you mumble, mortified as you catch your breath.

“Can’t believe you invited me to,” he replies, grinning against your skin.

You both laugh. Quiet and shaky and a little shellshocked. You’re still leaning into him, your breath evening out, your body boneless. The high is fading, but the warmth he left behind is stubborn.

You lift your head, eyes still a little glazed, and give him a suspicious squint.

“I have a question,” you say.

Yoongi blinks, cautious. “Shoot.”

“How the fuck are you not getting laid constantly?”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, quiet but full-bodied, like he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“I mean,” you continue, gesturing vaguely to your crotch, “that was—God. And I didn't even know if you’d be good at it! Like, I kind of assumed it would be decent, because you have a mouth and hands and a pulse—but that was fucking criminally good. Who taught you that? Why is this not a more widely available service?”

Yoongi presses his face into your shoulder and groans, laughing harder now. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just saying, someone out there is missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

He finally lifts his head again, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, well. Most people don’t really stick around long enough to find out.”

That sobers you a little.

You study him—his messy hair, his blown pupils, the way he tries to play it off with a little shrug. But there’s something underneath it all. Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness, maybe.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his bangs, almost absently. “They’re idiots.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just leans into your touch.

And then the quiet gets to you, makes you want to crawl out of your skin, so you say:

“So… uh… want me to suck your dick?”

Yoongi freezes. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“...Right now?”

“No,” you say dryly. “Next Thursday.”

He laughs. “Are you always like this?” he asks, amused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You ignore him and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants instead, fingers slipping under, deliberate and slow. “So?”

Yoongi exhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I want you to.”

His head tips back when you start kissing down his neck. His breath goes shallow. The way he touches you, light on the back of your neck, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—it makes you want to give him everything all of a sudden.

So you drop to your knees in your entryway, hitting the floor with a quiet thud that echoes in the quiet. Yoongi looks down at you in amazement, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

You tug his sweats down and he helps, fingers twitching against the fabric, thick cock already hard and leaking at the tip.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice thin. Disbelieving.

You glance up at him, smirking. “That a problem?”

“Not even a little.”

You spit into your palm, spread it over the head, and he twitches in your grip. When you lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, Yoongi lets out a quiet, broken sound.

You’re a little rusty, but you don’t tease. You don’t take your time. You just sink your mouth down around him, spit-slick and sloppy.

“Fuck—”

Yoongi’s head knocks lightly against the wall. One hand finds the back of your head, loose and shaking like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold you still.

You bob your head faster, messier. Let your saliva drip down over your fingers, curled around the base of his cock while you work the rest with your mouth. He groans again, choked and startled, and you feel him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You hum around him. That does it.

He gasps. Buckles a little. Then pulls back. Not all the way, just enough to jerk himself through the last few strokes, breathing ragged.

“Shit, shit—I’m—fuck, baby, fuck—”

You look up at him, mouth open, lips shiny and wet, tongue out just barely.

He spills across your mouth, your cheek, your chin. Hot and messy and so, so much. You blink through it, a little stunned, a lot turned on.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at the mess he made of you. “You’re—god. You’re insane.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly. “I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

You feel the shift, then. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but suddenly the air feels different. Too quiet. A little too still.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you huff, just to fill the space.

Yoongi leans down and helps you up with careful hands. Your legs are a little wobbly. His hoodie is rumpled. His hair’s a mess. His sweatpants hang loose on his hips and his lips are kiss-bitten and red.

You glance at him, then away just as fast.

You’ve crossed some invisible threshold. You both know it. And now you’re just... here.

“I’m gonna, um.” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t look back as you walk away.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on either side of the sink. You wash your hands. Splash your face. Pat dry and breathe.

Or try to.

Fuck, are you having a fucking panic attack? Over that? Your chest is tight, every cell of your skin foreign to you. Like you’re wearing someone else’s body and she just did something you weren’t supposed to.

What the fuck was that?

Not the act itself. That part was great. The enthusiasm, the sheer filth of it—you don’t think you regret it. Maybe. It felt good, in the moment. You wanted it.

It’s what came after.

The shift. The quiet. The moment you felt like he saw too much of you. The part of you that glows when it’s being wanted, and dims just as quickly when it’s alone again.

And—Jesus, ’I think I just fell in love with you a little’? Who the fuck says that?

It takes you longer than you’d like to calm down. You do the breathing exercises you were taught, back in college when counseling was free and they handed out pamphlets on every corner of your campus. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You smooth down your shirt. Brush your fingers through your hair.

Then return to the living room like you didn’t just spiral for fifteen straight minutes.

When you return, breathing still a little labored, Yoongi’s sitting on the arm of your couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s afraid of what comes next. Like you’ve left him with his thoughts for too long.

He sits up when you approach, brow furrowed at the state of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You sigh and sit down.

“Yeah. I just…” You stare straight ahead. “That was good. Really good. But it’s been a while. And I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “I don’t either.”

You turn to look at him, and the thing in his eyes, the softness, it’s too much. So you keep going.

“Not just the sex. Not just… you. This,” you say, gesturing at yourself, then your apartment. The mess that’s accumulated over the past month. “Letting someone see me when I don’t have it together. When I’m not even trying to pretend I do.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll swallow you whole if you keep talking.

“I don’t know why the fuck now of all times is when I’m letting myself feel anything,” you say. “It’s not like my life is better. It’s not like I’ve earned it.”

Silence.

Then Yoongi shifts. Leans forward, elbows on his knees again, like he’s working up to something.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” he says. “There’s no quota for being okay. Or being wanted. You can be a mess and still deserve good things. You can be at your worst and still… feel.”

You laugh. Bitter and small. “So what, we’re just two disasters trying to convince each other it’s fine?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then, so gentle it nearly breaks you, he adds, “I don’t think I’m here to fix you. I just want to be here.”

How can he be so sure?

You don’t know a damn thing about him. Not really.

You know he works the stock room in a record store part-time and hates most of his coworkers. You know he smokes too much. That he eats terrible sandwiches and drinks canned coffee. That he texts like he’s trying to make you laugh even when he’s probably in the middle of some breakdown of his own.

You know he’s good with his hands.

You know he looked at you, in all of your mess, like you were still human. You know that he says dumb, grossly honest shit way too easily.

But you don’t know where he grew up. You don’t know what keeps him up at night. You don’t know what kind of heartbreaks he’s carrying, or who let him down hard enough that he walks around like he does.

And still, there’s something in your chest that won’t calm down. Something desperate. Clawing. A tightness you don’t want to name.

Why?

Why the fuck are you feeling so much for someone who’s barely more than a stranger?

Is it just the attention? The intimacy? The fact that, for once, someone touched you without asking you to be okay first? Is this what happens when you’re starving? When your skin has been untouched for too long and someone comes along with warm hands and tired eyes and lets you fall apart without flinching?

Maybe.

But it doesn’t feel shallow. It doesn’t feel fake. Instead, it just feels too easy. Like being with him turns the volume down in your head. Like you don’t have to explain yourself to be understood.

It scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi slips down from the armrest, sinks into the cushion next to you instead. Your knee brushes his. His arm rests behind you on the back of the couch, not quite around you, but near enough that if you leaned even slightly, he’d catch you.

Neither of you moves for a while. You just breathe.

Then his arm moves and his pinky finger nudges yours.

A small thing. Stupid. Barely anything.

But it’s the first deliberate touch since everything happened in the entryway. And it’s soft. Hesitant.

“We don’t have to do… that,” he says, quiet but firm. You know he means the sex. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Maybe you don’t need to define it yet. Maybe it’s not about love or fate or healing. Maybe it’s just about want.

Two people letting themselves be wanted for a while.

You hook your pinky around his.

Just this, you think. Just this is fine.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t push. He doesn’t label anything. He just keeps showing up.

Sometimes at your place, sometimes at his. Sometimes at the bookstore, when he has a day off.

There’s a pattern now.

Late-night convenience store runs. Shared ramen on cracked stools by the window, making fun of people’s bad haircuts as they pass on the street outside. Socks borrowed and never returned. His hoodie living permanently on the back of your chair. Your phone lighting up with ‘Proof of life?’ on days he knows you’re at a low.

Sometimes you kiss. Sometimes you just sit in the same room and don’t say anything. Sometimes he talks and you don’t respond. And that’s okay, too.

It’s not about what it is. It’s about the fact that it keeps happening.

When you disappear, he still shows up. Like today.

It’s not a dramatic breakdown. Not this time.

Instead, it’s the kind of bad week that sinks its teeth in slow. No single catalyst, no big meltdown. Just one exhausting day stacked on top of another, until your body forgets how to move without dragging. Your sink is full of dishes you can’t look at. Your hair’s unwashed. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.

You didn’t text Yoongi to come over. You didn’t say much of anything at all this week.

But you must’ve sounded off, or maybe he just knows how to read silence better than most, because around three in the afternoon, you hear the soft knock at your door.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t mean to ignore him, you just can’t make your legs move.

A minute passes, and your phone buzzes from somewhere near your pillow.

Yoongi: Not trying to crowd you. Just wanted to drop off some food Yoongi: Leaving it by the door. No pressure

You muster the energy to roll out of bed and crack the door open. A plastic bag sits at your feet and Yoongi is already halfway down the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Yoongi,” you call, your voice raspier than you expect.

He turns around.

“Hey,” he says, probably surprised that you’re upright.

You open the door wider. “You can come in. If you want.”

Yoongi hesitates just for a second, checking that you’re sure. Then he nods. He picks the bag up and slips inside without a word, setting it on your kitchen counter.

He doesn’t try to hug you or touch you or ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t judge your apartment, the clothes strewn about, the closed curtains, the dishes piling up in the sink. He barely even looks.

“You eaten today?” he asks, gently.

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna make something anyway. Just in case.”

He moves around your kitchen like it’s his. Not because he’s overly familiar, but because he’s not afraid of your mess. He pulls out eggs, rice, a few green onions from the bag he brought.

You retreat back to your couch. You didn’t mean to lie down again, but the second you sit, your body droops until you’re horizontal. So you stay curled on your side, facing the wall. Listening.

The clink of metal. The whoosh of your gas burner catching. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, Yoongi is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, cross-legged, a steaming bowl in his lap and another on your coffee table.

You push yourself up slowly. Your head aches, your throat’s dry, but you can’t lie. It smells good.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I wanted to.”

You eat in silence. The rice is soft, buttery, a little salty from the soy sauce and the eggs scrambled through it. You’re hungrier than you thought, but you pace yourself.

Halfway through, he glances over at you.

“You wanna watch something dumb?”

You nod.

Yoongi takes your bowl when you’re done, rinses both of them without comment. When he comes back, he takes a seat next to you. He scrolls through streaming apps on your TV until he lands on something you like.

The opening credits roll.

He doesn’t try to hold you. Doesn’t try to tell you it’s going to be okay. He just sits beside you, shoulders barely brushing. When your body droops again, he lets you lean into his side.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, he mutters, “You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens like you’re going to cry. Which is something, at least, after the numbness of the week.

“This could be me next week,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Or tomorrow. So. I get it. That’s all.”

And then the movie continues. One ridiculous scene after another. The light from the screen flickers across his face.

You don’t say thank you yet, but you know you don’t have to.

✧

You still haven’t put a name to it.

Neither of you has tried. There was one moment, maybe, a few days ago. Yoongi was over for no particular reason. He’d looked at you from your kitchen floor, head propped against the cabinets, lips red from kissing, and opened his mouth like he might ask.

But then the takeout came, and the moment passed.

You text like friends. ‘Want anything from the store?’ ‘This customer just asked if we sell records on vinyl. I hate it here.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Absolutely nothing.’ ‘Come do nothing with me.’

You hang out like you’re in a relationship. Eat cross-legged on his bed. Steal fries from each other’s plates without asking. Sometimes fall asleep shoulder to shoulder watching terrible TV.

You make out. A lot.

Against walls. On couches. Outside each other’s doors at night when neither of you feels like saying goodnight just yet. It never quite escalates to the point it did that night—maybe once or twice it almost does, but one of you always pumps the brakes.

You don’t meet each other’s friends. You don’t ask about exes. You don’t introduce him to your sister or take photos together or exchange socials. Because that doesn’t feel like what this is.

You like the bubble you’ve built. The little world where nothing outside matters. Where it doesn’t have to matter yet.

Because outside the bubble, your life is still a mess. Rent’s overdue. Work is torture. You haven’t written anything in over a year and you haven’t figured out how to be proud of yourself again, not really.

But inside it—when Yoongi’s mouth is on yours, when he texts you ‘Made extra ramen if you’re hungry btw’ like that’s not the most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to you, you feel steady.

But, like anything else, it comes with its own set of issues.

The thing about not fucking is that it used to be about not wanting. A lack of drive. A lack of spark. A lack of time or energy or libido or options.

But now? Now, it’s something else. Because you have the option.

Now, it’s starting to feel like a crack in the glass. Like every time you grind against his thigh with your hips twitching and your breath shaky, or every time he pulls your shirt off and buries his face between your tits but doesn’t go lower, the crack gets a little deeper. And you’re both pretending not to see it.

Because the truth is: you want to fuck him.

You desperately want to fuck him.

You think about it constantly. The way his fingers curled inside you that first night, the soft, filthy way he talked to you, the way he looked down at your face when you sucked him off like he was watching a goddamn miracle unfold.

You think about how he’d feel inside you.

You ache with it.

But you don’t bring it up. Because once you do, once you have sex, it’s not a bubble anymore. It’s real, something with expectations.

And you know yourself, you know how you get. You’ll start needing more. Wanting more. And Yoongi, sweet and quiet and lost in his own way, will become another thing you don’t know how to manage. Another thing you don’t know how to keep.

You’re scared of that. Of ruining it. Of letting your body talk you into something your heart might not be strong enough to carry.

So you kiss him like you’re dying, but when his hands drift to your waistband, you laugh, too high-pitched, and pull away. Pretend you’re tired. Or hungry. Or something, anything. Any excuse not to cross that final threshold. Yoongi never pushes. He just nods, catches his breath, and helps you back into your shirt like a gentleman.

But you feel the tension growing. Between your thighs. In your chest. In the way you wake up soaked and aching after every sleepover, body clenching at nothing. In the way your kisses are starting to come with more teeth. With soft little growls in your throat you didn’t mean to let out.

Tonight, he’s at your place again. It’s late. You both know he should’ve left hours ago, and the crack is splintering even further, faster than you realize.

You’re straddling Yoongi on the couch, your knees bracketing his hips, your mouth fused to his. Your hips are rocking down, slow and aimless at first, but building. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, feel the press of him through his sweats as you drag your clothed pussy over him like your body is starving.

Yoongi groans into your kiss. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips twitching. But, like always, he doesn’t push. He just lets you move, lets you grind down on him with that ragged little gasp in your throat, lets you take what you need without crossing the line you’ve both carefully danced around for weeks.

Except tonight, something’s different. You’re different.

Because when he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, hot and slow, and mutters, “you’re gonna make me come in my fucking pants,” you snap.

Completely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I want to fuck you.”

He blinks. Catches up slowly, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“I want you to fuck me,” you amend, a little louder. Desperate.

Yoongi just stares at you for a moment, mouth parted, chest heaving. His hands tighten on your thighs.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

Once you say yes, it happens fast.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up your back to tug your shirt over your head. He peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind you, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You don’t.

Your bra’s off next, fast, and he curses the second your tits are bare, like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks too, and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to start.

So he starts with his mouth.

He palms your breasts and groans low in his throat, then leans forward and takes one into his mouth like he needs it—hot tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sucking gently before he bites, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers find the other, circling and pinching lightly.

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into him. “Yoongi—”

You grind down on his cock again, still half-dressed from the waist down, the friction sharp and unbearable. You’re soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless at this point, clinging wetly to your folds, and you’re half a second away from tearing them off yourself if he doesn’t move faster.

“Condom,” you breathe. “Please. Where—?”

“Yeah—fuck—yeah, hold on.”

You scramble off his lap at the same time he stumbles off the couch, both of you half-laughing and swearing under your breath. He digs through his bag on your floor, frantic, muttering, “I swear I had one—fuck, wait—yes.”

He holds it up like a prize, and you don’t even give him the chance to rip it open before you’re tugging your shorts and panties down in one go, stepping out of them and crawling back onto the couch.

Yoongi stops cold, stares at you for a second.

Hair messy. Chest heaving. Legs spread. Eyes hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tearing the foil open and shoving his sweats halfway down his thighs with shaking hands. His cock bobs free, hard and flushed and so ready, and your mouth actually waters.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease and climbs back over you, settling between your legs like he belongs there. Like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams and is finally allowed to touch.

He presses inside you slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re soaked, but it’s still so much, been too long, and you cling to his shoulders with a gasp.

Yoongi groans, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasps. “Fucking wet.”

You whimper, hips already rolling up to meet him. “Been wanting this,” you whisper. “Needing this—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You gonna let me give it to you?”

“Yes, please—”

And then he starts to move. Just the brutal press of his hips to yours, every thrust deep and deliberate and filthy, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere he won’t be able to crawl back from.

Your head tips back against the couch, eyes rolling up, mouth falling open on a gasp that barely sounds like a real word. He’s got one hand gripping the arm of the couch behind your head for leverage, the other wrapped tight around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide open beneath him as he fucks into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi—fuck—”

“You like it, baby?” he growls.

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your hands scrambling up under his hoodie to claw at his back, his sides, anywhere you can touch.

Your skin’s on fire. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is the sharp, perfect drag of his cock, the sound of your soaked cunt every time he slams into you, the guttural noises he makes when your walls flutter around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. “Tight little pussy just gripping me—shit, baby, I can’t—”

His pace stutters for half a second, like your body is pulling the soul out of him.

You cry out when he hits deep—too deep—and he groans, pulling your legs higher around his waist to get the angle just right.

“There,” he growls when you shatter under him, thighs shaking, cunt clenching so hard he nearly loses it. “Fucking cum.”

You come like you’ve lost control of your body. Loud, legs locked, nails in his back. It hits hard and fast and doesn’t stop, rolling through you in hot, humiliating waves. Yoongi hisses, desperate now, chasing his own end, rhythm starting to break.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, even though the condom’s there, even though it’s just a filthy fantasy, and you sob at the idea of it. “Fuck, I wish—wish I could come inside you—fuck—you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me ruin you for anyone else—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not even sure you mean it, but it sounds right. Feels true.

That’s all it takes.

Yoongi groans like it’s been punched out of him, hips jerking as he comes hard, cock twitching inside you, face buried in your neck as he spills into the condom.

You both stay there, gasping against sticky skin through the aftershocks. He kisses your neck once. Then again. And again.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.”

Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

The couch cushions are half off the frame, your legs still trembling where they’re spread open around his waist. Yoongi pulls out slowly, careful, and your body aches from it, clenches down involuntarily, already missing the stretch.

He ties off the condom, looks around for somewhere to put it before settling on the empty takeout bag from earlier. Pulls his sweats back up.

You sit up with limbs like jelly, not bothering to put your underwear back on just yet, and run a hand through your hair. Your thighs are sticky. Your lips are swollen. You feel fucked out and raw and wrung clean.

Your body is so satisfied.

Predictably, your brain is a different story.

You glance over at Yoongi. He’s slouched against the other end of the couch, head back, eyes closed. His hair is damp at the temples, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite come back to himself yet.

He looks gorgeous.

You want to kiss him.

You also want to run.

That tight, itchy feeling—the one you’ve been avoiding since you first let him touch you—comes roaring back. You just crossed the line. You fucked the one good thing in your life that wasn’t tangled in expectations. That didn’t ask anything from you.

You broke the bubble.

He opens one eye and glances over at you.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Shrug. “That was intense.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. You think?”

You stand. Your legs are still shaking.

“I’m gonna, uh… go pee,” you say, already heading toward the bathroom. “Before I die.”

He doesn’t stop you. Just nods, eyes following you for a second before he looks away.

You close the door and sit on the edge of the tub. Breathe.

You want to feel good. You do feel good. But also… you feel like maybe you’ve fucked up. Or you’re about to. Or like this is going to change something that shouldn’t be changed.

You think about what you’ll say when you go back out there.

You think about whether he’s getting dressed. Whether he’ll leave. Whether he should.

You think, I don’t want this to become another thing I have to recover from.

✧

When you finally open the bathroom door, the light feels harsher than it should, and your skin’s still warm from the shower you didn’t really want but took anyway. Just to delay, to think, to scrub away the sweat and the way his hands felt on your hips and the way your body sang for him.

You step into the living room wearing clean underwear and a fresh shirt. Your face is bare. Your hair is damp. Your expression, despite your best effort, is a little too tight.

Yoongi looks up from the couch, where he’s still sitting, this time in his sweats and hoodie again, elbows on his knees, fingers idly twisting the hem of his sleeve.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. Immediately.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

You nod, cross your arms. “Hey.”

He watches you for a second, then leans back, patting the space next to him.

You hesitate, but you lower yourself onto the couch anyway. Not quite touching, not quite distant. A safe middle.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, disbelieving. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to figure out how to ghost me while I’m still in your apartment?”

You wince, staring at your knees. “I just—I didn’t mean for this to turn into, like… a thing.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I mean, we’re not, right? A thing?”

You look at him now, really look. Your heart’s racing. Your stomach’s twisting. You’re not sure what kind of answer you want.

Yoongi looks back at you for a long moment. Then he leans back again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to make it anything.”

You swallow hard, because part of you thinks that should make you feel better. Instead, it just makes your chest ache. You were the one who let him in, even when you swore you wouldn’t. You’re not trying to make him feel like he’s the one at fault here. It’s you. It’s always you.

“But,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours again, “I like you. I care about you. And if we’re fucking now, yeah, that’s gonna mean something to me. Even if we never put a label on it.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” you ask, voice thin. “If it means something?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a long while. You sink into him without meaning to, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You don’t really know why.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and says, “Can I tell you something?”

You nod against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to be at that convenience store,” he starts, voice shaky in a way that makes you sit up, just slightly. “I mean, I didn’t have a reason to be anywhere. But that night… I think I was sort of… walking around to see if I’d change my mind.”

You still. Your heart trips over itself, because that could mean a lot of things. Because you know, just by the tone of his voice, that he means the worst.

He keeps going.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while. Not in a loud way. Not even like a plan. Just… wondering. If things would be better. Easier. If I just stopped. Just disappeared.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t breathe too loud. You just listen.

“And that night, it felt close. Like maybe I was ready. Like maybe no one would notice.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t talked to anyone in a couple days. I didn’t even brush my teeth before I left the house. I just started walking.”

Your eyes sting. You try not to let it show.

“I stopped at the store because I thought—fuck it. One last shitty sandwich. One last can of cold coffee.” He huffs. “Really poetic, right?”

You let out a breath. “Yoongi—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. Or because I think you saved me. You didn’t. You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You’re crying now, because god, you didn’t know, but you know. You know how it feels to always have that in the back of your mind, to convince yourself that there would be relief in giving up. Letting go.

He turns his head toward you now, not quite meeting your eyes, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to say all this out loud.

“I still think about it. Sometimes. Not all the time. But… it comes back. When it’s quiet. When I’m alone too long. But since that night, it’s been easier knowing that someone gets it. That I don’t have to pretend I’m fine all the time.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s not a dramatic, sweeping kind of moment. There’s no soft lighting or music swelling. Just his tired eyes, and your tired heart, and the shared weight of knowing what it feels like to want to give up—and choosing, for whatever reason, not to.

“Maybe that’s all this has to be,” he says. “Not a love story. Not some perfect, clean thing. Just… two people who don’t always want to be here, making it a little easier for each other to stay.”

You can’t speak. You nod, and your eyes blur, and Yoongi presses his forehead to yours like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you for seeing me.

✧

Days later, things aren’t better—not in the way people usually mean. Your life is still a mess. His is too.

But something’s changed. Settled.

He lets himself in now. Doesn’t knock. Kicks his shoes off like he lives there, shrugs his hoodie off and drops it somewhere near the couch, grabs two cups and fills them with whatever’s in your fridge.

And you let him.

You sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, flipping through shows you won’t finish. You kiss during the commercials. You fall asleep with his hand on your waist.

You still haven’t said you’re together. You still haven’t said what you mean to each other. But when you’re quiet for too long, he looks up from his phone and asks, “Okay?”

And when he’s too quiet, you ask, “Wanna stay the night?”

And when you both lie awake in the dark, not talking, not moving, you think: I’m still here.

And so is he.

✧

It starts with scraps. Half-sentences in your notes app. A phrase here, a sentence there. Something you jotted down after Yoongi left one night, when your chest felt like it was holding more than usual and your bed still smelled like his shampoo.

Then it becomes a little routine. You open your laptop without the usual dread. You stare at the cursor blinking in a half-finished document and think: maybe I can.

It’s not for meant to be published. It’s not for anyone but you. But it’s something.

One night, Yoongi finds you sitting on the floor with your laptop on your thighs. You’re so focused, you don’t even hear him come in.

He just watches for a second, quiet.

“Writing?” he asks eventually, and you jump.

“Jesus—” You slam the laptop shut on instinct, and he raises both hands in surrender, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says, setting down the drinks he brought. “But… that’s new.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just… stuff.”

Yoongi sinks to the floor beside you. “You haven’t written since we met.”

“I haven’t written in a long time.”

He doesn’t ask why not. He already knows.

Instead, he leans his head on your shoulder and says, “I’m glad you’re starting to again.”

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t ask to read it. He just sits with you, there on the floor, eyes closed. Like your writing means something just by existing.

You open the laptop again.

You keep writing.

✧

Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on your bed while you type, cradling a cup of tea you made him because he clearly needed something to do with his hands.

You can tell he’s nervous. He’s got that look on his face like he’s about to say something serious but is trying not to scare the shit out of you. It isn’t working.

“So,” he says, after a long stretch of silence, “I have a friend.”

You glance up from your laptop, blinking. “Amazing.”

Yoongi huffs. “Kim Namjoon. He’s an old friend. College. We used to mess around with production stuff, back when I thought I was gonna be a genius producer with a Grammy by 25.”

You smile a little at that, set your laptop aside. “What’d he say?”

Yoongi hesitates, fingers drumming softly against the side of his mug. “He got some seed money. Not much. Just enough to rent a space, get a couple of half-decent mics, some gear. Says he wants to start a small label.”

Your stomach does a little flip. Not because you’re worried. Not yet. But because of the way he’s saying it. Like he’s trying not to want it too much.

“He wants me in on it,” Yoongi continues, staring down into his tea. “It’d be three of us, working in a basement, surviving off cup ramen. Maybe getting a local artist to sign on eventually.”

You exhale. “That sounds… really fucking cool.”

Yoongi finally looks at you. He’s smiling now, just a little, but it’s tight at the edges. “Yeah. It does.”

“And?”

He shrugs, but it’s not a real shrug. It’s that shoulder-lift people do when something matters too much. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to give a shit again. I don’t know if I’ll fuck it up. I don’t even know if I still have anything to say.”

“You do,” you say, instantly.

His jaw flexes. “Yeah, well. Maybe. He’s starting soon. Wants me to come by next week. Just to mess around with some demos, get a feel for it again.”

You nod slowly. Try not to let the ‘what if’s start swirling. What if it pulls him away? What if he leaves? What if this tiny, fragile thing you’re building—whatever it is—gets buried under a dream he's only just remembered how to want again?

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you say, “You should do it.”

Yoongi searches your face for a long time, hesitant, like he’s trying to catch you in a lie.

“Yeah?”

You reach over and take his mug, set it on the nightstand. You curl into his side, your face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think maybe… we’re both starting to remember how to want things again.”

You feel him breathe out. Slow. Unsteady.

But he nods.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t stop texting. He still sends you memes, voice notes, the occasional photo of his workspace—a cramped basement room with exposed pipes and cords spilling out over his desk, coffee-stained notebooks piled next to a MIDI keyboard.

But he’s not around as much.

The nights you used to spend together—half-draped over one another on the couch, kissing during reruns, sleeping side-by-side without labels—are fewer now. Sometimes he falls asleep at the studio. Sometimes he doesn’t respond until 2 a.m., when you’re already asleep.

It’s hard. You won’t lie to yourself about that. You feel the absence like a low-grade fever. Always there, dull but insistent.

And there’s still no word for what you are. No boyfriend, no girlfriend. Just… you, and Yoongi. And this thing you’ve built together, quiet and warm and undefined.

But when you do see him—when he walks through your door smelling like coffee and sweat and work—you can see it on him. The spark. The momentum. The low, buzzing joy of trying again. Of wanting something bad enough to bleed for it.

He’s tired. But he’s tired for a good reason, now.

And that makes you want to try, too.

So you keep opening your laptop. Not just to scribble down half-formed ideas, but to finish. You sit with the mess of it, the aching in your fingers, the voice in your head that says ‘why bother’—and you write anyway. You dig up old stories, rework scenes that used to make you cringe. You find your voice again, piece by shaky piece.

Sometimes, late at night, you send him snippets. Just to say, look. I’m doing it, too.

And he always responds, eventually. Usually something like:

Yoongi: Fuck yes

Yoongi: Proud of you

Yoongi: Also the studio toilet flooded again. I’m going to kill Joon

You laugh. You keep writing.

It still hurts sometimes. Missing him, wondering what all this means. But now the hurt is paired with movement. With hope.

✧

Eventually, you finish something.

It’s not perfect. Not even close. There are typos and sentences that feel like strangers to themselves, and places where the ending is still a little jagged and wrong. But it’s done.

A full manuscript. Your name at the top. Your words, your voice, your pain and hunger and stupid hope wrapped into a whopping 112 pages.

You think of Yoongi when you submit it with an application to a graduate school program. A program you’ve read and re-read the description for more times than you care to admit. You don't know if it’s good enough. If you’re good enough. But for the first time in a long time, you do it anyway.

And then you don’t tell anyone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but you want the hope for yourself. Just for a little while. You want to keep it quiet and sacred, untainted by expectations or well-meaning encouragement or the crushing weight of what if it doesn’t happen. You just want it to be yours.

You keep seeing Yoongi, of course. When he can. When he’s not tangled up in late-night meetings and studio sessions. You see each other in stolen hours, sleep-heavy kisses, lazy dinners eaten on the floor.

But lately, even those small moments feel bigger.

And then one night, you get a text.

Yoongi: You home?

You are. You say yes.

He shows up ten minutes later, breathless, hoodie damp from trying to dodge light rain, cheeks flushed with joy. Real joy. The kind that lights his whole face from the inside out.

“I had to tell someone,” he says the second you open the door. “I had to tell you.”

You let him in, confused but smiling all the same. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even sit. He paces back and forth, rakes a hand through his hair, practically vibrating.

“We signed someone,” he finally says. “Tentatively, but, this artist from Busan, she’s insane, she’s so weird and good and her voice is like—fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. But Namjoon loved her. We all did. And she said yes. She said yes, to us.”

You blink, stunned. “You—Yoongi, that’s—holy shit!”

He grins, wide and unguarded, and you’ve never seen him like this before and it just makes you so fucking happy. You’re up on your feet before your brain catches up.

You hug him tight, breath caught in your throat. Because he’s shaking a little, and he smells so good, and this is what he looks like when he’s proud of himself. When he’s living.

You pull back to look at him, hands on his jaw.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

And Yoongi’s expression shifts. Softens. Deepens. He takes a breath.

“I love you,” he says.

Like it’s not sudden. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

“I just—I do. And I didn’t want to say it while things were still messy, or early, or whatever. But this is what I wanted. That night, at the convenience store. This. You. Someone who gets it. Someone who doesn’t fix me but lets me stay. And I love you.”

Fuck. There it is.

You don’t speak right away. You reach for him instead. Pull him back in. Rest your forehead against his and let yourself feel it. All of it.

And then, soft and steady, you say it back.

“I love you too.”

✧

It’s not frantic, not this time.

Not messy or rushed or born of need. It’s slow, reverent, deep. Yoongi’s hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking now that he knows what you mean to him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His breath catches when you tilt your head and kiss him harder but just as slow, open-mouthed and aching.

You walk him backwards toward the bed. He lets you. He goes willingly, grinning against your mouth like he can’t believe this is happening again, that you’re his, and that this time, it’s not just comfort or heat or distraction. It’s love.

He sinks onto the mattress, and you climb over him, straddling his lap, kissing him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

But then he pulls back. Barely. His hands settle on your thighs. His eyes are dark and shining and hungry.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your breath catches.

“I—what?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, too far gone to filter it. “I’ve been wanting to. Since the night I fingered you against your fucking door, I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

Then you exhale, soft and wrecked, and whisper, “Okay.”

Yoongi repositions you onto your back, gentle, lips back on yours. His hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out every inch. He tugs your shirt off, unhooks your bra, kisses down your neck, your chest, your ribs, like he has all the time in the world.

And then he pulls your shorts down. Your panties too.

He groans when he sees you. Like, actually groans.

“God, baby. Look at you.” He kisses your inner thigh, drags his nose along the crease, eyes flicking up to yours. “So fucking pretty.”

And then he licks into you.

You cry out, sharp and sudden, because it’s so much. He’s warm and wet and greedy, tongue flat against your clit, then pointed and precise, then everywhere, like he can’t choose, like he doesn’t want to.

He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being touched. Like he could cum just watching you feel good, because of him.

“Yoongi—shit—” Your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling, already shaking, already close.

He wraps his arms under your thighs, holding you open, keeping you grounded, mouth working you over like he’s worshipping you. He sucks on your clit, gentle but firm, and you arch off the bed.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yoongi—”

He groans, messy and eager, never once letting up. And then you do.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, hands in his hair, eyes rolled back. It’s hot and overwhelming, your body jolting and twitching, his name a broken whimper on your tongue.

He keeps going until you push him away, overstimulated and trembling.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

He grins, climbs back up your body, presses his mouth to yours without hesitation. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“You love me,” he murmurs, like it’s the best thing he’s ever been told.

You nod, dazed. “I do.”

He kisses you again.

“You’re gonna let me do that every day, right?”

You laugh, breathless. “If you keep doing it like that, yeah. I might not survive, but yeah.”

You let Yoongi kiss you for a while, slow and soft and full of so much love, but eventually, you push at his shoulder. He pulls back instantly, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Lie down,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

Yoongi blinks, lips swollen and wet. But he lets you push. “Baby—”

“You’ve been working so fucking hard,” you say, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Whatever protest he might’ve had dies in his throat the second you reach down and palm him through his sweats. He’s hard—has been since he had your pussy on his tongue—and he groans, low and helpless, as you slide your hand beneath the waistband.

You stroke him slow, loving, watching the tension bleed out of him with every pass of your fist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching into your touch. “Feels good.”

You smile. Kiss his chest as he fumbles for the condom in his wallet.

When you finally sink down onto him, Yoongi lets out a groan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in his neck when he leans his head back.

“God—” he gasps. “Fuck, baby, you—”

“I know,” you breathe, grinding your hips in slow, careful circles. “I know. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

You ride him slow, deep, dragging his cock through your tight, wet heat over and over. Every inch of him feels like it was made for you, thick and perfect and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering from how good he made you feel earlier.

Yoongi can’t keep still. His fingers squeeze your thighs, your hips, then your waist, like he can’t decide where to hold on. Like he’s barely holding on at all.

He opens his eyes to look at you and whines, higher than he probably meant to. Because you’re riding him like you love him. Because your tits are bouncing with every slow roll of your hips, and your face is flushed, and your eyes are locked on his like there’s nowhere else you want to be in the entire fucking world.

It springs him into action.

He sits up, wraps his arms around you, mouths at your tits like he’s starving. He sucks at one nipple, then the other, licking and kissing and biting softly like he can’t stop, like he needs to touch you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moans into your chest. Hands moving down to your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock in that same slow, dirty rhythm, like he wants to make this last forever.

“Can’t even think,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good—too good—fuck, I love you—”

You ride him harder, faster, your hands on his shoulders. Your whole body shakes with how good it feels to be full of him, to see him like this—wrecked, undone, yours.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, hips stuttering. “Yoongi—”

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby, come on my cock, wanna feel it.”

You do.

You fall apart in his arms, gasping his name, pussy clenching around him so tight it nearly rips the orgasm out of him too. You’re shaking, sweating, still grinding through it as he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name, fucking up into you just a little, just enough—

He comes with a low, broken ‘fuck,’ arms locking around your waist, cock pulsing inside the condom. He’s so loud, so needy, and god, you’ve never loved anyone like this.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, still joined, still trembling.

And Yoongi holds you like he never wants to let go.

✧

You stay like that for a while, pressed to his chest, his arms strong around your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. The room smells like sweat and sex. Yoongi’s hand is stroking slow lines up and down your spine.

He hasn’t said much since you both came down, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You’re the one who breaks it.

“I did something,” you admit.

Yoongi hums, not missing a beat in the way his fingers trace over your skin. “Yeah?”

You nod against his chest, then force yourself to sit up, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are half-lidded and lazy, but sharp with attention the second he realizes you’re serious.

“I applied to grad school.”

Yoongi blinks.

“For writing?” he asks.

You nod again, heart hammering. “Yeah. An MFA. I submitted a portfolio. Finished something for the first time in forever. I would’ve told you sooner, I just—” You shrug. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, like he’s still processing.

And then he grins. Slow. Genuine. Gums showing and eyes shining.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, sitting up and grabbing your face in both hands.

Your eyes sting. “I don’t even know if I’ll get in. It’s probably stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cuts in, firm and quiet. “It’s not stupid. It’s huge.”

You try to look away, but he keeps your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, grounding you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched you try so hard to find something again, and you did it. Whether or not you get in doesn’t matter. You tried. That’s fucking everything.”

You bite your lip, blinking fast. Yoongi kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it safe.”

And you know he will.

For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so terrifying.

✧

The email comes on a Wednesday.

You’re not expecting it. You’ve nearly forgotten the timeline, pushed it into the back of your mind like a daydream you didn’t want to get too close to. You’ve been telling yourself not to hope too much. Not to want it, even though you do. Badly.

It hits your inbox around 11:42 a.m., and you stare at the subject line for a full minute before you open it. And then—

You’re in.

You read it twice, then two more times. It still doesn’t feel real. You read the phrase We’re pleased to inform you like it’s in another language. Like it’s not something anyone was ever supposed to say to you.

Then you laugh. A startled, breathless sound that turns into something half-sobbing.

You call Yoongi.

He doesn’t pick up on the first try—he’s a busy man these days—but he calls back two minutes later.

“Hey, baby. What’s—?”

“I got in.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, softly, “what?”

You swallow hard. You’re pacing your kitchen now, barefoot and trembling. “I got in. Grad school.”

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh again, breathless. “I know.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know! Yoongi—”

“You got in,” he says. “You fucking got in.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s trying not to cry. You’re trying, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So fucking proud of you. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Come to the studio,” he says instantly. “No one’s here today except me. I’ll order food. I’ll roll a joint. I’ll kiss you a lot. Do some very dirty, celebratory things to you on the desk, if you want.”

You’re already grabbing your keys. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Meet me out back.”

When you get to the studio, he’s outside. Leaning against the back of the building, waiting. The joint is already rolled, tucked neatly behind his ear, and he’s got that look on his face—that slow, lazy grin.

“You,” he says, pushing off the wall the second he sees you. “Fucking you.”

You don’t say anything. Just drop your bag on the cracked concrete and launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, wraps you up in him—hoodie and warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes and detergent and Yoongi. His arms curl tight around your waist, and he lifts you slightly off the ground as you bury your face in his neck.

“You got in,” he murmurs again. “You really—baby, you did it.”

You nod against him, laughing and sniffling all at once. “I did.”

He sets you down but doesn’t let go. Just pulls back enough to kiss you. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you—buzzing and breathless and so fucking proud of yourself.

When he finally pulls away, he grins and taps the joint behind his ear.

“Celebration?”

You nod. “God, yes.”

He lights it. Takes a drag, passes it to you, and you both sit on the loading dock out back, knees bumping, fingers laced, smoke around your heads. The sun’s low in the sky. It’s chilly, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hand in yours.

And everything’s… okay. Not fixed. Not perfect. But better.

Because loving Yoongi didn’t save you, and you didn’t save him. You still have bad days. Panic attacks. Guilt. Long, unbearable silences you have to claw your way out of. He does, too. Life is still life.

But he holds your hand through it.

And when things are good—like now, like this—you feel it in your bones: you love him. You fucking love him.

You lean into his side, head on his shoulder, and you think:

I can do this. I can live this life.

Especially if he’s in it.

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jungkoode · 5 months ago

Text

Strings Attached (to my heart) #2

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: February 13th, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 3: 1500 notes on part 2.

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish),, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, sexual content, explicit content, breast play, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting, oral sex, oral receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, face sitting, sexually inexperienced jungkook, post-coital confession, afterglow, blowjobs, swallowing, sexual education, jungkook has supportive friends, explicit sexual content, friends giving sex advice, being walked through sex, spidey stamina, tender sex, first time giving oral, first time receiving oral, learning sex, being taught sex, breast worship, nipple play, handjobs, naked cuddling, confessions, jungkook is a shy baby, soft smut, explicit nsfw, comfort and reassurance during sex, superhero secret identity reveal, bathing/washing, caretaking.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 13.5k

→ A/N: Welcome back to part 2 of our Spidey!JK saga, where things get even steamier and somehow even more emotional?? 😭 Y'all's response to part 1 absolutely blew me away, so I had to deliver on that promise of exploring certain... scenarios... with those spider powers 👀 This part really dives into the tender dynamic between our confident noona and her adorably earnest hoobae as they navigate his first time(s) together. Fair warning: this is probably the softest explicit content I've ever written?? Like, I didn't mean to make it this emotional but here we are, sobbing over Jungkook being the most precious baby while getting railed walked through his first experiences. Special shoutout to Jimin and Taehyung for being the real MVPs with their mortifying but ultimately helpful "sex ed lesson" 😭 . Also can we talk about how Spiderkook thought he was being subtle this whole time?? Sir, you're about as subtle as a brick through a window, but it's okay because you're cute. As always, enormous thanks to my cat who encouraged me to finish this through my 7th cup of cofffee of day 6. Your enabling is appreciated 🫶 Hope you enjoy part 2 of this wholesome filth! 🕸️

→ PREVIOUS

He's trailing behind you again.

You don't even have to turn around to know it's him—his footsteps are too eager, too bouncy, like a puppy who hasn't quite figured out how to walk without tripping over its own paws. Something in your chest tightens at the familiar sound, a mix of fondness and guilt that you try to squash down.

"Noona!"

You sigh, but it's the kind of sigh that's more amused than annoyed, even if you'd never admit it. You should shut this down. You really should. After what happened in the library closet, you shouldn't be encouraging whatever this is.

"Jungkook," you say without looking back, your voice flat. "We've talked about this."

"About what?" he asks, his tone all wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't already know.

Like he hasn't been following you around campus with those doe eyes and nervous energy ever since that day.

"About you following me around like a lost duckling," you reply dryly, finally glancing over your shoulder.

The moment you do, you regret it.

Because there he is: Jeon Jungkook, Yonsei University's most persistent freshman, clutching yet another plastic convenience store bag like it's a peace offering. His hair is a mess—floppy and windswept from the autumn breeze—and his big doe eyes are practically sparkling with excitement. He looks so young, so earnest, that it makes your stomach twist with guilt.

You're his sunbae. You should be setting boundaries, not letting yourself get caught up in the way he looks at you like you hung the moon.

"I'm not following you!" he protests immediately, though the way he trips over his own feet as he rushes to catch up kind of undermines his argument. "I just… happened to be walking this way! Totally normal! Not weird at all!"

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. And the snacks?"

"Oh! These?" He holds up the bag like it's Exhibit A in a court case. "They're for you!"

"Jungkook," you groan, stopping in your tracks so you can turn to face him fully. "You keep giving me snacks, and I'm gonna get fat."

The gasp he lets out is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. This is the problem—he's too endearing for his own good, making it impossible to maintain the professional distance you should.

"Noona!" he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified by the very idea. "Your weight is literally perfect! And even if you gained weight—which you're not just because I bring you snacks sometimes—"

"Every day," you interject pointedly, trying to ignore how your heart flutters at his earnest defense.

You shouldn't find it charming. You're supposed to be the mature one here.

"—you'd still be beautiful and—uh—you—it'd be okay!" he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure you. His cheeks are already turning pink, and it only gets worse when he realizes what he just said out loud. "I mean—you're already—uh—"

You should stop this. Should remind him that you're his sunbae, that this kind of attention isn't appropriate.

Instead, something reckless and wanting unfurls in your chest as you watch him flounder.

"Well," you interrupt with a smirk, deciding to mess with him despite the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, "if I gain weight, maybe my boobs will grow."

The way his eyes widen is almost comical.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he struggles to find something—anything—to say that won't make this worse for him. You know you shouldn't enjoy his flustered state this much, shouldn't feel this rush of power at how easily you can reduce him to a stammering mess, but...

"Your boobs are already per—uh—ah—" He cuts himself off with a strangled noise, his face going beet red as he realizes what almost slipped out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—I mean—"

The library closet flashes through your mind—his desperate sounds, the way he trembled against you, how beautifully he fell apart. You should feel worse about that than you do. Should regret taking advantage of his obvious crush.

Instead, you find yourself saying: "Jungkook."

"Yep?" His voice cracks on the word, and his big doe eyes dart between yours like he's waiting for some kind of divine punishment to rain down on him. He looks ridiculous—and ridiculously cute—and it takes everything in you not to let your fondness show too much.

You roll your eyes and snort softly, warring with yourself. The responsible thing would be to send him away, to maintain appropriate boundaries.

Instead, you hear yourself saying: "Come by my apartment tonight."

His eyes somehow get even wider. "Your… apartment?" he echoes weakly, like he can't quite believe what he just heard.

The pure shock in his expression should be a wake-up call—a reminder that you're his sunbae, that you shouldn't be inviting him into your personal space like this.

"At eight," you add anyway, watching as his brain visibly short-circuits trying to process this information. "Yeah?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," he stammers, choking on his own spit in the process because of course he does. "Your apartment? At night?"

You nod slowly, biting back a smile as his face flushes an even deeper shade of red.

There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is dangerous territory—that after the library incident, you should be putting distance between you, not drawing him closer.

"Okay," he says quickly, nodding along with you like some kind of bobblehead doll. "Yeah! Okay! I can—I can do that." He swallows hard, his voice strangled as he adds, "Eight o'clock. Your apartment."

He looks so flustered—so completely overwhelmed by the mere idea of being invited into your personal space—that something mischievous sparks in your chest, drowning out the guilt.

You shouldn't tease him any more than you already have today—you really shouldn't—but the way he looks at you, all eager desperation and nervous energy, makes you want to see just how far you can push him.

"Bring condoms," you say offhandedly as you turn back around and start walking again, even as your conscience screams at you that this is crossing a line.

The sound Jungkook makes is somewhere between a gasp and a choke—a strangled little noise that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

You don't have to look back to know exactly what expression he's wearing: wide-eyed panic mixed with sheer disbelief and just a hint of something else... something darker that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet.

You should feel worse about this. Should feel guilty for teasing your hoobae like this, for playing with his obvious feelings. Instead, you find yourself turning back, unable to resist watching him fall apart.

"I—I—what?!" His voice cracks so hard on the word that it echoes slightly down the street.

He's standing there frozen in place, clutching the snack bag like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

His mouth opens and closes uselessly for several seconds before he finally manages to croak out: "Condoms?"

"You don't want to?" You tilt your head innocently, watching as his entire body stiffens at the question.

There's a twisted satisfaction in seeing how easily you can affect him, even as a small voice in your head reminds you that you're supposed to be the responsible one here.

"I want to!"

The words burst out of him so fast they practically trip over each other on their way out of his mouth—and then his eyes widen in horror as he realizes how eager that sounded.

“I mean—I—uh—yeah? Yes? I really—I really want to." He bites his lip nervously before adding in a much quieter voice: "...Please."

The way he looks at you then—like some kind of kicked puppy who just admitted all its secrets—makes heat pool in your stomach. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake, barely out of his military service and looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

But instead of letting him off the hook (because where's the fun in that?), you raise an eyebrow and say simply: "Good."

He nods frantically at that—as if agreeing with you might somehow save him from further embarrassment—but then hesitates when something seems to occur to him.

The guilt starts creeping back in as you watch him fidget, so obviously inexperienced and eager to please.

"Noona?" His voice is soft now—almost shy—as if whatever he's about to ask might actually kill him.

"Yes?" You stop walking again and turn fully toward him, trying to ignore how your heart clenches at his nervous expression.

"Where... where can I... uh..." He trails off awkwardly before finally blurting out: "...Buy them?"

This time, you choke on your spit.

Because fuck—the reminder of just how unversed he is hits you like a punch to the gut.

You're terrible for this, for teasing him when he's so clearly out of his depth. For wanting to see him fall apart again, even knowing you should be protecting him instead of corrupting him.

"Jungkook," you say after a long moment of stunned silence, your voice softer than intended.

"Yes?" He looks at you hopefully, and god, you're going straight to hell for the things you want to do to him when he looks at you like that.

"I was joking."

The look on his face when those words sink in is priceless—a mix of disappointment and relief so intense it almost makes you feel bad for teasing him this much.

Almost.

Because underneath that relief, you can see it—the way his eyes darken slightly, the subtle shift in his posture that tells you he wanted it to be real.

"...Oh," he says softly after another long pause, and something in his tone makes your chest flutter.

"But not about coming over tonight!" You call back as you start walking again, before you can do something stupid like take it back. Before you can give in to the urge to tell him you weren't entirely joking after all. "Bring me jajjangmyeon!"

Behind you comes another strangled noise—and then hurried footsteps as Jungkook scrambles after you once again.

"Noona!"

You keep walking, trying to ignore the way your heart races.

Jungkook bangs his head against the wall of Taehyung's apartment, each thud punctuating his words: "I. Hate. My. Self."

"Why?" Taehyung doesn't even look up from his game controller, thumbs moving rapidly as he dodges an attack on screen. "You're gonna get laid."

"Finally," Jimin adds helpfully from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he mashes buttons. "About time someone popped that cherry—"

"It's NOT like that!" Jungkook's voice cracks embarrassingly, and he seriously considers webbing both their mouths shut. Why does he have friends? Who allowed this? "She just wants to hang out!"

"At night?" Taehyung snorts, still focused on the game. "In her apartment?"

"Alone?" Jimin adds, grinning as his character lands a critical hit. "Just the two of you?"

"She literally said she was joking!" Jungkook protests, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of oversized puppy. "About the... you know."

"The condoms?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"Shut up!"

"Maybe," Jimin says thoughtfully, pausing the game to turn and look at Jungkook properly, "she was joking about joking."

Jungkook freezes. "No way."

"Yes way."

"...You think so?" And god, he hates how hopeful his voice sounds. How pathetically eager.

"Bro," Taehyung says, finally setting down his controller to fix Jungkook with a look. "You already nutted in your pants grinding against her in a library closet."

"DIE." Jungkook buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I hate you. I hate both of you. So much."

"I mean," Jimin continues, completely unbothered by Jungkook's death threats, "she obviously knows you want her. Like, it's not exactly a secret."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers, suspicious.

"Dude." Taehyung gives him a flat look. "You follow her around like a lost puppy."

"I do not—"

"You bring her snacks every day—"

"That's just being nice!"

"You literally stalk her as Spider-Man—"

"I'm PROTECTING her!"

"From what?" Jimin snorts. "Paper cuts? Bad coffee? The dangers of journalism?"

Jungkook makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I hate this conversation. Can we go back to you two failing at Mario Kart?"

"Nope," Taehyung says cheerfully, turning to face him fully now. "This is way more entertaining. So, what are you gonna wear?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks. "What do you mean, what am I gonna wear? Clothes?"

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that makes Jungkook's stomach drop.

"Oh no," Jimin says slowly. "No, no, no. You are not showing up to your potential deflowering wearing your usual disaster outfit."

"My WHAT—"

"The oversized hoodie and ripped jeans combo," Taehyung clarifies. "It's cute for class, but for this? Absolutely not."

"I'm not getting deflowered!" Jungkook protests, his voice reaching a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "She just wants jajjangmyeon!"

"Right," Jimin drawls. "Because girls always invite guys over at night for noodles."

"Some do!"

"Name one time—"

"I don't have to name anything! This isn't—she's not—we're not—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "She probably just wants to talk about Spider-Man again."

Another loaded look passes between his friends.

"What?" Jungkook asks suspiciously.

"Nothing," they say in unison, which is never a good sign.

"What?!"

"It's just..." Taehyung starts carefully. "Maybe she wants to... confirm her suspicions?"

Jungkook's blood runs cold. "What suspicions?"

"You know..." Jimin waves his hand vaguely. "About your... nighttime activities?"

"My what—OH." Jungkook's eyes widen in horror. "Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh god. You think she's gonna—"

"Interrogate you?" Taehyung supplies helpfully. "Probably."

"While you're vulnerable?" Jimin adds with a grin. "Most likely."

"Post-orgasm?" Taehyung continues. "When your guard is down?"

"I'm going to throw up," Jungkook announces, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I'm actually going to be sick."

"Relax," Jimin says, reaching over to pat his knee sympathetically. "Maybe she just wants to fuck you."

"That's not relaxing!" Jungkook squeaks. "That's the opposite of relaxing! That's—that's—"

"Hot?" Taehyung suggests.

"Exciting?" Jimin adds.

"Terrifying," Jungkook corrects weakly. "What if I... what if I'm bad at it?"

Another loaded silence fills the room.

"Well," Taehyung says slowly, "you've already set the bar pretty low with the closet incident—"

"I'm leaving." Jungkook starts to stand up, but Jimin grabs his arm and yanks him back down.

"No, you're not," Jimin says firmly. "You're going to sit here and let us help you not completely fuck this up."

"I don't need help!"

"You came in your pants from some light grinding."

"That was—it wasn't—she said it was cute!"

"And that's great," Taehyung says patiently. "But maybe this time we aim for something a little more... impressive?"

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. "I hate this. I hate all of this. Why couldn't I just be normal?"

"Normal is overrated," Jimin says sagely. "Now, about those clothes..."

"We're not having this conversation."

"We absolutely are," Taehyung declares, standing up. "Come on, let's raid my closet. You're not showing up looking like a freshman who just rolled out of bed."

"But I am a freshman who just rolled out of bed!"

"Not tonight, you're not," Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook's other arm to haul him up. "Tonight, you're going to look like someone who might actually know what to do with a woman."

"But I don't know what to do with a woman!"

"That's what we're here for," Taehyung says cheerfully, already heading toward his bedroom. "Sex Ed with Taehyung and Jimin, now in session!"

"Kill me," Jungkook mutters, but he lets himself be dragged along anyway. "Just... someone please kill me."

"After you get laid," Jimin promises. "Now, let's talk about foreplay..."

The noise Jungkook makes is probably audible from space.

But then he’s sitting cross-legged on Taehyung's bed, face buried in his hands as his friends settle on either side of him.

The game controllers lie abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of what Taehyung has dubbed "Operation: Don't Let Jungkook Embarrass Himself (Again)."

"Okay," Jimin says, his tone shifting from teasing to something more serious. "First rule: stop overthinking."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Taehyung cuts in gently. "We can literally see you spiraling. Your whole face does this thing when you're in your head too much."

"What thing?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers suspiciously.

"Like you're trying to solve quantum physics while having an existential crisis," Jimin explains. "It's not cute."

Jungkook groans. "How am I supposed to not overthink? She's—she's her, and I'm just—"

"A superhero?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"That's different! That's not—I mean—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise. "Spider-Man is cool. I'm not cool. I'm just... me."

"And she likes you," Jimin says firmly. "Not Spider-Man. Well, maybe Spider-Man too, but she doesn't know that yet. She likes awkward, rambling, snack-bringing you."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Taehyung says patiently, "girls don't usually let guys they're not into grind against them in library closets."

"Can we please stop bringing that up?"

"No, because it's important," Jimin insists. "She initiated that. She guided your hands. She told you it was okay. That means she's attracted to you."

Jungkook swallows hard, his face heating up at the memory. "But what if... what if she expects me to know what I'm doing now?"

"Then be honest," Taehyung says simply. "Tell her you're nervous. Tell her you want her to show you what she likes."

"Girls love that shit," Jimin adds. "Being all vulnerable and asking for guidance? That's hot."

"Really?" Jungkook looks between them skeptically.

"Really," they say in unison.

"Plus," Taehyung continues, "she already knows you're inexperienced. And she still wants you there. That means something."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip nervously. "Okay, but... what if... what if I..." He trails off, face burning.

"What if you what?"

"What if I... finish too fast again?" The last words come out as barely a whisper.

"Then you use your mouth," Jimin says matter-of-factly.

Jungkook chokes on air. "My what?"

"Your mouth," Taehyung repeats calmly. "Seriously, learn to eat pussy. It's like, the number one life skill."

"Oh my god." Jungkook falls backward onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Better us than you figuring it out on your own," Jimin points out. "Now sit up. This is important."

"I don't want to."

"Jungkook."

"No."

"Fine," Taehyung sighs. "Then we'll just let you go in blind and probably accidentally bite her cl—"

"OKAY!" Jungkook bolts upright. "Okay, I'm listening. Just... please be less graphic."

"No can do," Jimin says cheerfully. "This is detailed instruction time. Now, the most important thing to remember is—"

What follows is possibly the most mortifying yet educational thirty minutes of Jungkook's life. His friends, for all their teasing, are actually... helpful. They explain things clearly, answer his (extremely embarrassing) questions without judgment, and even draw diagrams that make him want to die but also kind of make sense.

"And remember," Taehyung says finally, "it's okay to laugh if something awkward happens. Sex isn't like porn. It's messy and weird sometimes."

"And communication is key," Jimin adds. "If you're not sure about something, ask. If something feels good, say so. If something doesn't, speak up."

Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything. "Okay. Yeah. I can... I can do that."

"And for fuck's sake," Taehyung says, "breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I might," Jungkook admits weakly. "This is... a lot."

"It is," Jimin agrees, patting his knee. "But you've got this. And hey, maybe nothing will happen tonight. Maybe she really does just want to eat jajjangmyeon and talk."

"Right," Jungkook says, though his voice wavers slightly. "Just... normal hanging out."

"But if something does happen," Taehyung adds with a grin, "at least now you know where the clit is."

"I hate you both so much."

"You love us," Jimin corrects. "Now, about those clothes..."

Jungkook flops back onto the bed with another groan, but this time, it's less panicked and more resigned. Because yeah, okay, maybe his friends are right. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster.

Maybe.

Probably.

Oh god, he's going to throw up.

"Stop spiraling," Taehyung says immediately. "I can see you doing it."

"I'm not spiraling!" Jungkook protests. "I'm just... mentally preparing."

"For what? The worst possible scenario?"

"Yes!"

"Which is?" Jimin prompts.

"I don't know! Everything? What if I trip and break her lamp? What if I say something stupid? What if I accidentally web her ceiling fan? What if—"

"Okay, new rule," Taehyung interrupts. "No spider powers in the bedroom unless explicitly discussed beforehand."

"Oh my god."

"He's right though," Jimin says thoughtfully. "Save the web-shooting for later. That's like, advanced kink territory."

"I'm leaving," Jungkook announces for the hundredth time. "I'm actually leaving this time."

"No, you're not," they say in unison, each grabbing one of his arms to keep him in place.

"We still haven't picked out your outfit," Taehyung reminds him.

"Or talked about protection," Jimin adds.

"Or—"

"Fine!" Jungkook throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Just... please stop saying 'web-shooting' in relation to... that."

His friends exchange matching grins that make him immediately regret everything.

"No promises," they say together.

Jungkook screams into a pillow.

The doorbell rings, loud and obnoxious, startling you out of your focus.

You pause mid-sentence, fingers hovering over your laptop's keyboard as you glance toward the door. When did the bell get so loud? It's like it's mocking you for forgetting—or pretending to forget—that you invited him over.

You sigh, pulling off your headphones and letting them rest around your neck as you shuffle toward the door.

Your bunny slippers scuff softly against the floor, and you tug at the hem of your tank top absentmindedly. You're not exactly dressed to impress—grey sweats, a loose tank top, hair probably a mess—but whatever. It's your apartment. Comfort trumps everything else.

(Though a small voice in your head reminds you that maybe you should've put on something less... revealing. Something that doesn't show quite so much skin, doesn't blur the lines between sunbae and…)

You open the door, and there he is.

Jeon Jungkook, standing in the hallway in his own grey sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking like he just stepped out of a cozy loungewear ad. His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he'd rushed to shower before coming over. He's holding a plastic bag in one hand, and his other is shoved awkwardly into his pocket. For some reason, he's staring off to the side, like he's too nervous to look directly at the door.

But then his gaze shifts—quickly, immediately—and lands on you. And just like that, it's like all the tension in his body melts away. His shoulders drop slightly, and there's this soft little exhale that escapes him as his lips curve into a sheepish smile. The pure relief in his expression makes your stomach twist with guilt.

"Brought jajjangmyon as you requested, noona," he says, holding up the bag like it's some kind of peace offering.

The way he says "noona," all shy and reverent like it's some sacred title only meant for you—it shouldn't make your chest feel warm, but it does. It really shouldn't.

You bite back both a smile and the urge to tell him to go home, to forget about whatever this thing between you is becoming. Instead, you step aside to let him in, watching as he hesitates for half a second before shuffling past you into the apartment, his sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.

You close the door behind him and turn to find him standing awkwardly near the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a lifeline. His eyes dart around your apartment—taking in the cluttered desk with your laptop still open, the half-empty mug of coffee on the table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch—but they always seem to come back to you.

Like he can't help himself, like you're some kind of magnet he can't resist.

And then there's this moment—a brief flicker—where his gaze lowers slightly, catching on your tank top and sweats. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he quickly looks away again, like he's afraid of being caught staring.

It reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, all desperate want and nervous energy.

He clears his throat. "Uh... nice place."

You snort softly, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "It's a mess."

"It's cozy," he says earnestly, and when he looks at you again, there's something warm in his eyes.

Something that makes you want to push him away before you do something stupid like pull him closer.

You shake off the feeling and motion for him to follow you further inside.

"C'mon," you say over your shoulder as you walk toward your desk, needing distance. "I need some help with something."

"With what?" he asks immediately, trailing after you like an obedient puppy.

Always so eager to please, so ready to do anything you ask. It would be easier if he wasn't so genuine about it.

You glance back at him briefly and smirk, falling back on teasing because it's safer than acknowledging whatever happened. "Carrying all this food to my desk."

His lips twitch upward into another sheepish smile as he holds up the bag again. "I can do that."

Of course he can.

You roll your eyes but don't say anything else as you plop back down into your chair and gesture for him to set everything on the table beside your laptop. You need to focus on something—anything—other than how domestic this feels, how naturally he fits into your space.

As he unpacks the containers of jajjangmyon with meticulous care—like each one is some kind of precious artifact—you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There's something about seeing him here—in your space—that feels... different.

Dangerous.

Like this is some kind of alternate universe where Jeon Jungkook isn't just that awkward freshman who follows you around campus with snacks and stammered compliments but someone who actually belongs here.

It's stupid. You know it is. But still.

"You didn't have to bring all this," you say finally, breaking the silence as he sets down a pair of chopsticks beside one of the containers. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, an edge of defensiveness creeping in.

"You asked for it," he replies simply, glancing up at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

Always so earnest, so sincere. It makes something in your chest ache.

"I was joking."

"I know." He smiles softly—just barely—but there's something about it that makes your guilt surge.

“Then why’d you bring it?”

“Because…” He hesitates for half a second before shrugging lightly. “Because I wanted to.”

There's something so simple—so pure—about his answer that it catches you off guard for a moment. You don't know what to say to that, so instead, you just grab one of the containers and pop it open with a quiet "thanks," trying to ignore how your hands shake slightly.

He sits down across from you without being asked—like this is normal now—and starts unpacking his own food while sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you're not looking. Each glance feels like a weight on your conscience, reminding you how badly you're handling this whole situation.

The silence stretches between you as you both eat, broken only by the soft clicking of chopsticks against containers.

Something’s... off.

Jungkook's usually endless chatter is conspicuously absent, replaced by this heavy quiet that makes your skin crawl.

You glance up from your food to find him staring intently at his container, his fingers fidgeting with the chopsticks like he's trying to work up the courage to say something.

There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, a nervousness that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, and—

Oh.

The guilt hits you like a slap on the fucking face.

Because what kind of sunbae are you? Getting off on making your hoobae squirm? Letting him grind against you until he came in his pants? Who even are you? Was it worth the power trip?

God, you’re insane. You are out of your depth. You are disgusting.

And now he's sitting here, all quiet and nervous, probably thinking about it too, probably wondering if you're going to acknowledge it or pretend it never happened and—

Something ugly and defensive rises in your chest, a need to push him away before he gets too close. Before you can fuck this up any more than you already have.

"So," you start, your voice deliberately casual as you type random nonsense just to look busy. Your fingers move across the keyboard without purpose, just needing something to focus on besides the way he keeps sneaking glances at you. "Did you tell your friends about our little encounter?"

Jungkook chokes on his noodles, face immediately flushing red. "I—what?"

"You know," you continue, still not looking at him because you can't handle those doe eyes right now. "The closet thing. Did you brag about it? Tell all your freshman friends how you got felt up by a senior?"

God, you sound cruel even to your own ears. But it's better this way, right? Better to push him away now before this gets even more complicated. Before you let yourself get used to having him in your space, all soft smiles and eager eyes.

"N-no!" he stammers, sounding horrified. "I wouldn't—I mean, I did tell Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, but—"

"Of course you did," you cut him off with a sharp laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "Bet they were impressed, huh? Their baby Jungkookie getting action in the library?"

His breath hitches audibly, and you hate how the sound makes your chest tight. You're doing this for his own good, you remind yourself. He deserves better than some senior who gets off on making him cry.

"It wasn't like that," he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. "I just... I needed advice—"

"Advice?" You finally look at him, raising an eyebrow even as your nails dig into your palms. "What kind of advice? How to last longer than three minutes?"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see him physically flinch. His eyes go wide, glassy with unshed tears, and something in your chest fractures.

You're the worst. The absolute worst.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—I know I was pathetic—"

"Stop," you say immediately, panic rising in your throat because you can see it coming—the way his lips tremble, the way he's looking at you with such raw emotion.

Don't say it. Please don't say it.

But he's already spiraling, words tumbling out between hiccupping breaths: "I know I'm inexperienced and awkward and probably really bad at everything, but I—I really like you, noona, and I—"

"What's next?" You spit out, desperate to stop the confession you don't deserve, nails drawing blood from your palms now. "Gonna cry? Beg? Whimper noona until I take pity on you?" A harsh laugh scrapes your throat. "What would you even do if I told you to get on your knees right now?"

Silence.

You snort, turning back to your laptop, relief flooding through you because finally, finally he's going to realize what a terrible person you are and—

Fabric rustles. The soft thud of denim hitting floorboards. Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

He kneels between your spread legs, palms on his thighs. The overhead light catches the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Okay."

Your pulse thunders. "Okay what?"

"However you want me." His voice quivers but doesn't break. "However you need."

The cursor blinks mockingly on screen. You suddenly can't remember your Wi-Fi password. Your thesis topic. Your own name.

"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out strangled.

"You asked," he whispers, voice trembling but determined. "If I would get on my knees for you, noona."

"I was being cruel," you say quickly, but your mouth feels dry. "I was trying to hurt you."

"I know." His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, tears tracking down his cheeks. "But I'd still... I'd still do anything. Even if you're just being mean. Even if you're trying to push me away."

Your breath catches. "Jungkook—"

"I bought them," he blurts out suddenly, face burning red. "The condoms. Even though—even though you said you were joking. I just... just in case. Because I wanted—I wanted to be ready if you..." He hiccups, more tears spilling over. "If you ever actually wanted me."

The guilt chokes you. "Stop it."

"Please don't push me away," he begs, voice cracking as he shifts closer, forehead pressing against your knee. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm just some stupid freshman who came in his pants the first time you touched him, but I—I can't stop thinking about you. About how good you made me feel. About how much I want to make you feel good too."

You stare at him, caught off guard by his desperate honesty. "You don't know what you want."

"I do," he insists, looking up at you through wet lashes. "I think about you all the time. When I'm alone, I—" He cuts himself off with a hiccup, shame coloring his cheeks. "I touch myself thinking about your hands. Your voice. How you said I was good for you."

A broken noise escapes you—something between a laugh and a sob. "Jungkook, we can't—"

"I'll be better," he promises frantically, hands hovering near your thighs like he's afraid to touch. "I'll last longer. I'll learn how to... how to please you properly. Just please don't—don't regret what happened. Don't hate me for wanting you so much."

You drop your head into your hands, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. He's still crying, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he kneels before you like some kind of devoted supplicant.

"I practiced," he confesses in a broken whisper, and you can hear how much it costs him to admit this. "After... after the closet. Trying to—to last longer. Because I was so embarrassed about... about how fast I..." He hiccups, pressing his burning face against your knee. "Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, they tried to help. Gave me advice. Told me how to... how to be good for you."

"Jesus, Jungkook," you breathe, because what are you supposed to say to that?

"I know it's stupid," he rushes out, words tumbling over each other between hiccups. "I know you probably think I'm just some dumb kid with a crush, but it's more than that. You make me feel... you make me feel like I could be good enough. Like maybe being inexperienced isn't... isn't the worst thing in the world."

Your fingers find their way into his hair without permission, and the broken sound he makes at the contact nearly kills you. He leans into your touch like he's starving for it, tears still flowing freely.

"When you touched me," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "in the closet... it was the first time anyone ever... and you were so gentle. So patient. Even though I was pathetic and came too fast and probably squeezed your breast too hard—"

"Stop calling yourself pathetic," you interrupt, tugging gently at his hair until he looks up at you. His face is a mess of tears and vulnerability, and something in your chest breaks. "God, Jungkook. You weren't pathetic. You were adorable."

He makes this wounded sound, like your words physically hurt him. "But I—I ruined it. Made it weird. Got too desperate and needy and—"

"That's what made it beautiful," you admit softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "How honest you were. How much you wanted it. Wanted me."

His breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over. "I still do," he whispers. "Want you. So much it hurts sometimes. Even if you're being mean, even if you're trying to push me away... I just want to be close to you."

Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His skin is feverish under your palms, tears still flowing freely as he looks up at you with those devastating doe eyes.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, watching as he blinks in confusion. "For being cruel earlier. I just... I felt so guilty. About taking advantage of you. About wanting you when I shouldn't."

"You weren't," he says immediately, desperately. "Taking advantage. I wanted it so bad, noona. Still want it. Want anything you'll give me." His voice cracks on another hiccup. "Even if—even if it's just this. Just letting me be close to you."

"Jungkook..." Your thumbs brush away fresh tears, but they're quickly replaced by more.

"I know I'm not good enough," words spilling out between quiet sobs. "Know I should probably be with someone my own age. Someone who won't have to teach me everything. But I—I want it to be you. Want you to show me how to... how to make you feel good. How to be what you need."

Your heart clenches at his words, at how earnestly he offers himself up to you.

“Baby," the endearment slips out again, making him shudder. "You don't have to try so hard."

"I want to," he insists, hands finally settling on your thighs, grip trembling but determined. "Want to learn everything. How to touch you. How to... how to use my mouth. How to make you cum. Please, noona."

His voice breaks on the honorific, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I like you so much. So—so much it hurts. Can't focus in class because I keep thinking about you. Can't sleep because I keep remembering how you touched me, how you looked at me like I wasn't just some stupid freshman."

"Jungkook—"

"Please don't tell me to stay away," he chokes out, panic clear in his voice. "I know I should. Know it's wrong because you're my sunbae and I'm just—just me, but I can't. I can't." His fingers dig into your thighs desperately. "I'll do anything. Be anything you want. Just please don't push me away."

Your heart aches at how broken he sounds, at the raw desperation in his voice. "Baby..."

"I dream about you," he confesses in a rush, like he's afraid you'll stop him. "About—about your hands. Your voice. The way you said I was good for you. Nobody's ever—nobody's made me feel like that before. Like I’m good enough. Just Jungkook.”

He's rambling now, words tumbling out between hiccups and sobs. "I know I'm probably terrible at everything. Know I should've lasted longer, should've touched you better, should've—should've been more in control but I couldn't. Can't think straight when you look at me like that. When you call me 'baby' and touch my hair and—"

You can't take it anymore. Can't handle how earnest he is, how desperately he's trying to convince you not to reject him. Your hands slide from his tear-stained cheeks into his hair, and he makes this broken little sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Noona," he whimpers, looking up at you through wet lashes. "Please."

You lean down, your heart thundering in your chest as you press your lips to his.

It's soft at first—tender, careful, like you're afraid he might shatter if you push too hard. His lips are warm and slightly salty from tears, trembling against yours as he makes this tiny, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

When his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, you can't help but deepen the kiss. Your tongue slides against his, and the way he gasps—soft and surprised, like he can't believe this is happening—makes heat pool in your stomach. His hands clench against your thighs, fingers trembling with nervous energy as he tries to match your rhythm.

God, he's so fucking precious. So earnest in the way he responds, letting you guide him with gentle pressure and encouraging hums. When you thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your mouth, tears still tracking down his cheeks even as he kisses you back with clumsy enthusiasm.

You press harder, something possessive and hungry unfurling in your chest at how pliant he is, how desperately he tries to please you. Your other hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, and he just melts for you. His mouth is sweet and eager, and you want to fucking devour him—want to swallow every little hiccupping sob and breathy moan he makes.

You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake—this eager, crying freshman who looks at you like you hung the moon. But the way he trembles under your touch, the way he gives himself over so completely... it makes you want to wreck him. To take him apart piece by piece until he's sobbing for an entirely different reason.

When you finally pull back, he chases your lips with a broken whine that goes straight to your core. His eyes flutter open, glazed and desperate, tears still clinging to his lashes like diamonds.

"Noona," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked—all raw and pleading in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid again.

You shouldn't.

You really, really shouldn't.

But god help you, you do.

Jungkook's brain is absolutely short-circuiting.

Like, full system failure, blue screen of death, please-restart-your-computer levels of malfunction.

Because this? This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream or maybe he hit his head on the way over here because there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that you just kissed him.

But you did. You actually did. Your lips were on his, soft and warm and real, and now he's kneeling here like an idiot, staring up at you with what he's sure is the most pathetic expression ever because holy fuck.

He hadn't expected any of this. Really. After the whole teasing thing earlier (and the mortifying sex ed session with Taehyung and Jimin), he'd convinced himself nothing would happen. That's why he wore his comfy clothes—his safe clothes—even though yeah, okay, maybe he did buy condoms. Just in case. Because he's pathetic and hopeful and maybe a tiny part of him wanted to believe...

But no. He was fine with just bringing jajjangmyon. More than fine. He would've been happy just sitting here, watching you work, existing in the same space as you. That would've been enough.

Then you started pushing him away, and he just... broke. Started crying like some kind of oversized baby because apparently that's who he is now—someone who sobs at the first sign of rejection.

God, he's such a mess. Such an absolute disaster of a human being.

He apologized (between hiccups and tears because of course he did), but then you apologized too, and then—and then—you kissed him. You actually kissed him. With your mouth. On his mouth. While he was crying. Which should be embarrassing (it is embarrassing), but he can't even care because holy shit, you kissed him.

And now you're looking at him with this expression he can't quite read, your hands cradling his face like he's something precious instead of just some awkward freshman who can't keep his emotions in check.

"Stand up," you murmur, thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.

He scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process because apparently his body has forgotten how legs work. His knees protest after kneeling for so long, and he sways slightly, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them.

Should he touch you? Is he allowed to touch you? What are the rules here? Is there a manual for this? Why didn't Taehyung and Jimin cover proper post-crying makeout etiquette in their weird sex ed lesson?

"Breathe," you remind him softly, and oh—right. That's a thing he should probably be doing.

He takes a shaky breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart as you look up at him with those eyes that make him feel like he's simultaneously floating and drowning.

This is real. This is actually happening. Somehow, his pathetic, crying, disaster self has achieved... something. He's not sure what exactly, but something.

And he really, really hopes he doesn't fuck it up.

His tears haven't quite stopped—because of course they haven't, he's a walking emotional disaster—when you look up at him from your chair. His breath catches in his throat, expecting... well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More kissing maybe? You to stand up? To tell him to stop being such a crybaby?

What he's definitely not expecting is for you to slide out of your chair and onto your knees in front of him.

His brain short-circuits completely when your hands find his hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweats. A gasp escapes him—embarrassingly high-pitched and needy—because holy fuck, are you—is this—what is happening?

You look up at him through your lashes, and his heart actually stops. "Is this okay?" you ask softly, thumbs rubbing circles against his hipbones through the fabric.

He nods so fast he probably gives himself whiplash, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks because he can't seem to get his body under control. Words fail him entirely—his vocabulary reduced to a series of choked sounds as you hook your fingers into the waistband of both his sweats and boxers.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

This is actually happening. This is—

The fabric slides down his thighs, and Jungkook wants to die immediately because his dick is already hard. Like, embarrassingly hard. Because apparently his body is determined to humiliate him at every possible opportunity today.

A strangled whimper escapes him as cool air hits his exposed skin. His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, trembling with the effort not to cover himself as more tears track down his burning cheeks.

He's never felt more exposed in his life—standing here with his pants around his thighs, dick straining eagerly toward you like some kind of desperate compass pointing true north.

God, could he be any more obvious? Any more pathetic?

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice cracking. "I—it just—you just—"

“You’re okay.”

Your words are so gentle, so soothing, that it only makes Jungkook cry harder. Because how can you be this understanding? This tender with someone like him who can't even stop sobbing long enough to form coherent sentences?

But then—oh god—your thumb brushes against the underside of his cock, a slow, deliberate stroke from tip to base that makes his entire body shudder. And when you squeeze softly, testing, exploring? His knees nearly buckle.

He watches, transfixed, as your hand glides up and down his length with careful precision. Slow, so, so slow. The movement is hypnotic, making his breath catch on every upstroke, forcing tiny whimpers past his lips that he tries desperately to muffle behind his hand.

"Eyes on me," you command softly, and his gaze snaps to yours immediately.

His chest heaves with hiccupping sobs, tears still falling freely as he tries to process that this is real—that you're actually touching him, that this isn't just another fevered fantasy. His free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unsure where it's allowed to land.

You chuckle—a warm, tender sound that makes his heart flip—and murmur, "Don't hold back those pretty sounds, baby. And here..." You guide his hovering hand to your hair. "Hold onto me if you need support."

The permission—both to touch and to be vocal—makes him whimper pathetically. His fingers thread shakily through your hair, careful and reverent, like he still can't quite believe he's allowed this.

"That's it," you encourage softly. "Just like that."

He can barely breathe as you maintain eye contact, your hand working him in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. Every touch feels electric—too much and not enough all at once.

"I'm s-sorry," he chokes out between sobs, fingers tightening reflexively in your hair. "For the—hic—crying, I can't—hic—stop—"

"Shh," you soothe, your free hand stroking his hip. "You're being so good for me."

The praise makes him whimper, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. His cock twitches in your grip, already leaking precum, and he feels his face burn hotter with embarrassment.

"Noona," he whines, voice cracking. "I'm—hic—I'm already so—"

"I know, baby," you murmur, and then your tongue flicks out to taste the bead of precum at his tip.

The noise he makes is absolutely wrecked—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he catches himself, mortified.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to—hic—to—"

"It's okay," you assure him, looking up through your lashes. "You can move if you need to."

He shakes his head frantically, still hiccupping. "Don't wanna—hic—hurt you—"

Your response is to take him into your mouth properly, and Jungkook's entire world narrows to the welcoming heat of your tongue sliding against his length. His legs shake so hard he has to grip your hair tighter just to stay upright.

"Oh god," he sobs, watching through tear-blurred vision as you take him deeper. "Oh fuck, noona, I can't—hic—it's too much—"

You hum around him in response, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. He's babbling now, unable to stop the stream of desperate praise and broken pleas falling from his lips between hiccups.

"So good," he whimpers, "you're so—hic—perfect, I can't—please—hic—noona—"

Jungkook’s brain is mush. Absolute, scrambled, incoherent mush.

Because he’s seen porn—obviously he’s seen porn, military barracks aren’t exactly monasteries—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of your mouth on him. The heat, the suction, the way your tongue swirls just beneath his tip every time you pull back—it’s obscene.

He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or dying. Or both.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, a choked sob tearing from his throat as you take him deeper.

“N-noona—hic—’m sorry, I can’t—hic—can’t hold—”

You pull off with a filthy pop, and he nearly collapses right there.

But then you’re looking up at him, lips glistening, and saying the words that unravel him completely: “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. Noona wants to taste you.”

His vision whites out for a second. You want to taste him. Want him. His pathetic, trembling, overeager self.

The thought alone makes his cock twitch desperately, more precum beading at the tip as he fights the urge to just—

"Please," he chokes out between hiccups, his filter completely gone. "Can I—hic—down your throat? Please, noona, I've wanted—hic—for so long—"

Oh god. Oh fuck. Did he really just say that out loud?

Taehyung and Jimin's voices echo in his head—focus on her comfort, ask what she wants, don't be selfish—but his horny brain has completely taken over, reducing him to this desperate, begging mess.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified tears streaming down his face. "That was—hic—so stupid, I shouldn't have—you don't have to—"

Then you swallow him back down, all the way to the hilt, and his brain restarts completely.

"F-fuck—hic—noona—" His voice breaks as his orgasm builds, violent and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens, probably painful (god, he's the worst, he's so fucking inconsiderate, he should let go, should—). "I'm c-cumming—hic—'m so sorry, I'm—hic—ah—!"

He tries to pull back, he really does, but you hold him in place, humming around him like this is exactly what you wanted.

His vision blurs with tears as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, a broken groan tearing from his throat that would normally send him into a spiral of embarrassment.

Stupid stupid stupid, his brain chants as he shakes through the aftershocks. So fucking selfish. So desperate. She probably thinks you're disgusting. Probably hates you now. Probably—

But then you're looking up at him through your lashes, swallowing deliberately, and his spiral breaks at the soft, approving sound you make. Like this is good.

Like he's good.

Your laugh—warm and tender—cuts through his panic as you pull off to press a gentle kiss to his sensitive tip.

"That's exactly what I wanted," you murmur, and his heart stops completely.

God help him.

Jungkook wipes at his tears with the back of his wrist, sniffling softly as he tries to gather what's left of his courage. His voice is still shaky, still thick with tears, but there's a determination in it that surprises even him:

"Please let me—hic—eat you out," he manages, his face burning but his gaze steady. "Want to make you feel good too. You've done it twice for me now, it's not—it's not fair."

"Jungkook," you start gently, "I'm fine, you don't owe me—"

"It's not about owing," he interrupts, surprising himself with his boldness. His hands tremble, but his voice stays firm despite the lingering hiccups. "It's not fair that—hic—that you get to taste me and I don't get to taste you."

The words come out needier than he intended, more desperate, and he feels his face heat further. But he doesn't take them back. Can't take them back. Not when he's wanted this for so long—wanted to know what you taste like, what sounds you'd make, if you'd guide him with your hands in his hair like you did in the closet.

"Please, noona," he whispers, eyes wide and earnest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. "Let me try? I—hic—I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'll be good, I promise."

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on your face, and Jungkook realizes you'd misunderstood—thought he meant it wasn't fair to you, when really... god, how could he explain that getting to taste you would be the biggest privilege of his life?

A soft chuckle escapes you, warm and amused. "Since when are you so bold, young mister?"

His face burns hotter, but he doesn't back down. Can't back down. Not when the thought of tasting you is making his head spin with want.

"Since—hic—since you let me have something I never thought I'd get," he admits, voice wavering but sincere. "And now I just... want more."

The last word comes out embarrassingly needy, but he's beyond caring at this point.

"More?" you echo, that amused smile still playing at your lips.

"Everything," he breathes, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. "Anything you'll give me. Please, noona. I just—I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you feel good like you made me feel good. Want to—hic—learn how to please you properly."

Your expression softens at his earnestness, at how desperately he's trying to convey just how much he wants this—wants you.

"You really want to taste me that badly?" you ask, standing up and pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

He nods frantically, leaning into your touch like a touch-starved kitten. "More than—hic—anything. Please?"

The way he says 'please'—all breathy and desperate—makes something in your expression shift. Your thumb brushes across his bottom lip, and he parts them instinctively, wanting to show you just how eager he is to learn.

"Such a good boy," you murmur, and his whole body shudders at the praise. "Always so polite when you beg."

Your words go straight to his dick, which—obviously—twitches back to life because apparently it has absolutely no shame when it comes to you. Zero self-control. None. Especially when you say things like "good boy" in that voice that makes his whole body feel like it's on fire.

"Oh, hi again," you chuckle, glancing down at his rapidly hardening length.

Something possesses him then—maybe it's the lingering high from his orgasm, or maybe it's just the way you're looking at him like he's actually worthy of your attention—but his hands move on their own, fingers trembling slightly as they cradle your jaw. He guides your face back up, wanting to see your eyes, needing to see them.

Then he's leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it makes his chest ache.

When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper:

"Can I please, then?"

You nod with a smirk, and Jungkook's entire nervous system goes into overdrive.

Okay. Stay calm. Everyone stay fucking calm. His brain is firing signals in every direction like a broken switchboard—hey blood cells, maybe focus on making his tongue work instead of rushing to his dick again? Thanks.

You help him pull his sweats and briefs back up (and he tries very hard not to combust at how domestic that feels), then grab his wrist. His heart leaps into his throat as you lead him through your apartment, past the living room and—oh.

Oh.

That's... that's definitely your bedroom.

His eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to memorize every detail like he's studying for the most important test of his life.

There's a small plant on your windowsill (note to self: you like greenery), some photos on the wall (maybe he could get you a nice frame?), books scattered on your nightstand (he should ask what genres you—)

His mental catalog screeches to a halt as you sit on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your palms and looking up at him with that expression that makes his knees weak. Your eyes flick meaningfully to your sweats, and then:

"Take them off for me, Jungkook-ah?"

He actually chokes on his own spit, because what the fuck. How do you do that? How do you make simple requests sound like commands that make him want to drop to his knees and pledge eternal devotion?

Jungkook crouches down in front of you, his fingers trembling as they find the waistband of your sweats.

Oh god. Oh god. Is this happening? This is happening. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Or pass out. Or maybe combust entirely. His dick is already twitching against his thigh, and he’s genuinely terrified he might actually cum just from looking at you.

He swallows hard, trying to steady himself as he pushes the fabric down, watching with wide, reverent eyes as your sweats slide over your hips and down your legs. It feels surreal—like he’s in some kind of dream sequence or shooting a luxury lingerie ad. The way the fabric clings to your skin, catching briefly on your foot before sliding free under his careful fingers—it’s too much.

Too elegant. Too perfect.

And then they’re off, and he’s back on his knees, staring at you like you’re a goddess descended from the heavens. His gaze trails up your legs, over the soft curve of your thighs, until it lands on the black panties that cling to you in a way that makes his mouth salivate.

Oh god oh god oh god. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right here on your bedroom floor because there’s no way his body can handle this level of perfection.

But then—your fingertip touches his chin, tilting his face upward until he meets your gaze. His breath catches as you make a small beckoning motion with your finger, and he stumbles forward without hesitation, letting you guide him.

"You should start with kisses," you murmur softly, your voice low and inviting. "Come here."

His breath hitches audibly as you part your lips slightly, leaning back just enough to wait for him. He scrambles up a little higher, hands planting themselves awkwardly beside your thighs for balance as he leans in.

His lips meet yours again—soft at first, hesitant—but then you hum against his mouth, and it’s like something inside him snaps. His hands grip the bedspread tightly as he kisses you deeper, pouring every ounce of devotion and desperation into the press of his lips against yours.

Because this? This is everything. You’re everything. And he wants—no, needs—to show you just how much he means that.

Your lips move against his, slow and deliberate, guiding him like you’re teaching him a language he’s desperate to learn. Jungkook tries to follow your lead, tries to match the way your mouth parts just slightly, the way your tongue brushes against his bottom lip before retreating. He’s clumsy—he knows he is—but you don’t seem to mind. Every time he falters, you hum softly, tilting your head to show him how to angle his better, how to deepen the kiss without rushing.

It’s intoxicating. The way you taste, the way you feel—like you’re pouring all your patience and care into this one moment. He can barely keep up, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts as his hands grip the bedspread tighter, knuckles white with the effort of not touching you anywhere else.

“Slower,” you murmur against his lips, and he nods frantically, trying to remember how to breathe as he adjusts his pace. Your tongue slides against his again—not too much, just enough—and it sends a shiver down his spine so intense he nearly collapses onto you.

He pulls back slightly, gasping for air as his chest heaves. His gaze flickers up to meet yours for a split second before snapping downward—and that’s when he sees it.

Your tank top has shifted slightly in all the movement, and now your nipples are peaked against the fabric, straining in a way that makes his brain completely shut down.

Oh fuck.

He’s going to cum in five seconds if he doesn’t look away—if he doesn’t—

“Jungkook,” your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a lifeline, and then your hands are cradling his face again, forcing him to look back up at you. Your thumbs brush gently over his cheeks as you smile softly.

“Take it off for me,” you say simply, nodding toward your tank top.

His breath catches audibly as his hands twitch at his sides.

"I—I—” Words fail him entirely because what the fuck is happening? Is this real? Are you actually asking him to—

“Go on,” you encourage gently, your voice steady and patient in a way that makes him melt. “You can do it.”

He swallows hard and nods shakily, his trembling hands moving toward the hem of your tank top like it’s some sacred artifact.

He almost fumbles the hem of your tank top. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he grips the fabric and starts to lift it, moving slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift in existence. The soft material slides up over your stomach, then your ribs, and then—oh god—your breasts.

He freezes for a moment, tank top bunched awkwardly in his hands as his gaze locks onto you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

They’re perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Round and soft and exactly how he remembers them from the closet incident—how they felt in his hands, how they fit so perfectly against his palms like they were made for him. He’s revisited that moment in his head a hundred times since it happened, but seeing them now? Bare and right in front of him? It’s so much better than anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

His mouth goes dry as his eyes trace every curve, every detail. The way your nipples are peaked just slightly, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath—it’s mesmerizing. He feels like he should say something, do something, but all he can do is stare like a fucking idiot.

“Jungkook,” you chuckle softly, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. “Go on.”

Your voice snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s still holding your tank top halfway up your body like some kind of moron. His face flushes bright red as he scrambles to pull it the rest of the way off, nearly tangling it in your hair before finally tossing it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as he looks back at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt gently, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “It’s okay.”

He nods frantically, still blushing furiously as his gaze flickers downward again—just for a second—before snapping back up to meet yours.

“You’re just—you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise because there aren’t words for what you are.

Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You tap one of his hands where it's gripping the bedspread, and his gaze follows the movement before understanding clicks.

Oh.

You want his hand.

You're reaching for his hand and—oh fuck—pressing it against your breast.

He swallows thickly as his palm makes contact with soft, warm skin. It's exactly as perfect as he remembers from the closet, maybe even better because now he can actually see what he's touching.

His hand twitches automatically, squeezing slightly, and you hiss.

"Sorry!" he yelps immediately, trying to pull back, but you just chuckle and hold his hand in place.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice gentle but firm. "Don't grab. You need to knead." Your fingers guide his, showing him how to massage properly. "And brush your thumb... here." You move his thumb to your nipple, and the soft sigh that escapes your lips makes his cock twitch violently against his thigh.

Fuck, that was hot. That was so fucking hot he might actually die.

"Roll it between your thumb and forefinger," you instruct softly, "and do the same with the other one."

Okay. Okay, he can do this. This is fine. This is totally fine. He's just touching the most perfect breasts in existence while trying not to cum in his pants. Again. No pressure.

His other hand moves up hesitantly to mirror the first, and when you make another pleased sound, his nonexistent tail practically wags. Each soft sigh that falls from your lips feels like a reward, like proof that he's doing something right for once.

He can't help himself—he leans in to kiss you again, unable to resist the way your mouth parts slightly with each breath. His hands work in tandem now, one kneading gently while the other plays with your nipple, and the moan you let out against his lips?

Yeah, that's getting filed away in his brain forever. Right next to his most precious memories, ready to be replayed approximately ten thousand times when he's alone.

Because holy fuck, the sounds you make. The way you feel. The fact that you're letting him touch you like this, teaching him how to please you—it's almost too much. Almost overwhelming in how perfect it is.

But he wants more. Wants to earn more of those sounds, more of those sighs, more of everything you're willing to give him.

"Noona, I'm gonna cum," Jungkook stammers against your lips when you finally let him breathe.

He doesn't even know why he says it—except that it's absolutely true. His cock is twitching violently against his thigh, ready to explode at any second because apparently that's just what his body does around you now.

You chuckle warmly, and he almost starts crying again because god, he's so fucking embarrassing. But then your hand is in his hair, stroking gently, and your voice is so soft when you ask:

"Is this your first time? With breasts?"

He looks away, cheeks burning as he nods shyly. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes, too afraid of what he might see there.

"That's normal then," you assure him, fingers still carding through his hair. "Everything feels more intense the first time."

He glances back at you, heart stuttering at the gentle understanding in your expression. There's no judgment there, no mockery—just warmth and something that makes his chest ache.

"You can cum while sucking and playing with my tits if you want," you murmur, and the eager moan that escapes him should be mortifying but somehow isn't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like his enthusiasm is endearing rather than pathetic.

You lean back onto the bed, and his mouth goes dry as he watches you position yourself. He follows eagerly, hovering over you before leaning down to take one nipple between his lips. The moment his mouth makes contact, your back arches slightly and your fingers find his hair again.

Oh fuck.

The sound you make—this soft, breathy thing—nearly sends him over the edge right there.

His hand finds your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his fingers like you taught him, while his free hand fumbles desperately with his sweats, shoving them down just enough to wrap around his leaking cock.

He's so close already, pre-cum making his fingers slide easily as he strokes himself. Every little gasp and sigh you make sends sparks down his spine, making his hips buck into his own grip as he sucks and licks at your nipple like his life depends on it.

"Can I—" Jungkook chokes out between desperate pants, "Can I cum on your—your tits? Please?"

You nod softly, and he almost sobs with relief as he positions himself, straddling your waist. His hand works frantically over his length as he stares down at your perfect breasts, and then he's cumming with a broken moan, painting white stripes across your skin.

"I'm sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified at the mess he's made. But you just shake your head, reaching for some wipes from your nightstand.

"Stop apologizing," you murmur, but before you can clean yourself, he's already grabbing the wipes from your hand.

"Let me," he insists softly, carefully wiping his traces from your skin with reverent attention.

Once you're clean, he can't help himself—he leans down to press soft kisses against your breasts again. And again. And then he's back to sucking and kissing your nipples because how could he not? The content hum you make only encourages him further.

But then you're tugging gently at his hair, making him look up at you. "You can start kissing your way down," you tell him, and his face flushes crimson even as his cock twitches with renewed interest.

Yes. Fuck yes. Thank you god and jesus and buddha and whoever else is listening.

He starts trailing kisses down your stomach, each press of his lips deliberate and worshipful. When he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, moving to kneel between your thighs at the foot of the bed. His hands shake as he hooks his fingers in the waistband, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

Then you spread your legs, and holy fuck. The sight of your pussy—bare and glistening and so fucking perfect—draws a deep groan from his chest. You're so wet, so ready for his tongue, and he's pretty sure he's actually died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Because you are. You absolutely are.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, and his breath catches when he sees you propped up on your elbows, watching him with a soft, almost amused look. Your fingers slide into his messy hair, carding through it gently, and his heart stutters in his chest. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks,

“Can I…?”

You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yes.”

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He just has to remember what Taehyung and Jimin told him—don’t overthink it, listen to her cues, focus on what she likes—but oh god, he really doesn’t need to think about Taehyung and Jimin right now. What the fuck, brain? Not helpful.

He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he refocuses on you—glistening and beautiful and so fucking damp it makes his heart race. He did that. He got you like that. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through him, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“Start slow,” you murmur softly, your fingers still threading through his hair. “Use your tongue first. Just… explore.”

He nods eagerly, leaning in closer until he can feel the heat radiating off you. His tongue flicks out tentatively, tracing a slow line up your folds, and the quiet sigh you let out makes him shiver.

“Good,” you hum encouragingly, and he nearly preens at the praise. “Now try circling around my clit—gently.”

He follows your instructions immediately, his tongue moving in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your hips shift slightly in response sends a thrill through him, and he presses in just a little harder.

“Not too much pressure,” you warn gently, your hand tightening slightly in his hair to guide him. “Keep it soft for now.”

“Okay,” he mumbles against you, adjusting his movements until your soft hum of approval tells him he’s doing it right.

“Now try flicking your tongue,” you instruct softly. “Just there—yes, like that.”

The sound you make when he obeys is enough to make him moan into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support as he loses himself in the taste of you. Each little noise of pleasure that escapes your lips feels like a reward, spurring him on as he tries to remember everything you’re teaching him.

“Good boy,” you murmur again, and fuck—he’s pretty sure he could cum just from hearing those words alone.

Jungkook’s tongue moves with trembling focus, every flick and stroke guided by your soft instructions. The taste of you is overwhelming—sweet and musky and perfect—and he can’t get enough. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps at you, and the way your thighs tighten around his head makes him dizzy with pride.

“Slower,” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He obeys immediately, easing the pressure as he circles your clit with featherlight strokes. The whimper you let out sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock, which is already leaking against his thigh again. God, he’s so fucking sensitive right now.

“Use your fingers,” you murmur, your voice strained. “Just one… inside me. Slowly.”

His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his lips glistening. He’s shaking so badly he can barely coordinate his hands, but he manages to press a single finger against your entrance, sliding it in with painstaking care. The way you clench around him makes his head spin.

“Good,” you gasp, hips lifting off the bed. “Now curl it—there—”

He obeys, crooking his finger upward, and the choked moan you release is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, too focused on watching your face—the way your brows knit together, the way your lips part as you pant.

“Add another,” you say, your nails scraping gently against his scalp.

He slides a second finger in, marveling at how you stretch around him, how impossibly hot you feel. Your hips grind down against his hand, and he scrambles to keep up, curling and scissoring his fingers the way Jimin had described during their mortifying “lesson.”

“Fuck—Jungkook—” Your voice cracks, and he looks up to see your back arching off the bed, your free hand fisting the sheets. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t if he tried. Not when you’re falling apart above him, your thighs trembling as he works you closer. Your clit is swollen under his tongue, and he flicks it faster, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“I’m close,” you warn, your voice pitching higher. “Keep going, just like that—”

He moans against you, the vibration making you cry out. Your hips stutter, and then you’re clenching around his fingers so tightly he can barely move them. The sound you make—a raw, unfiltered gasp—echoes in his bones as you shudder through your release.

He keeps licking, keeps fingering you through it until your hand yanks his hair back gently.

“Enough, baby,” you pant, chest heaving. “You’ll overstimulate me.”

He pulls back immediately, fingers slipping free as he stares up at you in awe. Your skin is flushed, your hair fanned out around you like a halo, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Come here,” you murmur, patting the bed beside you.

He scrambles up, still trembling, his sweats clinging to his hips. You reach for him the moment he’s within reach, pulling him into a searing kiss that tastes like you. His hips jerk forward instinctively, his cock grinding against your thigh, and he breaks the kiss with a whine.

“Shh,” you soothe, your hand sliding down to palm him through his sweats. “You did so well. Let noona take care of you now.”

He nods frantically, his breath hitching as you tug his sweats down. Your hand wraps around him, and he nearly sobs at the contact.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his teary eyes snap to yours. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”

It takes three strokes. Three strokes and the way you’re looking at him—proud, affectionate, hungry—and he’s coming with a broken cry, stripes of white painting your stomach.

He collapses against you, boneless and spent, his face buried in your neck as you stroke his hair.

“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he nuzzles closer, his heart swelling so big it threatens to burst.

Twenty minutes later, after cleaning you both up with trembling hands and bringing you water, he's curled around you in bed, his nose buried in your hair. His cock is already stirring against your thigh because apparently his body has absolutely no chill when it comes to you.

"Noona?" he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

"Hmm?"

He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."

You shift slightly to look at him, and his heart stutters at how soft your expression is. "What is it?"

"I'm..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm Spider-Man."

There's a pause, and then you... laugh? Not mockingly—just this warm, gentle sound that makes his chest tight.

"I know," you say simply, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.

His eyes widen comically. "You—what? How long have you—?"

"Jungkook-ah," you interrupt softly, "you pulled me away from a bus from five meters away. And you're literally always wherever I am. And you bring me the exact snacks I mention wanting, even when you weren't there when I said it."

"Oh." He flushes, ducking his head. "Was I that obvious?"

"Extremely." Your fingers card through his hair, and he melts into the touch. "But it's cute that you finally told me."

He peeks up at you through his lashes. "You're not... mad?"

"That you're Spider-Man? No." You smile. "That you stalked me? Maybe a little."

"I wasn't stalking!" he protests immediately. "I was... protecting!"

"Uh-huh." Your tone is teasing, and he pouts until you lean in to kiss him softly. "Sure you were."

When you pull back, his expression has shifted to something more... heated. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow.

“So… since you’re not mad…”

“Yes?”

“Can we… go again?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” he blurts. “I’ve got—uh—stamina. Like, a lot. Super… stamina. From the… you know.” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “Spider… stuff.”

You snort, clearly fighting a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” He nods frantically, hands flailing as he tries to explain. “I can go for hours! Days! Well, not days, but—I mean, I could eat you out again right now if you let me. Please? You don’t even have to touch me! I’ll just—I’ll jerk off while I do it. I can cum three or four more times, easy. Maybe five? Let’s try five.”

You stare at him.

He wilts slightly. “Or… two? Two’s good. Two’s cool.”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

He scrambles up immediately, eyes bright and hopeful. You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his pouty bottom lip. “You want to taste me that badly?”

He nods so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Please.”

“Okay,” you say, flopping back onto the pillows. “But slowly this time. I’m not a superhero.”

He’s already scrambling down the bed, eyes gleaming. “Yes. Yes, okay, slowly. Got it. Thank you. Thank you.”

You snort as his lips find your inner thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously grateful,” he mumbles against your skin, and the vibration makes you laugh again.

Not done, he thinks, and this time, he’s grinning.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

TAGLIST:

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @ahgasegotarmy116 @chloepiccoliniii

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sailorsoons · 2 months ago

Text

Rain Room (x.mh)

PAIRING: Waterpark Worker!Minghao x Waterpark Worker!Reader

SUMMARY: Working at a waterpark during the summer has its own trials and tribulations, but working with your ex makes it that much harder. When you discover the cool and quiet of the rain exhibit while hiding from your ex, you don’t expect to find additional solace - and something more - in its main occupant.

WC: 9,039

AU: Coworkers to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, Budding Romance

WARNINGS: Reader has an annoying ex boyfriend who won’t stop being overly friendly and The Nice Guy, depictions of an asshole boss, reader has a bit of a bad work day and cries about it at some point, general shitty job life lmfaooo, Minghao is a little possessive in a single scene, recreational drinking at a party, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do this!!!), semi-public sex (in an officed at a party), soft dom Minghao if you squint, oral (f. receiving).

A/N: This is for the amazing Carat Bay Collab hosted by @camandemstudios! Thank you so much for hosting such a fun collab - writing quiet Minghao and silly reader has been so much fun! This is relatively short and sweet for me, but I hope you all love the little rain room and this pair as much as I do!

A/N 2: No beta we die like men

MASTERLIST | ASK | FOR THE CARAT BAY COLLAB

A TANGERINE-COLORED INFLATABLE TUBE HITS YOU DIRECTLY IN THE FACE. You swear, your neck snapping backward as your sunglasses go flying. You hear the telltale splash as they hit the water behind you, barely audible as the little monster of a child goes screaming toward the steps to leave the shallow pool where the waterslide exits.

“Don’t run!” You yell at him as he high-knees it up the steps, hearing but not caring at your orders. His feet hit the pavement and he goes thundering away, probably to harass more workers or better, the creators that spawned him. “Fucker.”

Taking the floating device, you wade over to the conveyor belt and toss it on. The little lifesaver goes cranking up toward the top of the slide to be reused again. Sloshing back to where you were standing, you start looking for your sunglasses in the waist high water.

Just as you spot them, bending at the knees to sink into the lukewarm, chlorine-heavy water, a shout and explosion of tangerine hits the pool's surface, water spraying you in the face and hitting you directly in the eyes.

“Motherfucker!” You curse, blinking the burning chlorine water away as the kid floating by on the tube oooo’s at you for your language. Instead of honoring him with an answer, you grab the bottom of his float and flip it over, depositing him unexpectedly into the water. He comes up, coughing and sputtering. “Have a good day!”

After retrieving your drenched sunglasses and shoving them back on your face to keep some of the sun out of them, you go back to your routine of pulling tubes and putting them on the conveyor belt. It’s not hard work, but it’s not fun. The sun bakes down on top of your head, turning it pan-sear hot, your feet are waterlogged and your fingers are pruned.

You don’t even want to think about how much lotion it’s going to take to bring them back to life, the chlorine turning your skin dry every night after you get out of the shower.

At least you get to take frequent breaks. When your manager tells you it’s time for yours, you don’t stop the visible sigh, sloshing toward the steps leading out of the pool. You pass Vernon on the way, giving him a wet high five as he descends, groaning when he immediately takes spray from a landing tube.

“Good luck, buddy.”

The waterpark is nice. Despite your loathsome work, you can at least admit that. Meteor Falls is a state-of-the-art water theme park, all mystical space and falling stars. You don’t mind it some days, admiring the space-themed slides and attractions, impressed that it somehow manages to be both cheesy and kind of cool.

Other days, it’s your own personal hell filled with screaming children, chlorine blasts to the face, and never-ending run ins with your ex boyfriend.

Jinwoo has a nasty habit of always managing to find you when you’re on break. You can’t prove that it’s on purpose, but every time you sit down in the staff cafeteria, one of your secret hiding places (like the storage room with life jackets or the storage room that smells plasticy with intertubes), he somehow manages to interrupt your peace.

You know you should be thankful that things ended amicably. Except - that’s sort of the problem. You’d ended things because though he’s nice, there’s no spark between the two of you. No passion, no something that makes your heartbeat a little bit faster, that makes your blood turn molten.

He’d let you end things with a nod and a smile. And then got a summer job at the same water park, and felt the need to sit down next to you at lunch and talk your ear off, none the wiser to your growing agitation.

It feels mean, this deep-seeded annoyance that has begun to fester every time you see him. He’s not doing anything wrong, and yet you can’t help but feel like maybe he thinks this - whatever this is - will patch things over. Will remind you that he’s a nice guy, that he’s easy to deal with.

Which means when you see him sitting in your new oasis Vernon had showed you - the pump room - you nearly throw your tupperware at him. Of course he and Chan are sitting in the room, pumps screaming over their conversation as they eat chicken tenders from one of the stands outside. Of course he sees you just as you pivot, raising his hand in a greeting before frowning and dropping it when he notices you’re fleeing.

You spare a single glance over your shoulder and notice he’s getting up - probably to ask why you’re leaving - and you nearly scream in fright, rushing out of the room.

Jinwoo hot on your heels, you break the number one rule at the waterpark - you run.

Bursting through the staff only gate, you nearly knock over a kid holding a very melted, very red popsicle. The child flinches but you’re already moving past him, your shoes squeaking and filled with water as you round the Rocket Launch Splash Pad and toward the Bridge Between Worlds, the rope bridge swinging dangerously as you run over the people floating in the lazy river below.

Jinwoo shouts your name but you pretend not to hear him, slowing your run to a fast walk. Very demure. Very mindful. You take a hard left, nearly taking a palm frond to the face before noticing a tiny dirt path through the trees. You have no idea if it’s there on purpose or if it’s staff-only, but you see no sign so you rush down it, letting fronts and palmettos hit you in the face as the rush of a man-made waterfall fades behind you.

Up ahead, you notice a small round building with a giant disc-shape roof. It takes you a second to realize that it’s supposed to look like the rings of Jupiter, a giant rocket ship stationed to the left of it. You frown, slowing your steps to peer around.

No one else seems to be around. You’ve never seen this building, but the neon green letters built on top of the planetary rings read Jupiter’s Rain Room. From a distance, you hear Jinwoo call your name. It launches you to action and you bolt for the tinted glass doors that lead to the mysterious building.

Air conditioning buffets you the second you step inside. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lighting, but once they do, you realize you’re in a sort of theater. Rows of cushioned seats fill the center of the room. The walls are circular, arching up until they form a smooth dome over the room.

A single person twists around in one of the seats, a look of surprise on his face. He’s in an employee hoodie pulled up over his ash blonde hair, and his feet are kicked up on the seat in front of him. He raises his brows, as if to ask what you’re doing here.

“Uhhh.” You lift your hand in a small wave. “Hi?”

“Hi?” He answers, just as unsure.

“Sorry - what is this place?”

“The next show isn’t until three.”

You pause. “I work here?”

“Why do you sound so unsure, then?”

“I didn’t know this building existed.”

“That's because I took down all the directional signage.”

“Oh?”

His mouth twitches, amused. “Do you phrase everything like a question?”

“No.” You think about it. “Actually, maybe sometimes. Look, I’m just trying to find a place to eat my lunch and hide from Jinwoo.”

He spreads his arms out to all of the chairs in the theater. “Be my guest.”

Nodding in thanks, you walk down the steps to the auditorium proper. Up close, you can appreciate how handsome your unnamed coworker is. His feline eyes are intense, tracking you as you walk four rows ahead of him and sit down. He purses his full lips in thought before he settles back into his seat, nearly melting into the cushion as his eyes flick back to his phone.

Meanwhile, you pop the top on your tupperware, the fresh smell of grilled chicken and lemon hitting your nose.

“What’s your name, anyway?” You ask, sticking your plastic fork in your chicken. You give him your name around a mouthful of lunch, followed by, “I’m in recreation. Usually you can find me on intertube duty for the slides.”

“Minghao. Rain room attendant.”

“What exactly is the rain room?”

“It’s a room and it talks about rain.”

You frown, turning around to face him. His eyes flick upward, meeting yours over the top of his phone. When he sees you’re unsatisfied, he rolls his eyes. “It’s the room about how the park does water conservation. No one comes here.”

“Because there’s no signs?”

He nods. “Because there’s no signs.”

“Smart.”

He hums, attention going back to his phone. You turn back around to eat the rest of your lunch in silence, acutely aware of Minghao sitting behind you. Instead of peppering him with all of the questions you keep coming up with, you scroll your phone, monitoring the time until your break is over.

When it is, you stand up, joints popping. You groan and slide out from your row, glancing at him. He looks up, his brows raised in a question. “My lunch is over. Thanks for letting me hide here.”

“Anytime.”

“Have a good day, I guess?”

He smirks. “You’re doing it again.”

You flush. “Sorry.”

“Mhmm. Catch you around.”

The next day, Mingho doesn’t have his hood pulled over his head. You’re surprised at how long his hair is, shaggy and a little bit longer in the back. It suits him, you think, as you pass him by and wave. He seems surprised to see you, but doesn’t object when you sit in the same seat as the day before, popping a chicken tender into your mouth.

Like yesterday, silence permeates the air. It’s cold in the room, making you understand why he’s always in a jacket. You make a mental note to bring one tomorrow - because yes, this is your new lunch spot, so long as Jinwoo doesn’t find you and Minghao doesn’t kick you out.

Curious, you turn a little in your chair. He’s sitting folded into the seat just like the day before, entirely engrossed in whatever is on his phone. This time, you notice that he has a headphone in one of his ears. His ears are also pierced, with elegant hoops catching the light. Those suit him too, though you have a tough time imagining anything not suiting him.

Minghao is the kind of pretty that scrambles your brain. His face is made up of sharp angles and high, defined cheekbones paired with the most straight and refined nose you’ve ever seen. It makes his face look balanced and ethereal, but his plush mouth is where your eyes are drawn, watching his minute expressions while he’s engrossed with whatever is on his phone.

Until he’s not engrossed, and he’s looking directly at you, a single brow arched.

“How long have you worked here?” It’s the first question that comes to mind, albeit not one of the ones you wanted to ask.

“About four months.”

“Oh. I guess I’ve just never seen you around.”

“I avoid most of our coworkers.” He gives you a pointed stare and you shrink a little in your seat. “I know who you are, though. I room with Vernon.”

“Vernon has a roommate?”

Again, not the question you wanted to ask. Minghao answers anyway. “Sure does.”

“Huh. What’s that like?”

“Quiet.”

You hear the warning in Minghao’s tone, so you flash him a smile and turn back around in your seat. Three questions. He allowed you three questions before he got annoyed. Three is a good number.

When you finish your lunch and your time runs out, you get up and give him a soft smile and a wave. He nods in acknowledgement, but that’s all you get from him for the day.

Three questions. You prepare yourself to ask better ones tomorrow.

“How many people a day come to the rain room?”

“Including you?” Minghao doesn’t look up as he asks this. You nod and he hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the side of his phone. The motion catches your attention. He has the fingers of an artist, long and elegant with a few silver rings. “Maybe ten.”

“Only ten?” You try not to sound too surprised, too interested.

“Mhmm.”

“Lucky. I probably see hundreds of people a day.”

“That’s why I don’t work in recreation.” His tone is dry, but not unfriendly. You think he might be teasing, but it’s hard to tell. He still hasn't looked at you.

“Want to switch jobs?”

A beat. Then he glances up, meeting your eyes for the first time. It’s brief, but it’s enough to stir something “Nope.”

This time when you wrap up and head out, it’s Minghao who asks a question, eyes flicking to the drink in your hand. It’s the first time he sounds genuinely curious. “What is that?” You hold up the slushie in your hand, shaking it. “Yeah.”

“The Raspberry Rocket Blast. It’s a slushie and it’s so good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a real name?”

You laugh. “Yeah. And it’s amazing.”

Minghao’s gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary. “Interesting. Have a good day.”

You beam at him, blue teeth and all. “You too!”

Water sluices down your back. You rush underneath the awning of Jupiter’s ring, shaking water off your raincoat like a dog. So long as there’s thunder in the area, you don’t have to work. Most of the staff are lounging in the cafeteria and other break areas, but there’s only a single place you want to be.

To your surprise, there are people in the rain room today. Minghao isn’t sitting slouched in his seat, but rather standing at the back where there is a control table. He notices you come in and holds a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to stand in the back.

Nodding, you follow his orders and pad over to him, pulling a hand out of your raincoat to hold out a styrofoam cup for him. He looks puzzled, hitting a button on the control table that sends the lights dying until you’re in a dark room, barely able to see his outline.

A narrator comes over the speakers, so loud it vibrates the room. You flinch and he adjusts the volume as the display of thousands of stars appear on the domed ceiling. Minghao takes the slushy from you, tilting it toward him to examine it.

“It’s the Raspberry Rocket Blast,” you whisper. “The one I had the other day.”

Minghao takes it skeptically. He looks from the cup to you, back to the cup again, his face downturned like something might jump out and bite him. You nudge the bottom of the cup, urging him to take a sip.

Hesitantly, he does. He brings the red straw up to his lips, taking a gentle pull. When the slushie hits his tongue, you can tell. His face morphs from careful skepticism into surprised delight, smiling around the straw, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes a few strong sips.

The inside of his lips are blue when he removes the straw, nodding. “It’s good.”

“Told you.” He rolls his eyes, but continues to sip the drink while the presentation plays.

You only half pay attention to it, deciding to sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Minghao glances over his shoulder at you and you point to your lunch. He shrugs and turns forward again, sipping his drink quietly as the ceiling turns to a rainstorm.

It’s peaceful. The threadbare carpet isn’t exactly comfortable and the drywall behind you seems to absorb all of the moisture from the air, but it’s cold and dark. You only vaguely follow the story of the water park’s founding and core pillars. A soundtrack of rain and thunderstorm plays on the projector, lulling you until your head dips a few times as you flirt with sleep.

Exhaustion wins. You doze off, only coming to when the lights come up and you hear shuffling feet and the thwunk of the theater chairs as they slam back to their normal position. You blink groggily, watching the procession of people who head to the door, checking to see how bad the rain is.

Someone announces that it’s finally a light drizzle so they all head out, a mix of kids whining that they want to go down the slides and adults who want to give up and go home. When the last of them is gone, Minghao turns to you, smirking.

“Enjoyed the nap?”

“Very much.”

“Hmm. I’ve got to clean up. People love to leave their shit.”

You grumble and get to your feet. “I’ll help.”

Minghao gives a hum of appreciation but says nothing else. It’s easy and methodical, picking up candy wrappers and empty bottles of soda. By the time you’re done, your phone is buzzing and Vernon is looking for you to switch rotations with him at the Astroslide. You sigh, sliding your phone back in your pocket while you toss the trash into the appropriate bend.

Looking up from where he’s fishing a chicken tender from a chair, Minghao asks, “See you tomorrow?”

“Mhmm.”

“Feel free to bring the…. Blast rocket.”

“Raspberry Rocket Blast.”

“Sure.”

You grin, teasing. “Bye, Minghao.”

Minghao’s lips and teeth are blue. You don’t want to admit it, but it doesn’t look so bad on him. Nothing looks bad on him, though. He’s the kind of pretty that doesn’t belong working in an empty theater room at a waterpark, which has made you wonder on more than one occasion if maybe he’s a figment of your imagination.

(Vernon has assured you that Minghao does, in fact, exist).

Sitting in the back row, you watch as Minghao hops over the seats to walk to the control podium. “Show off,” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You’re very athletic.”

“Yes, I like keeping in shape. And yoga. And meditation.”

“Of course you do.” Settling further in the seat, you watch him as he flicks off the lights and turns on the presentation. “Why do I have to watch this, again?”

“Because if you’re going to hide in here from your ex boyfriend weekly, you might as well see the presentation so when a guest asks a question, you can answer it.”

“Can’t I tell them I’m in recreation?”

He grins, his teeth Raspberry Rocket Blue. “No.”

You huff, sliding further into the scratchy fabric of the chair as though you can become one with it.

The walls of the room vibrate with how loud the speakers are, prompting Minghao to turn it down. When it’s at the desired volume, he returns to the row of chairs and jumps back over it, sitting down next to you while matching your slouch. He grins again before sipping his slushie.

You think he should smile more often.

Instead of telling him that, you turn back to the screen as an aerial view of the waterpark pains the room in light. Meteor Falls, despite being your personal water-logged hellscape, is quite beautiful at a distance. Full of tropical trees hiding the stone walkways, pops of red and purple and blue waterslides peeking from the greenery. A cerulean ring wraps the waterpark, little tubes dotted along it as park goers float along the lazy river.

“Welcome to Meteor Falls,” the narrator says, voice warm. “We know you’re here to have fun and cool off, but did you know that water is one of our planet’s most precious resources? We here at Meteor Falls, seek to reduce, reuse and recycle our planet’s water.”

You watch as the scene cuts to footage of kids going down slides. You spot Vernon guiding tubes to the conveyor belt and point to him. “Holy shit, does he get royalties?”

“If he does, he spends it on fast food.”

“Every drop here counts,” the narrator continues. “Even the ones from the sky! That’s why we’re doing our part to conserve water by collecting and reusing rainwater!”

“Probably cleaner than the piss-filled water in the lazy river.”

“You’re probably right.”

It’s a good presentation. You pepper the film with your commentary, earning a grin or a sharp huff of air through Minghao’s nose when he laughs. It feels like a win, each time you make him laugh. In the days you’ve been escaping here in the rain room, it’s felt like a personal goal to open him up a bit more.

Minghao is quiet. Observant. You ask him a ton of questions and he asks you none in return, and yet he’s seemed to puzzle things out on his own. It’s different from what you’re used to, most of your friends are loud and outgoing and overwhelming.

Overwhelming like Jinwoo, who you wish would be awful just so you had a reason to cut him off, cut him out, push him away.

At the end of the presentation, Minghao stands and, with a lazy sort of grace, hops over the row of seats instead of walking around like a normal person. He moves like he’s used to being watched, but not in the way that invites it. Just comfortable in his own skin. Then he flips the light switch, flooding the room with brightness.

“What’d you think?”

You wince instantly, throwing up a hand like it’ll shield you from the sun. “I think you just tried to blind me.”

“About the presentation.”

“I think it’s a crock of shit and we still overuse water,” you say without missing a beat.

Minghao snaps his fingers and points at you like he’s awarding a prize. “Good.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. You feel oddly proud, which is stupid, because you’re not here to impress him.

Checking your watch, you heave a sigh. “I have to head back before Vernon freaks out. I was late last time.”

“Tough.” He pushes off the chair, steps a little closer, not close enough to be improper, just close enough that you feel it. “Try not to take any pool noodles to the face.”

“Tubes. They are tubes.”

From behind you, you hear the quiet rustle of his hoodie as he slips his phone out of his pocket. “Sure. Later.”

You glance back just once. Minghao’s got his headphones in, watching you, like he was waiting to see if you’d look. You meet his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. Then you nod, casual, like your pulse isn’t doing weird things.

“Later.”

Pressing the sleeves of your hoodie into your eyes, you dab away any excess tears. The sunburn on your face is just as scalding as the lecture you’d received from your boss, reducing you to giving a tight-throat yes when he’d screamed if you’d understood him, fighting tears all the way down the rope bridge and gravel path to the little hidden oasis you’ve made for yourself.

You don’t really consider yourself a crier. But today had been a bad day, your morning staring with someone running a stop sign and rear-ending you significantly enough to make you two hours late to your shift. Though you’d texted and called several times, your asshole Peaked-In-High School Manager liked to make people feel small.

He’d done a really good job of it today, despite explaining what had happened with your car. With the added, unplanned expense of needing to get it fixed because it had been a hit and run, you couldn’t exactly tell your manager to get his head out of his ass.

So instead, you’d texted Vernon and agreed to take his shift tomorrow if he let you be another thirty minutes late, just enough time to collect yourself. Which is how you find yourself outside of Jupiter’s Rain Room, eyes burning, pride stinging.

Cool air hits you in the face when you enter. Minghao doesn’t even turn around to see who it is. He knows it’s you. He’s sitting in the last row as usual, on his phone, the faintest sound of music drifting from one of his earbuds.

You drop heavily into the seat next to him. That does make him look at you, his eyebrow raised and side eye heavy until his eyes scan your face, the attitude vanishing from his.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” you answer sulkily. “I was crying. There is no active crying right now.”

“I see.” You sniff, staring with unseeing eyes at the rows of seats in front of you. “Want to talk about it?” That makes your stomach dip, but you shake your head. “Hmm. Want to listen to my favorite songs right now?”

You look at him from the corner of your eye. Minghao has never offered something like this. He usually keeps a perfectly manufactured distance, friendly but not friends, polite but not open. When you nod your head, he plucks the other earbud from its case and passes it over to you.

Tentatively, you put it in, heart hammering over something so simple that you chastise yourself, trying to make your breathing even. If Minghao notices, he’s nice enough not to say anything, pulling his phone from his pocket instead to tap on it.

Music fills your ears. The song opens on soft guitar strumming, a soft and subtle melody. You feel your muscles unclench, the berating drifting far away as a soulful voice begins to sing. There’s a quiet intimacy to the song, making you glance at Minghao who watches you with rapt attention.

You give him a small smile, a signal that you like it. He returns your grin, flashing his phone screen toward you so you can see what you’re listening to. River by Leon Bridges. You nod and write it down on your phone before leaning back and listening to it, the rhythm of mixed voice and minimal instruments lulling you into a calm.

All you get is a few more songs. You list each one in your notes app. Minghao is quiet. Patient. A calm sea after a storm, only rippling when you take out to return the earbud, your over-long break over. You know Vernon is probably burnt to a crisp by now and will complain about this for the rest of the week.

“Thanks,” you murmur, standing.

“Mhmm.”

When you leave Jupiter’s Rain Room, you feel so much lighter than when you came. And so what if your heart beats a little bit faster.

Sun beats down on the gravel paths winding through the waterpark. You feel the steam from them, yesterday’s rain burning away in the simmering heat. The smell of chlorine sticks to your skin as you balance the boxes in your arms, careful not to squeeze the styrofoam cup in your hand too hard.

Cool air kisses your skin when you enter the theater. It’s empty, as usual, with Minghao sitting in the back row. He turns when he sees you, a smile alighting on his face. You nearly stumbled, surprised at how genuine the smile has become when he sees you. You ignore the skip in your heart.

Minghao is dressed in his usual polo and loose hoodie. He gets up and reaches for the items in your hand, eager to help you.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a box. “What’s this?”

“I brought you lunch.”

He raises his eyebrows before sliding back into the seat with grace that makes you hyper aware of the way you drop into your own seat, the metal creaking under your sudden weight. You straighten, sticking one of the styrofoam cups in his cup holder.

“Consider it a thank you.”

“For?”

“Not kicking me out when I was being a wimp. And for the really good song recommendations.”

He hums, opening the container to reveal perfectly fried chicken tenders. He picks up a fry, popping it into his mouth to chew experimentally. “Not terrible. And you don’t have to thank me.”

“Anyway,” you continue, eager to talk about anything else. “Leon Bridges is really fucking good. I went through his entire discography.”

Minghao’s face lights up, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah? Glad you liked it. “He’s one of those artists that just holds you, you know? His music is there when you need it.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve got more recommendations if you need them. I spend most of the day here curating playlists. It passes the time and I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” His eyes meet yours and this time, they hold, dark and thoughtful. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you like to do to pass time?”

The question catches you off guard. You sink into the seat, thinking. Minghao rarely asks questions about you, content with letting you sit a few rows away while being a cranky cat in the corner.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers tap gently on the cardboard container while he waits, a rhythm only he can understand.

“I guess I like reading?” It comes out like a question. “I’m into Sci-Fi movies - I’m sure you’re used to that with Vernon. When I was a kid, I was really into weird animal facts. Like did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, but it’s not mocking. “I didn’t. What’s another?”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. You catch the faint scent of his cologne, something clean and citrusy, not at all like your sterile chlorine.

“Hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He tilts his head, lips curving into a half-smile that makes your pulse skip. “You’re full of surprises.”

You take a sip of your slushie, trying to cool the warmth creeping up your neck, but his eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your heart stumbles.

Desperate to keep the conversation going, you ask, “What about you? Besides music, what’s your thing? You’re always so quiet and put together.”

“It’s easy to seem together in the natural chaos of this place.”

You snort. “Okay, fair.”

“I don’t know, I like meditating. Working out. Reading. I’m pretty simple, but I like it. I don’t always have it all together, but I’ve gotten pretty good at appearing that way.”

You nod, drawn to this glimpse of him, the crack in his polished exterior. “I admire that.”

He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze steals your breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment hands heavy with something unspoken. You’re so acutely aware of him, the way your knee brushes against his in the seat next to him, the way his fingers twitch. Your heart’s pounding now and you realize with a pang that these snatches with Minghao are the best part of your day.

Minghao is the best part of your day, the quiet he brings, the steady presence. Here, there’s no orange tubes hitting you in the face, no Vernon bitching and moaning that his skin is dry. There’s no sun to burn the top of your head and scalp.

Just Minghao and his calm countenance.

Silence falls between you, backtracked by the hum of the air conditioning. Your break is almost over, but neither of your movies. He takes a bite of a chicken tender while you nibble at your friends. You steal glances, the silence warm and electric.

When you finally stand, brushing crumbs from your lap, he stands too. He’s close, the tangerine scent of him exhilarating. His hand brushes yours when he takes your container from your hands, assuring you he can toss it out.

“See you later?” He asks, voice soft, eyes lingering.

“Yeah,” you agree, a little breathless.

Outside, the sun is beaming, but its warmth is nothing compared to the burning Minghao’s touch leaves on your hand.

Voices blend together as you enter the stuffy conference room. The air is thick with the smell of old coffee and dry-erase markers, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Rows of mismatched chairs fill the small meeting room. It’s ass o'clock early in the morning, but the resort's monthly meeting demands everyone to be present.

You wonder why they don’t use the Rain Room for their meetings and then think better of it. The last thing you want is for the company to find the single space in the entire park that you like to hide in, that is now special to you.

Coworkers fill the room. You pick a random seat in the middle of a row, dropping down as the low chatter fills the space around you. You’re so caught up in scrolling on your phone that you don’t notice Jinwood at first, gliding toward you. You realize he’s going to the seat next to you at the last second, panic taking over as he moves toward you, smile friendly, steps confident.

Before he can reach you, Minghao jumps over the back of the chair like he always does, dropping into it with an easy grace. He grins at you, lips curving into a private smile that makes your heart skip. He pulls one of his earbuds out and offers it to you, brows raised.

Heat simmers beneath the surface of your skin. You accept it, feeling flushed and breathy as you pop it in. He’s got Khruangbin playing, a gentle buffer between the noise of the room and everything else.

Jinwoo falters, his jaw tightening for a second as he diverts, taking a seat in the row in front of you but a few off. His irritation radiates, surprising you. Instead of paying him any mind, your focus is on the song in your ear and Minghao’s fingers drumming on the arms of his chair.

“Ready for the torture?” He asks, leaning back. His shoulder brushes against yours but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.

“Not at all.”

“Same.”

Quiet swoops through the room as the executives barge into the room, asking everyone to settle in. You peel the headphone out of your ear, passing it back to Minghao. He takes it, popping both of them in their holder and snapping the lid shut. He leans toward you to shove them in his pocket, filling your nose with tangerine.

When he leans back, you notice Jinwoo staring. His eyes linger for a second before he turns toward the front as someone begins a monotone spiel about budgets and schedules. At multiple points you see the tilt of Jinwoo’s head, the way he cuts a glance toward you. It makes your anxiety climb, palms sweaty. You wipe them against your pants, squirming.

Halfway through the meeting, Minghao leans over and whispers, “What’s with the dude staring at you?”

“Ex-boyfriend. Still friendly, but uh… I don’t know.”

Minghao’s face stays neutral, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. “He’s making you uncomfortable.”

“A little. I think he’s hoping because we remained friends that we’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t.” It’s not a question. Minghao leans back, draping an arm along the back of the row of seats. Not around you, but along your back. Not claiming, not possessive, but something.

The meeting drones on, but Minghao keeps you anchored. Jinwoo’s glances taper off, but the tension is obvious in his jaw. When the meeting is finally over and you’re standing, Minghao’s hand brushes against your wrist, catching your attention.

“See you later?”

“Mhmm.”

Minghao’s smile is brief before he hopes over the chair, blending in with the other employees all bustling out, eager to get away from cranky executives and uncomfortable chairs.

Sun scorches the top of your head, heat bouncing off the chlorinated water at the base of the water slide. Kids shriek as they hurtle down the side, their tubes hitting the water with a spray. You and Vernon take turns grabbing tubes and adding them to the humming conveyor belt.

It’s one of the busiest days of the year, which means two people on duty. You and Vernon work in tandem, never stopping, the heat making you tired and prickly. For once, you’re thankful that the shallow pool you’re in is freezing cold.

Vernon is humming as he tosses a tube toward you with a lazy flick. You recognize the song as something Minghao recommended, a smile tilting your lips. Your stomach flips at the thought of Minghao, sad that you won’t see him today. It’s his off day, one of the few times his schedule doesn’t align with yours.

You crab a tube from a splashing kid, tossing it onto the conveyor. You notice Vernon watching you, his expression curious but cautious. You slosh back over, giving him a once over.

“What?” You ask between lulls of kids coming down the slide.

“So,” he says casually. “You and Minghao are friends?”

Your heart lurches. You’re saved from answering right away as a kid crashes into the pool, screaming. Vernon rolls his eyes, leaning forward to grab the tangerine ring before chucking it at the conveyor. He almost misses. It gives you time to think, resting your hands on top of the cold surface to ground you.

“Friends?” You ask as Vernon returns. “I guess? I like to hide out in the Rain Room.”

“Hmm. He mentioned you at home the other night. Which is weird, being that he never mentions anyone.”

You blink, heart pounding. “Huh. What’d he say?”

Vernon shrugs, his smile a little too amused for your liking. “Who's to say?”

“Vernon.”

“Relax. Just that you’re cool. He was smiling when he said it, which is so unlike Hao that I thought I was hallucinating.”

Your chest warms, picturing Minghao on their couch, earbuds in, smiling about you. It’s thrilling, but terrifying. You tread carefully, unsure how much to reveal to Vernon, afraid to show that perhaps maybe you have a bit of a crush on his roommate.

“We get along. He’s nice.”

Vernon hums. “He’s picky about who he vibes with. You must have made an impression.” He tilts his sunglasses down, looking at you. “Did you tell him about the octopus hearts?”

You groan and he laughs, slapping the surface of the water. It splashes you and you smack it back at him, volunteering to get the next tube if only to get away from him a little.

He’s grinning when you come back. “He’s cool. You’re cool.”

“Cool,” you shoot back with venom.

Two tubes come down at the same time and you both shoot for them.

“You going to Mingyu’s party this weekend?”

You’d forgotten all about the party. Now that Vernon says it, you wonder if Minghao is going. You assume not, assume he’ll keep to himself. Plus, you’ve never seen him at parties in the past. But you imagine if he did go, what he would be like outside of work, leaning against a wall, watching you with that steady gaze.

“Probably?” You finally answer. “He’ll be annoyed if I don’t.”

“Good.” Vernon pauses before casually adding, “Hao is going. He’s been in a good mood and he figured why not. So. Just wanted to mention in case, you know. You needed to know.”

“Vernon.”

He lifts his hands, a white flag. “Just saying, that’s all.”

You both go quiet, only the ambiance of the water and shout of voices from down the slide to accompany you. Vernon’s words stick with you though and you fight a smile, trying not to let hope bloom in your chest knowing Minghao mentioned you at home. That he never mentions anyone.

The sun dips behind the trees and you feel lighter, looking forward to the weekend and your well-earned off day.

Mingyu and Wonwoo’s loft pulses with life, a sprawling expanse of lived-in comfort. Exposed brick walls rise to high ceilings, soft lights casting a warm glow over the crowd of your coworkers gathered all over. The living area is anchored by a massive sectional couch, its cushions littered with spilled chips and empty cups.

The kitchen island is cluttered in the heart of the chaos, filled with bottles of tequila and vodka, mixers spilled over the surface. Mingyu is in the kitchen pouring shots into someone’s mouth while Wonwoo hovers nearby, watching with mild alarm.

Floor to ceiling windows frame the city skyline, which twinkles like stars outside. Music rattles your ribcage, high energy as people dance in the living room.

You have no idea how either of them can afford this luxury, but you don’t ask. Instead, you slip into the kitchen, looking for a drink to help ease your nerves. You’re dressed in a denim skirt paired with a cropped denim top, the barest hint of skin visible between the two pieces.

Your shoes squeak on the hardwood floor as you navigate the crowd. The room is packed with park staff, Vernon in the corner of the kitchen cackling at something Seungkwan is saying, your manager lurking in the corner nursing a beer, other coworkers in a loose circle near the speakers.

You scan for Minghao, heart quickening. Your thoughts stutter when you see Jinwoo instead, leaning against the brick wall near the dance floor, is black button-down rolled at the sleeves. He notices you and your stomach twists as you dart away, heart pounding as you weave through the crowd, dodging coworkers as you aim for the balcony.

The glass door slides open and the night air hits you, cool and cleansing. The city’s hum is a soft backdrop, its sounds drifting up from below. Minghao startles you, turning to look at you from where he leans against the railing, a cup in his hand. He’s in a loose, black sweater and jeans, hair mused by the wind. He looks good, your breath catching when he grins.

“Hey,” he greets, surprised. “Escaping already?”

“Looks like you beat me to it.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit loud in there.”

“I know, I’m surprised you’re here, honestly.”

He lifts a single shoulder, a shy shrug. “I like to keep people on their toes.” His gaze dips down to drink in your outfit and you feel hot all over, withering under his gaze. “You look nice.”

“Oh. You too.”

He chuckles, warm and low as you join him at the railing. He offers you his cup. “Sangria? Swear that's all it is, I just realized how creepy that was, sorry.”

“Not at all, thank you for clarifying though.” You take the cup from him and take a sip. It’s strong, not as sweet as you like it, but flavorful. “Not terrible.”

The balcony is a quiet haven, like the Rain Room. The night air feels good against your flushed skin, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the potted plants. Minghao chats casually, asking what kind of Sci-Fi movies you’re into. He lets you yap, mostly doing his part listening and adding commentary where necessary.

You like that about him, how he’s a quiet counterbalance to your talkative nature. It’s comfortable. Even. you could spend all night standing and chatting with him, living for the familiar way he leans in close when he laughs, arm brushing yours. He doesn’t pull away, touch not lingering but still there.

The balcony door slides open just as you both get to the bottom of the sangria in the cup, Seungkwan sticking his head out. “Yo! Come inside, we need people to dance.”

Seungkwan vanishes back into the apartment and Minghao looks at you, brows raised. You shrug your shoulders and he grins, gesturing for you to head in. He follows, close on your heels. It’s crowded at the threshold of the door and he steps in beside you, a hand brushing low on your back. It’s soft, but it feels deliberate as he guides you after Seungkwan.

Inside, the loft pulses with music, bass heavy. Seungkwan is near the speakers, grabbing a coworker and backing it up on her. You laugh when you see them all, Vernon wincing and watching Seungkwan with pure horror as Mingyu crashes onto the scene, fist pumping.

Someone bumps Minghao, his chest pressing to your back, and he freezes, hands hovering. Your heart races. You glance back, meeting his dark, hesitant eyes.

“Do you dance?” You ask, teasing over the music.

“Sometimes.”

You raise a brow, challenging, and he nods, hands finding your hips, guiding you to the beat. You sway, melding to him, hesitant then bold, hips rolling, denim brushing his jeans. You spin, surprising him, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair. His smirk is molten, tugging you flush against him. His hand slides up, cupping your neck, thumb on your jaw, tilting your face.

“Remember how I said I’m not always composed?” he murmurs, rough, thumb tracing your lip. “You’re making it very hard right now.”

“So don’t be,” you grin, batting your lashes, bold, breathless.

Minghao’s eyes darken and he pulls you tighter, the music slowing, sensual. You dance longer, bodies locked, hips grinding. His breath hitches, lips grazing your ear, grip tightening as you arch into him. Your eyes drift away for a second, a tingling sensation needling at you.

Jinwoo is staring, sour as he watches you.

Minghao notices your shift, loosening his grip to follow your line sight. “You okay?” He asks, hand on your back, protective.

“He’s just annoying.”

“Come on,” he says, firm.

Minghao steps away from you but grabs your hand, tugging. He weaves you through the crowd, past Mingyu pouring more shots, past Vernon slumped on the couch. You pass into a study that you immediately can tell is Wonwoo’s, with a desk and vinyl shelves.

He shuts the door, muffling the party, and it’s just you, the faint bass rattling through you, and Minghao, eyes burning.

Ye backs you against the door, hands caging you in. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you started spending time in my Rain Room, you’ve upset the order of my life. I never come to these things, but honestly? The thought you might be here is what made me come.”

Your heart hammers at his candor, at the way his breath ghosts against your lips. “You are entirely distracting,” he mutters. “And I’m so unused to distractions.”

“What about now?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I distracting you now?”

“There is nothing else I would rather focus on right this second.”

Minghao’s eyes flicker, hesitant, like he’s waiting for your signal. You nod, breath lodged in your throat. Then he kisses you, slow and deep, lips commanding. He tastes like sangria and want, lips softer than you could have ever imagined.

His hands grip your hips, spinning you to press your front to the door, his chest warm against your back. He palms your ass, pausing to look at you. You nod, wanting - needing him to keep doing. He lifts your skirt a little, fingers exploring the round shape of your ass.

Minghao mouths at your neck and you go pliant under his touch, eyes closing as you gasp against the door. His tongue laves up and down your neck, eager to taste you as his hands continue to explore before he finally - finally - traces his finger along the line of your underwear.

“Minghao,” you breath, shuddering.

“Yeah?” He asks. “This what you want?”

You nod vigorously against the door. “You’ll tell me to stop? Tell me when you’re uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Good.”

Minghao hooks a finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. Cool air hits your heated pussy and you whine. He shushes you, his fingers teasing your folds, spreading your wetness. You gasp, hips bucking back into his hand while you see stars.

His fingers circle your clit, slow, deliberate, drawing a whimper. He catches your mouth as you crane back, kissing you deeply, lips tender but firm, swallowing your sounds. Trapped between the door and his chest, his fingers are sinful, sinking one deep inside, then another, curling against that spot that blurs your vision. The wet squelch is loud, intimate, and he hisses, breath hot.

“Fuck, you’re so greedy for me,” he says, voice rough.

You tremble as he slides in another, curling them, pumping slow and deep. Each stroke is precise, making you pant and go weak at the knees. He sucks at your neck gently, teeth scraping, tongue sweeping. You turn to liquid in his hand, the wet squelch filling the room as he finger fucks you properly, mouth pressed to your temple.

“Come on,” he murmurs, mouth buzzing against your skin. “You got it.”

Your orgasm crashes into you, walls clenching. You cry out, shaking as he works you through it, not stopping until you’re panting and boneless against him.

Minghao removes his hand and turns you toward him, kissing you and pressing the back of your head against the door. The kiss is hungry but controlled. He breaks away, eyes burning as he lifts his hand to lick his finger clean. He hums and it makes you shiver.

“Need a taste.”

You flush. He guides to the desk, swapping aside all of Wonwoo’s things before he helps you jump onto the edge. The wood is cool against your thighs. He drops down to his knees, hands kneading your thighs, squeezing as they tremble.

“You’re so good for me,” He murmurs. “Can you keep being good for me?”

Your head is dizzy with this new dynamic. Somehow, this makes sense. He’s still calm and collected, but you can see the chaos on the edge of him, the way he takes control of the situation - of you.

When you nod, he hums, pleased, and kisses your knee gently.

You lean back, skirt bunched, underwear still pulled to the side. He places wet kisses on your inner thighs, his breath warm and making you squirm. His hands hold you still, firm but gentle as his lips trail higher, each kiss a spark until he looks up at you, eyes fathomless as his tongue dips tentatively against your folds.

A gasp breaks from your lips. He grins, his tongue brushing long, languid licks up your cunt that make your hips twitch. He dives in, lapping, focused and hungry as his tongue circles your clit with slow, wet strokes.

Minghao is relentless, alternating between broad licks and precise flicks. He sucks your aching clit into his mouth, pulling softly with his lips, then harder, until you’re trembling, thighs closing in on either side of his head.

When he pulls back, his lips are wet with your arousal. “Fuck.”

He dives back in, keeping you spread as his tongue dips into your hole playfully, thrusting. His nose brushes against your clit, making you clutch the edges of the desk, sliding down the wall as you fight to stay upright. You reach a hand down, threading your fingers in his hair. He groans, doubling down, the wet sounds of his smacking lips filling the room.

The desk creaks as you shift again, losing control of your ability to remain upright. His tongue flicks faster and you start to peak, healing right for your orgasm. He senses it, increases the way he sucks at you, tongue hungry, perfect.

You shatter.

He drinks you in gently, tongue turning soft and lazy as he licks you through it. You turn oversensitive, pushing at him with a weak moan.

Minghao stands and leans over you, grabbing your chin to plant a wet, messy kiss on your lips. You lick into him, tasting yourself, eager to have his mouth on yours again.

His hands fumble against his jeans, fingers working the button until he’s finally free of them enough to shove them down. Your mouth waters at the sight of his heavy cock bobbing, hard and leaking from just pleasing you, from getting you off twice.

With a few pumps, he’s brushing the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting the wetness there. You moan in tandem, both of you transfixed with the way his shaft slides against you. He lifts your thighs, hooking his forearms behind your knees as he presses the head of his cock into your throbbing entrance.

“Shit,” you gasp as he breaches you, sinking in.

He groans too, easing in, slow and deep until he’s seated, hips pressed flush against yours. He slowly starts to fuck you steadily, each thrust perfect and sending your eyes rolling backward in your head. The desk creaks beneath you, wet sounds filling the room.

“You drive me crazy,” he admits, kissing your neck, teeth crazy. “Glad you disrupted my quiet days, though.”

That makes you whine. You kiss him, messy, nails digging into the side of his neck. He groans and speeds up, dropping a hand to slide between your legs and circle your slippery clit. That makes you moan his name, hips bucking as he sets a faster pace.

“Come for me,” he urges, grinning.

You do, clenching, his name on your lips. His thrusts turn messy until he grits his teeth and follows suit, spilling inside you. He rests his forehead on your neck, panting. Your fingers run through his hair, soothing, grounding for both of you.

“I,” he pants, voice raspy. “Have never fucked someone in a random room like that in my life.”

“Wanted me that bad?”

“You have no idea.” He lifts his head, looking up at you with dark eyes. “I thought you were going to be a nuisance. And then you kept showing up, kept being chipper. Sweet, even. You brought me slushies and asked about my music. You grew on me in a way I didn’t expect.”

“It sounds like you like me.”

He groans as you laugh, teasing him. “I guess, yeah.”

“Well, I for one, am glad I stumbled on that Rain Room.” He hums in agreement, tired. “Now how about you pull up my skirt and take me home to fuck me properly, Minghao. And maybe get a slushie on the way.”

He huffs, shivering. “I’ve got you.”

TAG LIST:

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#caratbaycollab #minghao x reader #minghao smut #xu minghao smut #minghao fic #minghao x you #xu minghao fic #svt smut #svt fic #svt x you #svt x reader

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hanllucination · 2 months ago

Text

heart at your door. hwang hyunjin (18+)

Hwang Hyunjin shows up at your door with nothing in his hands and everything in his heart.

PAIRING. hwang hyunjin / fem! reader GENRE. smut, fluff & humor, friends to lovers, idiots (read: hyunjin) in love WORD COUNT. 9.6k WARNINGS. strong language, some anxiety & nervousness, explicit sexual content: protected sex, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), dirty talk & praise, pet names (baby), very light & unintentional breathplay

NOTES. i’m back! ...ish. haha so i started writing this some time ago when hyunjin got a fresh buzz cut so this is buzz cut hyune because i love him and it’s so hot. i genuinely apologize for the length of this, it’s 9k words of inner turmoils and awkwardness and idiots >< not proofread, but i hope you have happy reading ♡

READ ON AO3. / MASTERLIST.

Sometimes Hyunjin wishes he could shut off his brain, even for a few minutes.

Or thirty. Or maybe an hour. A day, even. But he knows that’s too much to ask.

It’s not like he has a bad brain or anything. No, Hyunjin’s brain is perfectly fine, thank you very much. It’s just… overly enthusiastic. One moment, he’s thinking about his latest painting, the next it’s wondering what kind of bread he should eat for breakfast, and then bam! It’s back to you. Always you.

He stares at his reflection on his phone screen, awkward and glaring at him with disdain. There are a million different things he would rather do, but he’s stuck thinking about the text message he had typed and deleted once (or twice, five times) and it’s all so ridiculous. He recalls the reason why he’s here, pacing around his room, and then he feels his chest doing that thing again — that uneven, frantic hammering that makes it even harder to think straight.

Great. Now he wants to shut off his heart, too.

It’s not like he wants to think about you all the time either. (He does.) It’s not his fault! (It is.) You’re just… you. That’s the best his perfectly fine brain could articulate, unfortunately. You’re the person who laughs way too hard at his jokes, even the ones that aren’t funny. You’re the one who somehow always knows when he’s had a rough day, showing up with a quiet smile or a piece of stupid candy like it’s no big deal. And… you’re the one who makes his heart do this strange little thing he could only describe as cartwheels of a toddler that he’s almost certain isn’t part of any standard human anatomy.

That’s the problem.

Because Hyunjin is Hyunjin, and he’s supposed to be cool. That guy who can charm anyone with a single glance, that guy who can hold his own in any conversation because he’s cool. But around you? He’s a mess. A walking, talking, tripping-over-his-own-fucking-feet mess.

He rubs his palms against his sweatpants, trying to steady himself, push all the thoughts away or, at the very least, get them together in a logical arrangement in his head.

Just say it, his inner voice urges. Not good. Now his brain is talking. It’s not a big deal.

He stops in front of the mirror in the corner of his room, dusty and dark. He glares at his face, then winces internally seeing how flushed he looks. “Not a big deal?” he mutters, feeling out of his own mind. “This is the biggest deal ever!”

Then his feet strides across the floor before he throws his whole weight onto his bed. He feels the harsh bounce of his body and he groans, flinging his arm up to cover his eyes. He feels like an idiot, making something big out of something so small.

But, he thinks, there is nothing small or insignificant or trifling about this. Stupid, somewhat, yes. Meaningless? Not at all.

What’s the worst that could happen? He tries to reason with himself, but his brain, ever the pessimist, is quick to answer: Everything. How fortunate, that his brain talks like this. Everything could happen. You could laugh in his face. You could tell him it’s weird. Then the whole thing would be a mistake–

A force of habit brings his hand up to brush through his hair, and he sinks further into the sheets because he just shaved his head, goddamnit. So that didn’t help. His resolve continues to dwindle with each passing second of having no solution to his dilemma, and before it could completely vanish, he holds his phone back up and taps away to navigate to your contact number. Your name, lovingly tacked on with two pink hearts, stares at him and he stares back. His finger hovers over the call button for a second before he just gives up and lets the device fall onto his chest.

He could just sleep on it, right? He’d be better in the morning, he’ll have a fresh mind to think about what to do. Right?

Wrong. His phone slides from his chest down to the side until it falls on his bed. He sighs, staying there for some time. Then his brain, sometimes the optimist, supplies: What if it goes right, though? What if this time, for once, it’s not a disaster? How very fortunate. What if you smiled and held his hand and–

…Maybe this would be easier if he just showed up.

Hwang Hyunjin shows up at your door with nothing in his hands and everything in his heart.

He didn’t mean to bother you so late at night, but he could not bear it anymore; the pinpricks on his palms when his fingers touch, mapping out how he thinks the shape of yours would fit in his. The warmth of your skin on a cold night. From your end of the earth to another. He could not bear it anymore.

(He speaks as if you live hundreds of miles away.)

(You live around five minutes away from his place.)

His hands could not find any purpose in his pockets, fiddling in his fingers his phone tucked behind the flimsy fabric. The breeze blows in late night and he shivers, feeling the shape of the device in his hand. He wonders if he should just ask for help. You know, like any other person with good friends. But — good friends. God forbid he asks help about something like this. Besides, who could he ask? Chan? Minho? Or–fuck, Seungmin? No way.

It’s not like they know either. Hyunjin never told them.

(They don’t. They don’t. Hyunjin never told them. They don’t know… right?)

In his peripherals the streetlights blur slightly as his thoughts wander. He furrows his brows at the flickering one, about 3 blocks away, and wonders when it will get fixed. It’s been like that for months, hasn’t it? He turns to look at it, squinting his eyes and counting its ons and offs. One, two… three… one, two… one… Anything to stall this whole thing.

Doubt clings to him like the cold air. His knees wobble under the weight of his nerves.

Hyunjin exhales sharply and coughs, taking in too much of the night air and clenching his fists inside his pockets. He’s been carrying his secret for too long, letting it weigh him down with every shared glance, every time your laugh bubbled up like music, every casual touch that lingered just a second too long. He can’t live like this anymore, trapped between wanting and fearing, standing in limbo every time you cross his mind.

The fear hasn’t disappeared. He knows it never will. But the possibility — oh, the possibility of you smiling at him, pulling him into a hug, saying something like I was waiting for you to say something ignites something inside him. Something wild, something reckless, maybe something a little stupid. His heart swells and he giggles like the fucking lovesick fool he is. He thanks the heavens that only he isn’t in the right mind in this neighborhood, out on such a cold, late night because then he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him jumping around the slippery pavement.

He’s at least feeling a little hopeful about this.

The door swings open before he can even bring a hand up to knock. He flinches in surprise before his gaze settles on yours. On you. A mix of confusion and curiosity swims behind your eyes, and all the words he’s practiced, all the things he’s wanted to say… they vanish.

All that’s left is you.

And him.

And the realization that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

“What the– Hyunjin?” you blink twice, in major disbelief and almost delirious. “Is that you? What the fuck– What are you doing?”

Hyunjin’s face drains of color. “I, uh,” he stutters. The quiver on his lips gives him away, though, and he hopes you would think he is just feeling the cold. “Sightseeing?” is the only thing he could say.

He feels your eyes on him. Somewhere. Through his own, then to his empty hands now lingering helplessly at his sides. He shivers, pinpricks turning into something more intense, a quiet storm brewing under his skin.

He hangs his head low, trying to look as small as he can, except that’s almost impossible with five-foot-ten of legs. Your fingers grip his wrists in a gentle hold as you pull him inside the warmth of your home, and shame is all he feels when your touch lingers on the skin your thumbs had brushed. It’s like it’s burning, but not quite.

The door clicks shut behind him and now — now what?

“How did you know I was outside your door?”

You rub your hands together before walking towards the corner of your living room to grab a pair of house slippers. You set them down in front of Hyunjin and his palms grow sweatier. Oh God, he feels the blood in his ears surge.

“I didn’t,” you shrug. Hyunjin feels your stare as he slips off his clogs (not his best decision, but he hasn’t made a good amount of right choices tonight) to wear the slippers you so kindly offered. “I was just going to see if I can get some takeout, but it’s too cold. I did see a head by the window and you– you scared the shit out of me, did you know that? Since when did you get bald–”

“I’m not bald! It’s a–” Hyunjin cuts himself off with a painfully awkward laugh. “Let’s not talk about it. Do you want some?”

His mouth is almost running as fast as the thoughts in his head. He’s not making any sense to you, for sure, because he is not making sense to him. He clears his throat, wishing he was the only one aware of the palpable discomfort filling the room. The thickness of it tickles his shoulders and he so badly wants to shake it off.

“What?”

“Takeout,” Hyunjin says. “Do you want some? I can go and get takeout.”

He refuses to look back at you. Not with the nerves, the shaved head, the feelings. But he knows there is a wrinkle on your forehead, right between your brows, perturbed, and his heart skips. He wishes he could gather himself enough to be only slightly affected by his inner turmoil because he wants to peer at your expression. But with his gaze down, he only hears you click your tongue before seeing your feet beginning to walk away.

“You’re crazy,” you mutter under your breath. Hyunjin stays in his place just by your door. “This cold? In that ugly jacket?”

That, though? That’s what would make Hyunjin look.

“Ugly?” he grits his teeth. “This is not ugly! This was from–”

It turns out the jacket is part of his not-good decisions for tonight. He watches you slowly turn around and he almost takes a step back. You give him a pointed look and it shoots right through him enough to shut him up. He pockets his hands in his ugly jacket again, and in an attempt to save himself from this ordeal, he purses his lips to try and think of something to say. A justification, a reason. Anything.

But there was nothing logical about this. He wouldn’t be here if there was.

“It’s the first thing I grabbed before running out the door.” Hyunjin settles for an honest explanation. “I was in a hurry.”

You continue to walk and he follows you like a puppy in its new home. He stares at your back, follows the dip of line on your shirt down your spine, and begs you to God, please say something in his head. Instead, you lead him to the kitchen and say nothing until you stop by your fridge.

“I have leftover stuff, I think,” you tell him, one hand on your hip and the other opening the fridge. “Maybe we can make something out of it.”

Hyunjin tries his best to ignore the unease he feels and nods, despite knowing you wouldn’t see it. He moves closer to you, leaning a bit forward to peek into your fridge like the nosy little ass he is. Your fridge is an assortment of things that don’t necessarily go together for a fancy dinner: some leftover rice, a few eggs, a half-eaten pack of seaweed, and a plastic container of what looks like stir-fried vegetables. He couldn’t even comment because he’s well-aware his fridge is much worse. He stares at the contents like they might arrange themselves into something gourmet if he wills it hard enough. They don’t.

It doesn’t help that he has suddenly become hyper-aware of how close he is to you. He hovers over you like a fucking prick in five-foot-ten of legs and he wants to move away, but he feels like he would lose his balance if he so breathes a second too long.

“Have anything in mind?” you ask, shifting in front of him to reach for the rice.

Hyunjin stiffens. He clears his throat. “Uh, fried rice?”

You snort. “Predictable.”

“Hey, it’s a classic.”

He steps back, moving steadily as he finally gains his footing. Your shoulder almost brushes his chest when you unexpectedly move at the same time he does. He wonders if you’ve been noticing the way he keeps tensing up, if you can hear his breath stutter.

“Alright. You’re on chopping duty.”

Hyunjin groans dramatically but takes the knife from your outstretched hand. He guides you with an arm as you dish out everything you need from the fridge and lay them on the counter. He makes sure he doesn’t touch you, though, because he feels his skin would flare even at the lightest touch of yours.

Taking a deeper breath, he tries to calm himself down again before making quick work of the green onions. His mind, though, is less on the task and more on the million failed attempts he ran through his mind. He hadn’t even made one actual attempt yet.

He wonders if you can tell. If you know how much he’s struggling to say three stupid words.

“Why were you in a hurry?” you start again, casualness seeping through every word that it feels so out of place in Hyunjin’s ears.

He stops mid-chop. He doesn’t turn to look, doesn’t even bother knowing what you are doing, afraid he’ll crack right then and there. There aren’t any words that he could piece together confidently enough to respond to your question.

The silence stretches for a moment. “You showed up at my door bald and in that ugly jacket, because you said you were in a rush,” you continue. Hyunjin now feels a pair of eyes drilling through the side of his bald head. Maybe the lack of hair makes him feel it a little more sensitively. “In the middle of the night, too. Did you need something from me?”

Hyunjin’s throat tightens, then his mouth is suddenly dry. This time, your voice carries no playful edge and no hint of amusement, just a directness that leaves no room for evasion. Hyunjin feels he owes it to you to meet your eyes, so he does. When he turns, he almost melts at the intensity of your gaze, silently urging him to speak. It’s as though you know something is up but won’t push unless he gives you a reason to.

His mind races, a chaotic swirl of thoughts he’s been trying to suppress for weeks — hell, months. How do you always seem to see right through him? How do you know when to push and when to hold back, like you’re holding the reins to his emotions without even trying? He wonders if you can hear the way his heart is pounding, if you can tell how much he’s been dreading, and yet craving this moment.

“I…” he swallows thickly. His hands feel clammy against the knife handle, so he carefully places it on the countertop behind him before any accident can happen. “I just… wanted to see you.”

Your eyes soften, but your gaze doesn’t waver. “And?”

Hyunjin forces out a breath, his hands gripping the edge of the counter to balance himself. His five-foot-ten of legs feel like weird jelly. He hates how vulnerable he feels, how exposed, like every wall he’s built is crumbling under the weight of your gaze. He wants to look away, to hide, but he can’t. Not now. Not when you’re looking at him like that… like you already know what he’s going to say but are waiting for him to say it anyway.

“And… I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air, fragile and trembling, like they might shatter if either of you breathes too hard. He wonders if you can hear the fear in his voice, the way it cracks under the pressure of everything he’s been holding back.

You set the eggs down, leaning against the counter on the other side of your kitchen. “So tell me.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He cycles through every possible way to say it, but none of them make it past his lips. His jaw tenses.

You wait, patient but expectant.

And Hyunjin? Well, Hyunjin fucking panics.

“I think we should add some chili.”

A beat of silence. Then, you blink. “What?”

“To the rice.” He gestures wildly to the stove, the pan empty but ready, as if that explains anything. “Chili. It would need chili.”

You stare at him and he sees the ever-so-slight tilt of your head. Then, to his absolute horror, you burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, clutching the counter for support with one hand and holding your abdomen with the other. “You — Hyunjin, did you just–”

Hyunjin groans, head dropping into his hands before he returns to the countertop of green onions. “Kill me.” Maybe his amazing knife skills could make up for the fucking disaster of a scene that had happened. “Pass me the red chili peppers, please.”

You only laugh harder, and despite the sheer humiliation, he finds himself smiling, too.

Because it’s you.

He hears your light footsteps behind him until they stop just a perceptible length away from him. It catches him by surprise — the sudden embrace you give him, chest cautiously pressed against his back, arms loosely around his waist. It doesn’t feel like an embrace the way most people would know it, but it’s enough to send his brain into overdrive.

Fuck.

It ends as quickly as it happens. You’ve moved away and started on the actual cooking before Hyunjin could even process what had happened. It’s fucking insane to him, as well, what kind of thoughts occur in the depths of his brain, and unconsciously one particular chop has a heavier hand that Hyunjin slightly jumps.

He will not speak of those thoughts. He will never.

After that, he basically blanks out. Hyunjin doesn’t know how much time has passed until you offer to take over cooking dinner. A perfect chance to excuse himself, he thinks. He slips away to the bathroom.

When he gets there, he nearly collapses into the sink. He grips the edges of the porcelain, head hanging between his shoulders as he forces himself to breathe. The mirror is right there, but he refuses to look. If he does, he’s sure he’ll see the absolute wreck of a man he has become, someone who just botched a confession with chili.

(And he’ll also see the fucking boner he got from the not-embrace. He feels like an idiot and an asshole now.)

“Fucking chili peppers,” he mutters under his breath. His brain replays the way you laughed. Pure, delighted, merciless. He should be embarrassed. He is embarrassed. But at the same time, he wants to hear it again.

He wants to feel your touch again, too. An embrace, and a real one, this time. He wants to hold you closer, envelop you in his five-foot-ten and the million unspoken affections his body can no longer house alone.

Hyunjin splashes cold water on his face, hoping to reset whatever system his body has short-circuited. It’s been such a long, long day. He just ends up blinking water out of his lashes, still stuck with the overwhelming awareness of everything he’s feeling.

Okay. He can do this. He’ll walk out there, act normal, and get through the rest of the night without embarrassing himself further. That’s the plan.

With one last deep breath, Hyunjin straightens his back, wipes his hands on his pants, and steps out of the bathroom.

The scent of garlic and soy sauce fills the air. You’re standing by the stove, stirring the rice with an easy rhythm. Hyunjin stares at your profile, soft under the kitchen lights, and he cannot help but bite his lower lip, an attempt to suppress the way his stomach twists. You glance up as he enters, the corners of your lips still curved in amusement. There is a kind of mischief playing on the plushness of it.

“Hey, Chili Boy,” you greet, tone teasing but warm.

Hyunjin sighs. “Please. Don’t.”

You laugh again, a little quieter this time. He hears the fondness woven into it. “Come on, you made it too easy. And you’re also extremely bad with spice, so you’re also weird.”

“You enjoy making fun of me way too much, don’t you think?”

He drags himself to the counter, standing beside you as you continue cooking. The silence that stretches between you is not uncomfortable, despite the… situation. He watches you scoop a spoonful of rice to taste.

You hum in approval. “Not bad. You were right about the pepper.”

Hyunjin exhales a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course I am.”

You smirk, but you get another spoon to scoop another bite of the food, blowing on it gently. His gaze flickers to your lips before he can stop himself. Then you bring the spoon to his lips before he even realizes it. “Here. Taste.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before his mouth opens. He feels the heat in his ears at the anticipating gaze you look at him with. Hyunjin swears his pulse trips over itself. He takes a bite, chewing slowly as he pretends he’s thinking very hard about the flavor. The truth is he barely registers the taste.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, pulling his head back. “It’s good.”

You give him a knowing look, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you turn back to the stove, your presence steady, grounding. He hears the clang of the metal spoon on the sink and he winces. There are a thousand different sensations he feels, emotionally and mentally, physically, that are sure to get him in the morning. It will exhaust him; he’s certain.

Hyunjin shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

The moment is right there; he could say it. He could try again. But instead, he just watches you, the words still caught on the tip of his tongue.

You don’t say anything else, just reach for the plates kept by the rack near the sink. You stack them with quiet efficiency, and Hyunjin takes that as his cue to help, moving on instinct. He tries to ignore the sensation of the unspoken tension he feels in his body, but his fingers brush against yours when you reach for the same thing, and you both freeze.

You recover first, grabbing the plate and nudging it into his chest. “Don’t just stand there, Hwang. At least set the table.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, but his fingers tighten around the porcelain anyway. “Yeah, yeah.” He notes how it takes you a second more before completely handing it to him.

It takes a little longer than necessary to get everything ready. Maybe it’s because Hyunjin keeps stealing glances at you while you move around the kitchen, the gentle glow of the lights delicately painting your skin. Maybe it’s because he catches you doing the same.

By the time you both settle at the table, the air between you is dense. You lift your chopsticks first, breaking the moment with a casual “Bon appétit,” and Hyunjin sighs, finally looking down at his plate.

He takes a bite. It’s good. But then again, it could taste like absolutely nothing and he’s not sure he’d notice. His mind is elsewhere, as it has been all day. Now he could only really think of the warmth of the room, the sound of your quiet chewing, the occasional clink of utensils against the plates. Of the way your lips part before each bite. Of the memory of your gaze, heavy-lidded, watching him taste from your hand.

“See? I told you the spice would be good,” he says, mostly to fill the silence.

You hum, nodding as you swallow down another bite. “Okay, Chili Boy. I’ll give you this one.”

He smirks, though it’s a little awkward. He tries, anyway. “One? I think I’ve been right about a lot of things tonight.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. Hyunjin feels a flutter in his stomach. “Like what else?”

Hyunjin leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table with his chopsticks dangling between his fingers. “Like the fact that you enjoy making fun of me a little too much.”

“So that’s two. Still not a lot.” Your lips curve, playful. It feels like the air is treading into a dangerous state. “And that’s not a fact. That’s just my natural response to you making it so easy.”

Hyunjin exhales a laugh from his chest, shaking his head, but it’s edged with something slower, something mellower, and it’s unfolding without his permission. He takes another bite, his eyes glancing at you as you mirror the motion. The silence returns, thick, taut, humming with the gravity of all the words suspended between you.

His knee bumps against yours under the table. He expects you to move away. You don’t.

Carefully, deliberately, you push back. Just slightly. Just enough for him to notice.

His pulse skips a beat.

You don’t even spare him a look. You just keep eating, acting as if nothing has happened, as if nothing has changed. As if this night isn’t shifting into something neither of you wants to stop.

Hyunjin clears his throat. He feels infinitely warm and he thinks he could burst any moment. He grabs his drink, downs half of it in one go. It doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” you ask, amused. He sees the subtle curl at the edges of your mouth and his gut tightens. He nods, but he doesn’t believe himself at all.

You hold his gaze for a second too long before setting your chopsticks down. “Good.”

The meal continues, but the space between you is thrumming now. It’s like the pinpricks in his palms have now decided to plague his whole body. Every glance lingers. Every touch, no matter how fleeting, feels heavier.

When the plates are empty and the only thing left is the silence between you, Hyunjin knows, he’s so, so fucked. Neither of you moves to clear the dishes.

Hyunjin taps the end of his chopsticks against his empty plate, a quiet staccato rhythm that doesn’t match the rhythm in his chest. He peeks at you, then glances down at his hands, as if the words are hiding there somewhere.

He must do something. Clearly, this isn’t going anywhere until he says something. That’s the plan, anyway, isn’t it? Always has been. He’s just too far up in his fear and doubt and the funk in his confidence to do it properly.

“So…” he starts, his voice rougher than he expects. “Are you always this good at pretending nothing’s weird? Or is that just a special skill you use on me?”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into your chair. Another smirk tugs at your lips, and it affects Hyunjin all the same. “Who says anything’s weird? Maybe you’re just bad at handling silence, Chili Boy.”

Hyunjin smiles at your easy tone. He laughs, feeling the way the air descends into something lighter. Less sharp, less embarrassed. It’s a slow deceleration, but he’s happy about it anyway. Although the pounding of his heart remains fast, it feels much more stable and steady; the rest of his body is now able to keep up with it.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just bad at handling you.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, your finger grazes the rim of your glass, tracing the condensation lazily. Absentmindedly, really. But then you bring your finger to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste the cool dampness your skin has gathered.

Hyunjin’s mind goes haywire.

It’s nothing. But it’s everything. Something about it, the slight parting of your lips, the brief glint of your tongue, lodges itself in his chest like a glitch he can’t shake. His breath stutters, caught somewhere between surprise and something else he doesn’t want to name.

Something that has been simmering in his core since perhaps the very beginning of the night.

When you finally speak, your voice is smaller.

“It’s funny how quiet you get when it matters.”

Hyunjin’s breath catches again, this time for an entirely different reason. He feels seen — completely, undeniably seen — and it knocks the air right out of him.

You look up then, meeting his gaze head-on. The intensity of it all makes him freeze for a moment, like his body is caught between the instinct to run and the overwhelming urge to stay rooted right there, in that exact second. Your eyes are unreadable, but there is a knowing curve to your lips, like you already know he’s gone for you.

You stand slowly, deliberately, and he tracks every step you take like he’s afraid to blink and miss something. You’re so close now — closer than you’ve been all night, but still not close enough. The kitchen feels impossibly small, impossibly tight. Air stretched so thin, it’s as if a single breath might snap it.

You lean down, palms braced on the edge of the table, your face hovering just inches from his. He feels the warmth of you, the faintest hint of your breath, and it’s unbearable in the best possible way. His pulse roars in his ears, blood thrumming beneath his skin like a live wire.

Then you smile, gentle, but edged with something sharper.

“You’re really bad at hiding it, you know,” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper.

His body responds before his mind can catch up. His muscles go taut, his throat dry, his chest tight with something raw and needy. But he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t want to.

And then—

Your lips find his.

He’s absolutely sure he leans forward to meet you, but his heart swells with satisfaction at the fact that you made your move first. It happens fast and it feels inevitable. Gravity has been pulling you both toward this moment from the very start.

The first kiss is soft.

But when you pull away for a brief moment, just barely, just enough for Hyunjin to see the desire swirling in your eyes, he loses whatever restraint he has left. He knows that look, because it mirrors the very flame that’s been burning in him all night. He leans in this time, closing the distance with a kiss that’s nothing like the first. It’s hungry. Desperate, even. A silent confession in the way his lips move against yours like he’s starving, as if you’re the only thing that could satisfy him.

His hands find you, one threading into your hair and the other holding your waist, tugging you closer. He shifts in his seat to accommodate the new angle and then, without thinking, he guides you onto his lap.

The kiss grows messier, your mouths colliding with a fervor that feels both dangerous and necessary. His tongue flicks against yours, a bit apprehensive at first, but the light grazing of your teeth against his bottom lip undoes him completely. He groans, low and guttural, and that sound seems to break something open between you.

His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skating across your warm skin. He’s not even sure what he’s touching, doesn’t care. It’s you, and that’s all that matters.

Your hips shift instinctively, a subtle grind against him, and Hyunjin’s breath shudders.

“Fuck, wait–” he breathes against your mouth, voice rugged and ruined already.

But then he pauses, his hands still resting on your skin, his forehead pressing against yours. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, but there’s a flicker of something in his chest now. Not hesitation, no. Not anymore. Just care. His voice drops to a whisper, warm and sincere, “Is this okay?”

The question melts into the space between you.

You nod first, eager, breathless, but then you cup his face gently, and Hyunjin has a full view of the certainty in your eyes when you say, “Yes. I want this.”

Something in him unravels at your words. His mouth crashes back onto yours with a passion that feels even warmer, fueled by the security of knowing you want him just as much. He pulls back, enjoying the way your eyes flutter shut, before his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, where he sucks lightly, just enough to leave a mark if you’ll let him. His hands grow bolder. His palms span the dip of your back, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin at your sides, feeling the way you arch into him. He’s not sure when the need became so overwhelming, when it grew teeth and sank right into him, but it’s here now, reckless and relentless.

But then it’s you who pulls back this time, both of you winded, swollen-lipped, eyes dark with want.

Hyunjin exhales a shaky laugh, part disbelief, part surrender. “Why do I feel like I’m losing my mind?”

Your lips find his neck, peppering kisses along his jawline, down the sensitive spot just below his ear. “Maybe because you are,” you murmur against his skin, and the warmth of your breath sends a shudder straight through him. From your end of the earth to his.

That’s all it takes.

Hyunjin stands, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifts you with ease. The scrape of the chair against the floor is lost beneath the sound of his pounding heart. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively and he carries you to your bedroom. It takes forever to walk there, Hyunjin feels, but he’s not about to let this happen on the kitchen counter, with dirty dishes still on the dining table in the same room.

It feels as if he cannot physically remove his lips on your skin. There is laughter slipping between your kisses as he stumbles down the hall, holding you up in his arms. Your bodies stay together like two poles of a magnet, hearts racing in tandem. The door barely clicks shut behind him before he’s on you again, hands everywhere, mouth chasing the warmth of your skin like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe, at this moment, it is.

Your fingers tug at his shirt clumsily and he helps you, pulling it over his head in one swift motion before reclaiming your mouth and pressing you against the wall. It’s all heat and friction, breaths mingling in the small space between confessions neither of you is ready to say out loud. But it’s there, tangled in the way he touches you, in the way you respond to every kiss, every graze of his fingertips.

He pulls at your top next, and it takes him no effort to take it off of you. His gaze wanders, his smile growing wild and dazed. Clothes are thrown off in some corner of the room and Hyunjin knows they’re a problem for tomorrow.

“Wow,” is all that comes out of his mouth.

“Wow?” you repeat, tracing his chest with a finger. Hyunjin gasps quietly at the sensation, leaning forward to let his head fall onto your shoulder.

“I can’t look at you,” he whimpers. “I can’t. My heart is going to burst.”

You laugh softly, arms wrapping around his back and pulling him closer. Hyunjin doesn’t comment on the way his clothed hardness presses against your hips. You keep him there for an amount of time that is enough for Hyunjin to go dizzy over the proximity.

His chest rises sharply, a shudder exhaled that’s drawn long enough to feel like he’s been holding it in for years.

“Is this your first time?” you ask gently, thumbs now brushing just under his eye. The question is laced with curiosity, not judgment, so Hyunjin doesn’t feel like he has to run or hide.

His laugh comes breathless and almost self-deprecating. His nose brushes against yours. “No, but…” His voice grows smaller, quieter, the vulnerability in it tugging at something between you. “But it’s my first time with you. And God, I just want to do it right.”

Your eyes flash with something Hyunjin could not name, but it’s all familiar and comforting all the same. Your hands slide down his shoulders before they find their way into the dip of his spine, and his skin trembles in heat under the brush of your fingers.

“Let’s do it right, then.”

Then he feels your arms stretch outward. He steps back, watches you and the grin on your face widen with every passing second. He’s left dumbfounded, confused, and heavily aroused. But you say nothing.

Hyunjin feels like a fucking idiot. That’s not something new, especially not tonight. Then he still doesn’t get the fucking hint, so you finally say, “Carry me to the bed, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, but he feels another wave of mortification in his stomach because he was too fucking horny to get that very obvious invitation. He carries you again in the same way he did earlier, holding onto your thighs to let it wrap around his waist. He hides in the crook where your neck and collar meet, feeling a different kind of heat in his cheeks.

It only takes a few steps, but Hyunjin makes sure his touch projects less of his want and more of his devotion to it. It’s not that his greed for this very moment has diluted. In fact, he thinks that desire, when mixed with this kind of tenderness, fuels a fiercer flame. Something that burns satisfyingly within him. It spills from his fingertips, tracing the curve of your waist, and settling in the soft press of his lips against your skin — an ache, yes, but one wrapped in reverence.

He lays you down gently, so fragile and precious, something he’s terrified of breaking. But the way you look up at him, eyes dark with desire yet soft with trust, tells him you’re everything but that. You are precious in ways that tell him, maybe, he can handle you just fine. He can handle you because he is determined to. Your hands find his face again, pulling him down until your lips meet, measured, savoring.

Hyunjin settles between your thighs, forearms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His mouth trails another path down your neck, across your collarbone, pausing to taste the skin there like he’s memorizing it. He could spend forever here and he would still not get enough.

“Still okay?” he murmurs, breathing against the shell of your ear.

You nod, sighing, fingers threading through his hair just enough to make his eyes flutter close. “More than okay. Please, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin slightly moves his way down. His fingers dance on the waistband of your pajamas, teasing, barely grazing your skin. He can feel your body shift under his touch, your hips lifting as if urging him to move faster, to give you what you want. But Hyunjin pulls back, just to look at you with those eyes full of want, but still filled with that deep-seated reverence that makes Hyunjin’s heart skip.

“Patience,” he breathes out, letting his tone be a perfect blend of control and desire. The awkwardness and reluctance that plagued his whole evening now almost completely gone, and he thinks he could get drunk in this feeling. His lips brush against your collarbone again, hands now getting dangerously close to your heat.

A frustrated moan spills out of your lips. Hyunjin feels the protest in the quake of your hips. “Please, Hyunjin,” you whisper, fingers gripping the flesh of his back. “Don’t tease me.”

He smiles at your plea, tilting his head sideways before planting a soft kiss on the skin of your breast. “But you had a swell time teasing me tonight, though?” he murmurs, slowly, agonizingly, his fingertips lifting up from your skin. “And I’m not teasing you. I’m just savoring this. Savoring you.”

Then his hand slides under the waistband of your bottoms, finally making contact with your skin. He’s on the edge of control, but he knows sooner or later he would fall over it himself. His fingers find your slit, easing it apart to tease your nub. A satisfied hum rolls off his tongue as your hips jerk upward at his touch. You let out a breathless gasp as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch finally becoming less teasing and more purposeful.

“Take it off, please,” you say, words caught between breaths. Hyunjin coos.

“My pleasure.”

Not wasting any time, he slides your pajamas down your legs. He relishes the way you lift yourself to assist him, loving how eager you seem about this whole thing. He pulls the rest of the fabric off your feet and kisses his way up, wet and determined, as he looks directly into your eyes. He grows more and more lightheaded with each press of his lips until he finds himself just inches away from your heat. He smiles to himself, seeing your wetness seeping through your panties.

“Hyunjin, I’m…” He hears you whisper, so he turns and looks up to you.

“Do you not want me to?” he asks, despite his wide-eyed look of arousal. He raises a concerned brow, hands resorting to rub the sides of your thighs in delicate patterns. “I’ll make you feel good, but you can tell me if you want to back out.”

“No! I mean, yes! I–” Your hand finds the side of his head, fingers fondling with his ear, and he keens at your touch. He moves sideways to accommodate your palm before completely nuzzling into it, almost propping his own head in your hand. He looks up to you with a smile he hopes conveys the want and the hunger, as well as especially his respect to give you an out if you wish.

He wants you, but he loves you first. He’s not about to be the bastard who’s set to get his dick down after getting an unexpected boner while attempting a confession.

(There. He admits it. He loves you. He loves you dearly.)

(The verbal confession would have to come later. He swears.)

Hyunjin feels your legs tremble with the shaky breath escaping your lips before he hears you murmur, “I don’t doubt you would. Make me feel good, I mean.” You lean forward, propping yourself on your elbows, which allows Hyunjin to fully see every curve and frown and furrow on your face. “I’m just… embarrassed.”

Your eyes dilate, a familiar hue now in their gleam, one Hyunjin knows you’ve seen in his eyes many times over the past few hours, or the past few months. He stops himself from giggling, a weird feeling in his stomach coming in full force, and instead, he leaves a kiss on the inside of your thigh before pulling your panties to the side with a finger. He feels immense pride at the pleasured gasp you made and the sound of a body falling flat back onto the bed.

Lightly, he licks a strip up your slit. Your legs shiver and he holds them in place by caging them in his arms. Another lick, and a bit-down sigh resounds in the room. He’s determined to let you let all that out. Another lick, bolder, and you moan.

Hyunjin thinks he can do this all night.

With fewer qualms in his mind and more confidence in the patterns that have you reeling under him, Hyunjin begins to prod his tongue into your pussy, deliberate and steady. He savors every twitch of your thighs and every soft gasp you gift him. The taste of you floods his senses, sweet and intoxicating, and he hums against your skin, the vibrations pulling a whine from your lips.

He tightens his grip, thumbs digging gently into supple flesh as he gets more and more aroused with every sound you make. He pulls you closer, tongue delving deeper with eager strokes, pushing into depths that have your back arching off the bed. He listens intently to every breathless whimper, every choked plea, a melody he never knew he craved. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and God, he feels worshipped.

But it’s not just about the sex.

Between fervent licks, he glances up, eyes locking with yours. Your face is a masterpiece of flushed cheeks, parted lips, and glassy, desire-drenched eyes. He blinks, wishing he could capture it in his memory vividly enough to paint a picture if you allow him to. His heart stutters, and his chest tightens not just from arousal, but from the overwhelming tenderness that crashes over him like a wave.

I love you.

It rings so loudly in his head, louder than your moans, louder than the slick sounds filling the room. It feels as if it’s clawing right out of his chest to escape.

So he doubles down, dragging his tongue flat with more pressure, flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves until your thighs quake around his head.

“Oh, God, you–” Words cut short with the sudden flick of his tongue on your clit, your hands immediately holding onto what little hair he has and tugging at it. “I’m so close. I’m so–” He adds two fingers, slipping in easily, curling just right, because he wants you to fall apart for him. Wants to feel you unravel with his name tangled in the wreckage.

And when you do — when you cry out, trembling around his fingers, back arching like a bow pulled taut — Hyunjin swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

He slows, gently coaxing you through the aftershocks, pressing light kisses against your inner thighs, his cheek resting against the warmth of your skin as he catches his breath.

His heart still pounds, not from exertion, but from the burden of the words he has yet to say.

Maybe after. Maybe when you’re both lying there, tangled and breathless, he’ll finally whisper it against your skin.

I love you.

But for now, he presses one last kiss to your hip and smiles up at you.

“Was that okay?” he asks gently, though he already knows the answer.

“Okay?” You pull your arms back, letting them fall to your sides. Your body relaxes and Hyunjin sees the upturn at the corners of your lips. You gesture at him, nudging him to move. “Hyunjin, that was fucking mind-blowing. C’mere.”

Hyunjin climbs his way on top of you, hands holding onto your face as soon as it’s within reach before he kisses the tip of your nose. A sigh escapes you, fingers tracing his sides until he feels you tug on his bottoms. There is a determined grin plastered on your face, and Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat.

He’s had the best time of his life eating you out of your damn mind, but the truth of the matter is he’s far from satisfied.

Heat shoots through his stomach once more, and he feels his hardness straining under all the fabric. He lets your hands play on the waistband of his sweatpants before giving you a nod. Lifting himself up high enough to pull the clothing down his legs, he obliges your impatient touch and whimpers when you accidentally brush against the side of his cock.

“Please, Hyunjin,” you plead, and he thinks he could almost see the need spilling out your lips. He sighs, feeling just as greedy with his cock catching against your slit, then he blinks.

“Condom,” he says, simply. He stares at you like you would make the rubber suddenly appear out of thin air.

“Oh,” you reply, simply. Well. “I don’t… I don’t have one, I think.”

Hyunjin has one. He’s just suddenly overcome with shame at the very idea of it.

Because having it means he thought about this — planned for it, even — and not just in the vague, wishful way. No, he knew he’d want you like this. He knew he’d fall apart under your touch. And now, with you lying beneath him, asking for him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, it feels like a confession he isn’t ready to voice.

I’ve wanted you like this for longer than I’d admit.

He clears his throat, trying to mask the rush of emotions overflowing in his chest. “Uh—I… I have one.” His voice comes out rough, strained, and he winces internally. Cool. Real smooth. He tries to think of excuses, something like, it has always been in my pockets, you know, for luck or Jisung pranked me and left it in my wallet, but I keep forgetting I still have it. Neither of them is good.

But your eyes brighten with a mix of relief and something more tender. “Okay,” you whisper, like it’s not a big deal. He’s wondering how you still don’t realize how much his resolve has been falling apart then coming together, only for it to fall apart again because of you.

Hyunjin shuffles to the side, fumbling through the pockets of his ugly fucking jacket with shaky hands until he finds the small foil packet. He holds it up, hesitating for a second before tossing it onto the bed like it’s burning his fingers. He doesn’t meet your gaze when he climbs back over you, afraid you’ll see right through him.

It’s not like he doesn’t have his heart and dick out in the open, but still.

Then your hand curls around his arm, thumb rubbing small circles on his skin. “Hey,” you hum softly, “it’s okay.”

He leans into your touch, shifting forward to rest his forehead on yours. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he kisses you, heavy and deep, trying to pour everything he hasn’t said yet into it. His hips grind against yours, the head of his cock brushing against your core. The friction is enough to make both of you gasp into each other’s mouths.

When he pulls back, his question comes. “Are you sure?” he asks, because despite everything, he needs to hear it.

Your answer returns without hesitation. “I’ve never been more sure.”

And that’s all he needs. He’s finally, finally resolute.

With trembling fingers, he tears the packet open, slipping the condom on with practiced ease that makes his face heat up again, not just because of the act itself, but because it’s you this time. It’s real.

He feels your own fingers gently move him away from his cock, and you pump it slightly. His head falls back at the feeling of your hands wrapped around where he needs it most, and he lets his jaw fall slack. He thinks he wants to moan, but he’s left so speechless that not even a sound leaves his throat.

Then, you help him position himself between your thighs, one hand still on his cock and the other pulling your panties to the side. His shaft lines up with your entrance, runs it up and down long enough to catch your gaze. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Your breathy, quiet “I won’t need you to” is the last thing he hears before he finally pushes in. Steadily, carefully. His body is trembling with restraint and the tight, wet warmth of you just steals the air from his lungs. For a second, he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t be — except right here, buried inside you.

A broken moan slips from his lips, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck, you feel–” he cuts himself off with another shuddering breath.

You’re everything, everywhere. Around him, under him, in him in ways he never expected. And deep down, beneath the pleasure, one truth rings louder than anything else.

“I love you,” Hyunjin whispers into your skin. Your hands move to grip his back, nails slightly digging with every stroke he makes. He pulls out, only to push himself back in, reaching as far as he physically can because he wants to feel you completely. “I love you,” he repeats. Again, and again, and again.

Then he feels your shoulders shake under him. He leans back, pulling out until only little of him remains inside you, and he squints his eyes at the shit-eating grin slowly forming on your lips. He almost falters.

“Why’d you stop?” you complain.

“Are you laughing?”

“Yes,” you blurt out immediately, cheeky in tone. “And I was being fucked so good until I wasn’t. Don’t stop. Please.”

Hyunjin pushes back in, only slightly, and it has you gasping. He feels your hips shift to chase the feeling of his cock in you, but he doesn’t relent. “I’m the one fucking you good. Don’t laugh at me.” He thrusts fully, the suddenness deliberate to take you by surprise.

“I’m just…” Another moan betrays your words. Hyunjin takes his time thrusting in and out of your pussy, allowing him to feel every drag of his cock inside you. “That’s something… something you should say before you have your cock… fuck–inside me, you know.”

Hyunjin snorts, half-embarrassed. He leans down to kiss you on the side of your head before he presses a palm on your abdomen. The action got you choking on a wanton sob, then he pushes another drag of his shaft into you. He almost fucking cums when he feels you tighten around him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your skin, voice sliding down your cheeks. “I love you,” he repeats.

“Apology accepted,” you whisper back, hands now fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck, heavy enough to keep him in place. “—after you show me how good you fuck.”

Holy fucking shit.

Hyunjin gasps as you pull him down for another kiss. His hips stay in place, twitching whenever your tongue pokes the insides of his mouth. When you pull away, a wicked smile plasters on his face and he grabs your thighs to pull you closer. He holds them up, the angle accommodating his body better and his cock deeper.

Then he fucks you good, because that’s what you asked.

The pace he sets is merciless, each thrust a declaration and a tangible response to your challenge. Skin slapping against skin, the sound fills the room, mingling with the wet, obscene slickness of your arousal. His name spills from your lips like a mantra, and yours rolls off his tongue like a prayer. It’s breathless and broken and so lewd, each syllable unraveling under the force of his hips snapping into yours.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Hyunjin’s hand slides from your thigh to your throat, not to squeeze but to ground himself, his thumb brushing along your jawline tenderly, a stark contrast to the way he’s fucking you like he’s trying to imprint himself in every part of you. His eyes find yours, blown wide with lust, but there’s an ache there, too. A need beyond the physical.

“You feel so good,” he pants, voice ragged, lips a hair’s breadth away from yours. “Like you were made for me.”

Your body clenches at his words. You’re on the edge, teetering, and he knows it. His free hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your back arching off the bed once again.

“Hyunjin—fuck, I’m–”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, kissing you once. His pace grows erratic, losing its steady rhythm and growing more and more inconsistent. Fuck. Holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. Then he kisses you hard, swallowing your moans beneath him as you fall apart. Your insides squeeze him almost impossibly tight that has him trembling and gasping into your mouth. His vision blurs at the edges as he feels you come undone. He follows soon after, hips stuttering as he spills into the rubber in you, a low, grating groan ripped from his chest.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the weight of his body grounding the both of you, the warmth of him inside you. Then he shifts, pulling out gently that has you shivering and whimpering quietly, rolling to his side and pulling you with him so your bodies stay tangled.

He traces lazy patterns on your back, his other hand cradling your face.

“I meant it,” he sighs softly against your temple, his promise to whisper his affections onto your skin finally coming to fruition. “I love you. So damn much, you have no idea.”

This time, there’s no teasing on your lips, no cheeky comeback. “I think I do.” Just the truth, bare and simple, as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

this work is complete and will not have any subsequent parts.

#*hanllucination #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #*wf

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esote-rika · 6 months ago

Text

derision as prelude to desire | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI, fluff if you squint

Summary: Spencer Reid’s new coworker is mean but one night doing overtime together leads to the two of them bonding.

Content: glasses!Spencer, workplace rivals if you squint, Spencer Reid vs technology, reader is kind of mean and based on Blair Waldorf (in background, looks, and personality), Spencer is petty, his mind is in the GUTTER, use of eye drops, making out, sub!Spencer, fingering, oral (male receiving), whining and begging glasses!Spencer. Let’s pretend the BAU doesn’t have any CCTV cameras for this one m’kay thanks

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: This is an ITCH in my brain, like I’ve been thinking about a Spencer Reid x Blair Waldorf crackship since August last year it’s actually concerning. One of my favorite ship dynamics is loser boy x popular girl, so it makes sense. Still in second person to make it immersive. This isn’t a crossover, so there will be no spoilers for Gossip Girl. The reader's personality, looks and background are just based on Blair. Let me know if you want to read more of this dynamic because I have so many ideas for it oh my god. I hope you enjoy it!

Spencer Reid often muses on the series of events that had brought you from the streets of the Upper East Side to work in Quantico, Virginia. It would be easy to ask, of course, or even have Penelope do a quick background check on you, but he’s made a game of it instead, piecing together what he knows of your history, filling in the blanks of what would have gone wrong, what decisions you would have taken, in order to leave the privileged life you led and enter public service.

As far as he had been concerned, you don’t belong anywhere near the FBI, let alone the BAU. Spoiled, rich, with a mean streak he is all too familiar with from his time in school.

He had been so sure you wouldn’t fit in when you first joined the team. You had been, and continue to be, perfectly made, every single hair shiny and curled just so, heels always so shiny and matching whatever designer bag you have slung over your shoulder. Everything about you screams high maintenance, and his profiler instincts point to several things: uncooperative, wants everything handed to you, ditzy.

But then you had shown your cards, had proved his assessment so wrong and he could never forgive you for the sting of that defeat.

It doesn’t help that you seem to enjoy riling him up as well. Every case is an opportunity to one up him, an attempt to claim his spot and it’s unfair. You already have everything, yet you still refuse to yield the title of team genius to him, the one thing he can cling to, the thing he knows is his.

He is still glowering today, four months into your employment, passive aggressively hitting the keys on his keyboard. He’s a slow typist, and he’d agreed to write Morgan’s reports for him this week, a favor between friends he’s now beginning to regret. You are the only one keeping him company. The rest of the team has already left hours ago, but you’re typing away at your desk, fingers flying through the keyboard without even a glance. His own skills seem laughable in comparison, going at the keys one by one, with the speed of an old grandparent squinting over a typewriter instead of a man in his twenties.

“Take a picture, Reid, it’ll last longer.”

He blinks, forcing his eyes back to the monitor. “You’re so original.” he mutters, pushing his glasses up to nestle on top of his head. He rubs his eyes, already despising the glare of the screen.

“Aw, what, the genius can’t handle a little blue light?”

He doesn’t bother with a response, blinking at the screen instead. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can leave. Sounds of tapping keys fill the air again, but he stops after a few moments again, rubbing at his eyes. He hears a sigh, and then your voice again, haughty but somehow concerned.

“You’re not supposed to rub your eyes, it makes it worse.”

“I know,” he grumbles, “I don’t need you lecturing me about the importance of eye health.”

“It seems like you do, since you’re still doing it.” you reply derisively. He’d be rolling his eyes if he isn’t too busy rubbing them.

“Here,” you say, “Catch.”

Confused, he lifts his head, only to flinch as something hurls right at him. “What-” it hits his desk, then bounces off.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, genius.”

“You threw it at me.” his lips are pulled into a tight line of disapproval, “A head’s up would have been nice.”

“I did, genius, I said catch. You just have the reflexes of an eighty year old.” your voice is tinged with annoyance.

To his surprise, you’re up and walking to his desk, heels echoing in the empty bullpen. He watches as you gingerly kneel on the ground, bending down, and his eyes grow wide. The image of you bent down like this is surprisingly enticing, your skirt straining against the soft curve of your hips, hair falling down your shoulders like a curtain of the night sky. You’ve gotten close enough that he can smell your perfume, something citrusy and clean, and he subconsciously leans closer.

Mouth dry, he manages to croak out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn eye drops.” you snap, an arm extending towards him and for a moment he holds his breath, waiting for contact. Instead, you grab something from the ground, “There it is.”

He watches as you straighten, lifting your torso upright, but still kneeling in front of him. An image flashes through his mind, your face between his thighs, those large eyes staring up at him, but he banishes it quickly lest his thoughts begin to stir his body.

“Here, these should help.” You say, finally standing back up and placing the tiny bottle on his desk. A filthy part of him wishes you’d get back on your knees. He catches the tilt of your head, the confusion in your eyes, “Reid. Are you still with me? Has your brain finally short circuited from all those statistics?”

Oh his brain is short circuiting, all right, just from a different cause.

“I’m - yeah.” he replies, and then he rattles off the first thought his frazzled mind could come up with, “Did you know some people have used eye drops as a method for murder? Not these ones, but there are specific brands that contain—”

“Tetrahydrozoline,” you finish for him, “Yeah, I know.”

He blinks. There you go again, proving your intellect, your value, somehow matching his even though he’s pretty sure you are no genius, not in the same way he is. Still, perhaps it’s the late night, or your offer of relief, but the sting of being bested doesn’t resonate tonight. A softer feeling unfurls in his chest, something warm and addictive, something like understanding. He smiles, “That’s right.”

You nod, curls spilling over your shoulders again, “Mhm. Well… These are for your eyes, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

A scoff, “Please, I’m not dumb enough to attempt murder in the office.”

His brows lift and he finds himself grinning, “So you’ve thought about it?”

“I will neither deny nor confirm.” you’re smiling now too, and he lets his eyes roam over the pretty lines of your face, memorizing how lovely you look in this moment, guards lowered and smiling at him with ease. He thinks he sees something flash in those pretty eyes of yours but he’s not sure. Reading people has never been his strong suit, regardless of his profession.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” you gesture at his glasses, and he immediately obeys, pushing it back up to nestle on his hair. He holds his breath as you come closer, bites his lips when your hand comes to his chin. It’s soft, unbelievably gentle, and you tilt his head back. From this angle, he can see the way your lashes curl, the soft hint of shimmer swept across your lids. Eyeshadow, he remembers from what Penelope and JJ have told him, and it highlights the shape of your eyes, making them appear brighter.

He blinks as coolness hits his eye, and then you’re tilting his head to the other side, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to be a creep, but in reality, he hasn’t been this close, this intimate to a woman in so long that it’s messing up his ability to inhale, to think, to function. Your hair flutters gently around his face, and the scent of citrus is stronger now, heady, and he feels so light headed he’s afraid he’ll faint.

The same coolness hits the other eye, and before you can pull away, before he can think it through, he’s curling his own hand over your wrist. He lifts it up, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, admonishing any thoughts of germs and bacteria, and instead relishing at the tender flesh beneath his lips. He kisses your palm again, lips gently tracing the lines, before moving down to the inside of your wrist, before pausing.

He dares to peer up, waiting for a reprimand, a cutting sentence that would have him lashing back at you, but there’s none. There it is again, the flicker in your eyes, and now he finally knows the word to attach to it: desire.

He kisses the inside of your wrist again, and feels you pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Fast, to his surprise, almost matching the quick succession of thudding in his chest.

“Reid,” you whisper, and he waits again, allows you time to pull away. You don’t, but he’s apprehensive now, afraid he’s crossed a boundary. He definitely has, but he would do it again if you express the desire to do so, to tumble into whatever this is with him. He just needs confirmation, one verbal acknowledgement that you want this too, because he doesn’t trust his ability to read you yet, not when he’s spent so much time despising you.

But you’re just looking at him, and the embarrassment is almost painful. His cheeks heat up, and he drops your hand.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs, sinking back on his seat. He’s about to turn to his monitor, intent to forget about this, forget everything even though his memory would make that impossible, but he finds his face being tilted up again, cradled between impossibly soft hands, and then there’s lips against his own, your lips, oh god you are kissing him.

He wraps his arms around your waist, following the movement of your mouth to the best of his limited ability. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lets out an involuntary whimper, his body jerking at the sting. He feels you smiling against his mouth, cocky even in the midst of a kiss, in the midst of the most heated kiss he’s had since - since - he can’t even remember her, the brief dalliance he had with an actress once upon a time, because all he can think of is your mouth, and your hands, nails scratching at his scalp, and every single thought is expelled from his mind when you climb on his lap.

“God,” he moans in between kisses, his breaths ragged, but he would gladly drown in you before stopping.

“Not god,” you correct him and nip at his lower lip with more force this time.

“Mhm.” he whines, and kisses you again, shifting so you’re more comfortable on his lap. He wonders if the chair is creaking from your combined weight, but then you’re grinding directly on his cock and he’s lost in a haze of white hot pleasure.

Apparently, Spencer Reid cannot multitask, because his lips fall slack as you grind against his hardening cock. Your laughter tinkles in his ear, before your mouth latches on his jaw, down his neck, open and wet and sticky. He knows you said you aren’t god, and he’s never been religious, but he swears this must be heaven. Fitting too, in the same way he’s never thought he’d reach some place he doesn’t even believe in, he’s also never thought he would have you—beautiful, infuriating, untouchable you—grinding on his lap with a desperation that borders frenzy.

Recognizing that your need burns you just as his is making him reckless, he manages to whisper, “Tell me— tell me what to do. How do I make you feel good?”

You giggle, taking one of his hands away from your waist and leading it under your skirt. The fabric has bunched up over your thighs, and he grips the smooth flesh greedily. But you have other ideas, and he’s eager to learn, so he lets you move his hand higher, until the tips of his fingers brush against moist fabric.

His mouth goes dry. You’ve soaked through your panties.

“Like this?” he dips his fingers past the lace, his mouth falling open at the slick that’s gathered at your core. You have your face buried at his neck, lips and tongue still assaulting the tender skin there, but he feels you nod, feels the shudder that runs through you, and he takes those as a good sign. His touch is exploratory, gentle, fueled by an intoxication over the fact that you’re here and you’re enjoying it, you’re making those sounds for him.

He’s awestruck rather than cocky, and when he slides his fingers into your pussy, he’s immediately trying to figure out a rhythm that would draw out those pretty noises from your lips. When he finds it, he sticks to it, greedily drinking in your moans, no matter how muffled they are against his neck.

There’s a sense of degeneracy to this whole thing. Fingering his coworker in the office, right there on his desk, he could get fired should this get out, they both could. Still, he’s never truly had anyone want him so unabashedly and he simply cannot stop. You had been the one to kiss him, after all, the lines in the sand had been completely trampled by the time you had climbed on his lap.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, and he feels you move, riding his hand shamelessly, and he has to bite your shoulder to keep himself from whining again. The sight alone nearly undoes him, and you’ve barely done anything. He’s been actively providing you with stimulation this whole time, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Yeah?” he asks, pupils blown wide, wanting, needing the assurance that he’s doing good, he’s making you feel good.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” your voice grows sharper as he curls his fingers with every thrust. After a few moments of fumbling with your panties, his thumb presses against your clit and he’s rewarded by another groan from you.

He draws figure eights against your slick core, finding a rhythm that has you tugging at his hair wildly, and he’s whispering into your ear, pleading, “That’s it, please come for me, please, let me see how good you feel, please, please—”

“Spencer!” you groan, and then you’re shuddering in his lap, and his fingers down to his knuckles are wet with your slick.

He grins, helping you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your hair, the FBI issued office chair creaking so much he’s afraid the two of you would break it if you don’t stop. The image is hilarious in its absurdity, making his grin widen, and you must have taken it for arrogance because he feels a slight smack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get cocky.” you mutter.

He takes you in, the flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, mascara now smudged along your lash lines, and he’s reverential instead of arrogant, grateful that he has brought someone so stunning and capable to the throes of pleasure, has taken you apart so much you’ve ruined your normally perfect facade.

“You’re beautiful.” he tells you, his own eyes glistening with an unfocused daze. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and he’s seized with a desire to keep you hear and bury his fingers inside you over and over again until you believe him.

“Your turn.” You chuckle, hands unwinding from his neck and travelling down the length of his abdomen, coming to the buckle on his belt.

“Wait, I—uh,” he turns beet red once again, clearing his throat, “Are you on the pill? I don’t have—”

You tilt your head, as if the idea of a man walking around without a condom is foreign. Perhaps it is, but Spencer simply never assumed he would have any use for it. He turns away, teeth worrying his lower lip, but you pull his face to you again.

“I have hands.” you say as you resume undoing his pants. You shift, then slink away from him, and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but he sees you on your knees once again, and this time it’s not just his brain making up lewd, inappropriate thoughts, “And a mouth.”

“Y-you really don’t have to.”

“I know,” you grin, pretty as the devil and twice as tempting, and as your hands wrap around his engorged length, thumb circling at the tip, “But how can I not, when you’re this pretty?”

He blacks out, he swears he does, there’s no way this isn’t a perverted dream, no way that you’re actually stroking up and down his throbbing cock. Somehow he comes to, only to feel a warmth, a wetness, enveloping the swollen tip, and his hips buck up instinctively. He whines when your hands push at his thighs, holding him in place.

“Please,” he gasps, babbles, really, “Please, oh god, that feels so good.”

You take him further down and he throws his head back so violently the glasses slip past his ears and clatter onto the floor. He feels your laughter vibrating against his cock and it almost has him keening. He whines, wriggles against your hold with no real desire to break free. He finds that likes the force of your hands on him, nails leaving harsh indents on his flesh as he struggles. The pain is delicious, heightening his already frazzled senses.

You bob your head up and down, your hair swaying gently, and he manages to will his hands to move, gathering the soft tresses in his hand so they won’t impede your movement. Your eyes flicker up, meet his own, and he swears there’s a thank you in the glint of them. He cannot do anything else.

Slack jawed, he watches you hollow your cheeks, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth as you give him the best head he’s ever experienced. Never mind that it’s his first one, and that he doesn’t have a point of comparison. He’s convinced this is the best, you are the best, and he’s never been more thankful for his eidetic memory until this night, knowing that he cannot, will never, ever forget the way you look as you knelt down and sucked his cock like you were being paid to do it.

“God, you’re so pretty, oh my god, yes, just like that, please, please, yes.” he’s aware that he’s whining, and there’s an amused twinkle in your eye that tells him he would never hear the end of this after.

He knows you well enough to know that you would dangle this over his head any chance you get, that you aren’t above playing dirty. Instead of dread, it makes his stomach roil with another gush of desire, and he knows that that is even more concerning than whatever you were going to do.

(It never occurs to him to do the same, that he could tease you back and point out that he has had you on your knees and sucking on his cock like you were made for it simply because his brain cannot fathom ever associating the sight of you kneeling before him as something to be ashamed of.)

He’s drawn from his thoughts as he feels your hands cupping his balls, stimulating an entirely new area that has him thrusting up. He feels his cock brush against the back of your throat, and he pulls back immediately, eyes wide with worry as you gag around his length.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby you can stop if—”

But you do it again, soldiering past your gag reflex and taking him all the way, and he can hear someone saying oh fuck oh fuck I’m cumming agh, please, I’m cumming, and he thinks its his own voice but he’s unsure. His eyes are squeezed shut, colors exploding behind his lids as he feels your tongue swirling over and over his sensitive cock, before the cool air surrounds it, telling him you’ve stopped completely.

When he opens his eyes, you have your head on his thigh, cheek pressed against the fabric, a lazy smile on your ruined lips.

“God,” he whispers, reaching for you, wanting you close, “That was—wow, you—come here, please.”

He watches as a flicker of surprise flits over your face, before you mask it with a giggle, “Good?” you murmur, tucking his soft cock into his pants before climbing on his lap again.

“Incredible.” He holds you tight, your slick only half dry on his fingers, the taste of him still on your tongue, “You’re incredible.”

You’re quiet, contemplative, and he presses a kiss to your neck, wanting to bring you out of whatever funk you’ve gone into, “Hey, what is it?” He’s almost terrified of the answer, worried you would pull away and leave him cold.

“I just didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.” you reply, eventually sinking into his arms. Your voice is soft when you say, “Most men aren’t.”

The thought of her having experiences doesn’t bother him; it’s the fact that they callously left her after that makes him tighten his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

“For the entirety of shitty men? You’d need more apologies than that,” you chuckle, fingers absently curling into his hair, “But thank you. This is— this is nice.”

“It is,” Spencer nods, leaning into your touch, eyes shut.

“You lost your glasses.”

“I did.”

Your laughter fills the air, “Hey, are you sleepy? You still have Morgan’s reports to finish.”

His eyes flutter open, a sheepish smile on his lips, “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can do this again.”

Spencer laughs, kissing your shoulder as he relents, “All right, all right.” That’s more than enough incentive to brave staring at the monitor again.

#spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #dr spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Waldorf!Reader #erika after midnight

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 months ago

Note

Since Dream BBQ released I got an idea. Can you do Meanie!ENA x Shy!Fem! Reader where reader is from the human world and works as ENA's salespartner. You can also add teasing/limes if you'd like.

Yay! First Ena request since 2021 (I think lol)

I'll leave out the last part so this is completely sfw

....................

"You know, I'm still impressed that you could understand all these people. Are language barriers just...nonexistent here?"

"Barriers? What a silly prospect, dearest." Ena chuckled as she looked at the list of jobs you were both assigned to carry out. "Let's proceed onwards. Everything we do will bring us one step closer to--turning off that goddamn smoke and giving the Boss a piece of my mind!!"

"Wah!" You jumped back in fright as her "meanie" side started yelling out of the blue, crushing the paper in her grasp.

Having known her for so long, you should be used to this being a daily occurrence...yet somehow she never fails to startle you.

"Did you forget the mission?! This isn't a date!! Put those squishy eyes to work and start looking for that last pet...or baby..or..or whatever!!"

"...y-yes ma'am." Sighing, you tried to shake off your nerves and search for the final trail of blood, not wanting to get her any angrier.

You weren't sure how you winded up together, or how you even got thrown into this strange world in the first place, but Ena was the first to find you. She dragged you into her "business", where you also met Froggy and learned more about what they did.

While you didn't fully understand everything, you knew this much: you've been going around doing favors for people who, for some reason, despised Ena's species. Even if you didn't know what they were saying, their general attitude towards her implies that she did something really, really terrible...or they could be mistaking another Ena's actions for hers.

But you didn't know anything about her past, nor what her kind might've did except exist, though it was through your intervention alone that helped most clients to calm down.

Sometimes, it was difficult for you to speak up given your shy demeanor, which hasn't quite left your personality even now. Although with time it got easier, and Ena helped you come out of that shell more and more.

Of course, you made sure clients fully paid you both for your services--but instead of using cash like you expected, the popular currency here was apparently "chocolates". They were edible, although Ena advised you to hold onto them.

So this was pretty much your new life, and somewhere down the line she became your girlfriend. Her "Salesperson" side loved you dearly and made sure you didn't put yourself in any danger, often speaking on your behalf.

The only problem was getting along with her Meanie side to where her outbursts didn't scare you anymore, and perhaps...you could uncover that bit of softness hiding behind her rough exterior.

That became your mission, and you hoped to make at least a little bit of progress if you're going through all of this trouble to find the Genies and convince them to clear the smoke.

After finding the last pet and bringing it back to Shoryo, you received a handful of chocolates. It was then you realized you've lost track of Ena and searched around the land, eventually finding her near the bridge.

A ratlike person was seemingly guarding it, hoarding different things and looking very alarmed at her presence.

He began yelling in Italian, stomping around and flailing his arms about until suddenly--

He collapsed, fainting much like a goat would when startled. But he stopped moving entirely, and Ena just stared down at him.

"What the hell? I was gone for five minutes!" Mortified, you rushed over and kneeled down. "Sir, can you hear me? Are you-?"

"Don't even tell me you were gonna say "alright". What does it look like?!"

"We have to help him, Ena." Looking up, you saw Meanie's expression remain unchanged, and you sighed. "Please. I know the lost witch probably went over this bridge, but..it feels wrong to cross without his permission."

"....."

"Pretty please?"

"....ugh fine. Let me at him." With a huff, she urged you to move aside while she somehow magically revived the hoarder, who seldom thanked you both and apologized for his outburst.

The stresses of his work were creeping up on him, and apparently he was growing paranoid of the purple villager who stood on a nearby decrepit building, convinced they were scheming to take his "property".

So he tasked--or demanded, rather--that you covered their eyes with something.

Eventually, your aimless wandering led you to a small green alien who was trapped within a bubblegum vending machine with three legs. They were eager to sell you products, but after recognizing Ena, they seemed frightened and insisted they couldn't sell anything to her.

"Okay, now you're being ridiculous." You frowned. "You have something we want, and we're trying to-"

"Guys, guys! Wait!!"

Turning to your girlfriend, you could see Meanie's eyes growing wide--as though she was terrified of something. Her head was spinning, her limbs discombobulating.

It was unlike anything you've seen before. "Ena..?"

"I'M NOT DOING WHAT YOU SAY I'M DOING!!" She yelled out. "I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING!! I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING AT ALL-!"

"Ena! Hey. Hey."

Feeling hands on her shoulders, she suddenly looked at you. Her eyes were still wide, but she had seemingly returned to reality as she calmed down. "[Y/n]?"

"Yeah, it's me." You reassured, moving to take her shaking hands into yours. "You're alright. I believe you."

"........"

Somehow, the vending machine alien was moved by your words, and allowed her to buy one thing and one thing only: mayonnaise that was apparently good for the eyes, but you both knew what to do with it.

Before setting off to complete the hoarder's request, you wandered around a bit to see if anybody else needed help.

But you kept thinking back to Ena's apparent panic attack and stopped for a moment, clearing your throat. "So...um-"

"You heard nothing."

"....did you even know what I was gonna-?"

"Don't back-sass me, sweetheart!" She spun around to face you angrily, fists shaking. "You wanna walk the road alone?!"

"No." You put your hands up in defense. "I'd....much rather walk it with you. Wherever it might lead us, I hope we can face it together."

Meanie blinked, surprised by your words. They sounded so sweet, so endearing...and it made a slight blush rise to that specific side of her face. "Ugh....y-you're lucky you're cute." She grumbled, handing you the paper. "Let's just go find that bug-eyed moron and be done with this."

"Alright." Nodding, you led the way, although occasionally you'd glance back at your girlfriend to see her geometric claws trying to cover up the blush--to no avail. You smiled sweetly, and she just stared at you, the burning sensation getting worse. "You know, you're not too bad, Meanie."

"What did you do to me? Why does my face feel like it's on fire??"

"It's called "being bashful", honey. Humans feel that sometimes, especially around the person they love." You winked.

She just mumbled something unintelligible, her hat hiding her eyes from you, but you both kept continuing forward.

'Huh, there's a way to crack through that exterior after all..'

#clanask #anonymous #ena x reader #joel g ena x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #female reader #ena dream bbq

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webbedmirror · 4 months ago

Text

High King Phantom looked at his surroundings with narrowed eyes. He rarely responded to summonings, however, this one came with offerings—sacrifices—. It perked his interest, and not necessarily in a good way. The summoning circle was sloppy, the summoners were dressed in cheap matching cloaks, they seemingly were in a random abandoned apartment, and most importantly, he was surrounded by bodies.

Seven bodies surrounded the king, seven bodies sacrificed to Danny.

"Your majesty," a person—seemingly the leader— greeted with a bowed head, "It is an honor to be in your glorious presence." Glowing green eyes stared them down, but they did not receive a response. Ever arrogant, the mortal continued talking, "We have used three sacrifices to summon you, and we hope to use the other four to strike a deal with me."

Phantom could not help but sneer. "You want to use the other four for a deal? You lot already seemed to be idiotic and somehow manage to anger me further." The summoners flinched, some preparing to flee. The king would not allow that to happen, a light tap of his foot and the floor was covered in frost, freezing the summoners in place.

"These people are dead, they are under my domain, they are my subjects. You want to give me something that is already mine?" Phantom yelled. "Even if you offered them to me when they were alive, what use would I have for them? I have trillions if not quadrillions of undead under my rule. Do you understand what that means? That is over a thousand times more people living on your planet. What do four or fuck— seven lives mean to me? Your sacrifices mean nothing to me, all you've done is needlessly kill your own kind!"

His words left the summoners speechless; it seemed they underestimated the king's power. They couldn't help but cower, a chilling, heart-pounding fear now embedded in them.

"Where is the tome you used?" Phantom was met with silence. "Do not make me repeat myself!"

"It- it's over there, your- your majesty," someone spoke up, shakily pointing a finger to a bag in the back of the room.

Phantom telekinetically brought the bag towards him, carelessly throwing things out the bag before finding the tome. He flipped through the book, quickly scanning it before freezing it solid. He raised the book high and then threw it onto the floor. Both the ice and book shattered like glass, becoming such small particles that one couldn't even hope to recover and put back together the tome.

"Now then, what should I do with you all?"

"I can take care of the rest," a new voice spoke. Phantom looked at the knight—or perhaps, hero, but the lingering of Lady Gotham on the man made Phantom prioritize the fact that he was a knight— dressed in black and blue.

"This is my issue, knight. I have the right to deal with in any way I'd like."

The knight walked closer to him, steps confident despite the icy floor. "You may be right, but you are on human land, you aren't judge, jury, or executioner."

[]

Nightwing was late-late again, too slow, too sloppy, too careless, and people died, again and it was his fault. Bludhaven was his territory, his city, and he couldn't even properly defend it.

The vigilante forced himself to not look at the dead bodies, faces crumbled in pain, tear tracks still on their faces, and instead looked the king of the dead in the eye.

"What do the rules of humans mean to me, when I am more powerful than a human could even wish to be?" A seemingly light tap of the foot resulted in the tile beneath him to crumble and the room filled with the screams of the summoners.

He'd made a blunder; sleep deprivation was not helping him speak to high-ranking alien entities. "That doesn't make us any less significant, nor does that mean you need to invalidate our culture and government. I hope if you are a just ruler, that you would respect our planet and the way it governs."

The king frowned, glowing green eyes stared at him intensely. "Get them out of my sight and we'll see how I feel."

Nightwing nodded, putting the criminals in handcuffs under the king's scrutiny. Once the king had evaporated the frost, he tied them up and put them in another room whilst talking to a police operative. While the vigilante took care of the criminals, the ghost took care of the sacrifices. A wave of magic surrounded the bodies, one by one, and their faces changed into a peaceful look. Seven orbs surrounded the king, and he looked at them with a soft sadness that surprised Nightwing.

The king's eyes focused back on Nightwing. "You will make sure those people are prosecuted properly?"

Nightwing nodded, "Of course."

"Then it's time for me to leave. Thank you for your help."

"Wait!" the hero bowed his head. "I know this is probably not the best time, but you're the king of the dead right?"

[]

The knight looked back at him, full of desperation. "My baby brother died not long ago, I just need to know. . ."

Phantom softened, "If he's a knight like you, he should be fine in my realm."

"He was." the knight clenched his fists, "I just. . . I need to know for sure that he's okay, that he's going to stay okay, and that I'm sorry."

"I can keep an eye on him, ensure his safety, and pass along information so long as you are alive in exchange of you passing along the final messages of these seven and ensuring that they receive a funeral of their liking." Unfortunately, as much as he sympathized with the knight, so long as he was within the summoning circle he could not do things for free. Whilst he could break out of it, it would be a waste of energy and he was sure the knight would agree to the terms.

"Thank you."

"We have a deal, Sir . . ?"

"Nightwing. It's a deal, King. . ."

"Phantom. We have a deal."

For the first time in a while, Nightwing smiled-soft and watery, nonetheless, a smile.

"Then, goodbye, Nightwing. And do take care of yourself, you look like shit and I don't want you to become my subject before you complete your end of the deal."

[End.]

Wahoo! It's been a while since I've written something original-ish like this so do forgive any inconsistencies or mistakes. This is a oneshot and I most likely won't add onto it so I'm just going to spill some of the background/ideas/would-be-plans for this :]

This is set while Jason is dead but before Tim meets with Dick

Speaking of Tim, I feel like Dick would be nicer and not so guilty for pushing him to become Robin

Shortly after he comes back to the realms, Danny goes to find Jason and passes on Dick's sorry as well as receives the message Jason wants to give to Dick

If this were a multichapter fic it would be slow burn friends to lovers Death Defying

I'd imagine that Danny & Jason get a brotherly bond

Clockwork essentially tosses Danny at Jason's grave when it's time for Jason to resurrect

Jason won't (initially) have his memories of being dead, but like post resurrection he doesn't have a lot of memories in the first place sooo

Whilst Jason is dead, he is located in Infinite Realm!Gotham under the care of Lady Gotham so Danny doesn't have to monitor him 24/7 and only visits him every 2 weeks or to pass along messages

Danny and Dick bond in a weird fucked up way of Dick "It took me a month to learn about Jason's death because I was off-planet and Bruce didn't tell me anything" and Danny "It took months for my sister to learn I was dead and years for my parents to learn about it and we lived under the same roof so you're off to a better start."

Oh, Nightwing isn't thinking straight because of Jason's death and his lack of coping mechanisms. I don't think I did a great job of showing that but that's why he's making a deal without hesitation

#dpxdc #dcxdp #oneshot #death defying #dc x dp crossover

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wheresarizona · 4 months ago

Text

Learning to Live Part 35

summary: It’s your wedding night, and you’re finally alone with your husband in the privacy of your hotel suite. Not that you care much about privacy when things get hot and heavy on the balcony.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, explicit smut, age gap (about ten years), two extremely horny newlyweds, Husband Javier Peña, dirty talk, oral sex (f + m receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), rough sex, loud balcony sex, exhibitionism, romantic bathtub sex, BREEDING KINK (so much), praise kink, marriage kink, love kink, ring kink, drinking, being buzzed, love confessions, body worship, body insecurity (and Javier making you feel better), cuteness aggression, relationship insecurity, romantic comedy, domestic bliss, Javier with kids, a new POV)

word count: 20k+

a/n: Hey! I hope you remember me. Lmao Let me just say the last six months have been literal hell, and my life is still in shambles. On a positive note, I’m no longer working 60-80 hours a week, and I now have time to write. A couple of notes about this chapter. It takes place in January of 1999. With inflation, $150 in 1999 would be $300 today. A big thanks to @devineconjuring for betaing! Also, thank you to @juletheghoul for checking out my Spanish. Thank you for reading!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The San Agustín de Laredo Historic District, located downtown along the banks of the Rio Grande River, was where the original city of Laredo was established in 1755. The area had many buildings dating back to the 1800s, like the district’s namesake, San Agustín Cathedral—a place you were familiar with as it happened to be the church Chucho and many members of your new family attended and was where he married your mother-in-law some forty-plus years ago.

La Posada was the fanciest hotel in town since it offered room service and had valet parking. It was just down and across the old, narrow brick road from your family’s church. The tall, white bell tower could even be seen looming high in the sky from the hotel’s entrance.

The inn, opened in 1961, had its own rich history as it occupied the original high school building that was constructed back in 1916 and was surrounded by some 19th-century structures—one was a former convent, and another was the Capitol building for the short-lived Republic of the Rio Grande. Most of the buildings in the area showed Spanish and Mexican influences, including the hotel, with its rounded arches at entryways and windows, thick stucco coating the outer walls, and many balconies, courtyards, columns, and elaborately carved doors.

Javi could’ve rented you a regular room at La Posada or even something at the Motel 6 off the highway, and you would’ve been happy as a clam. Your dear, sweet, wonderful husband, however, didn’t think either of those options was good enough for you and somehow managed to book the ever-elusive Presidential Suite; this was the room that a person with any kind of notoriety stayed in when they were passing through the Rio Grande Valley—think B-list celebrities, like Matthew McConaughey, or campaigning politicians.

Most of the hotel was only two stories high, but one stretch had a third level dedicated to a few luxury suites, including where you were staying. Through the double doors of your one-bedroom accommodations was a small entryway that led to the living room featuring a built-in bar—a shelf with a variety of liquors, a countertop with different kinds of glasses, and a cocktail shaker—a sitting area with an entertainment system, and French doors that opened to a private balcony that had views of Mexico across the river. There was a kitchenette, a four-person dining table, and a half bath. Through another set of double doors, the bedroom had a massive two-postered king-size bed, an en suite containing an oversized whirlpool tub, and a shower that could easily fit two people. Every room had beamed ceilings, the wall connected to another suite was made of brick, the color scheme of everything stuck to earthy tones that complemented the exposed beams and wooden furniture, and the art on the walls depicted beautiful river scenery.

No matter how many times you asked, your husband refused to reveal how much two nights in such splendor put him back.

And here you were in the bedroom, you and Javi stripped of your formal attire on the bed that he had the forethought to put a towel down on to keep things from getting too messy. You could not stop yourself from loudly moaning at how good it was; your husband had you in heaven with how he was filling you up, and you were finally at the point of feeling stuffed.

He was beside you, so close your bodies touched. “Yeah?” Javi purred. "You like that? You want more?"

You had to swallow before you could speak, shaking your head as you replied, “God, it’s so good, but I don’t want to get sick.”

“Okay, baby.” He kissed your cheek. “Relax while I clean up.”

Your husband carefully took the paper plate that you had practically licked clean of every crumb of wedding cake and the plastic fork you’d been using. Sitting crisscross on the mattress, you were dressed the same as Javier in nothing but a big, white, fluffy, hotel-provided bathrobe. On the towel in front of you were two more sets of dirtied plates and utensils from the leftovers the two of you ate, which Javi picked up as he got off the bed, heading out of the room to the small kitchen to dispose of them.

Earlier, when your husband revealed the surprise that you’d be staying in this suite for two nights, he told you all of the places in the room he planned to fuck you. From those promises, you imagined that he would toss you onto the bed upon arriving here and have his way with you. What actually happened was you got to the door, and Javi made you laugh when he lifted you over his shoulder like a caveman and carried you across the rented room’s threshold. He did throw you onto the big bed, where the two of you made out for some minutes. It just didn’t go any further because your sweetheart of a husband was aware you were hungry, and that made his biggest priority getting you comfortable and feeding you. So, the first thing he did was strip you out of your dress, the man unable to keep himself from taking a couple of minutes to admire the lacy thong you’d been wearing before he got you naked and had you join him in the shower. Aside from some groping and a little kissing, there was hardly any fooling around since he was so focused on taking care of you, which was sweet.

After that, Javi heated up some of the food from your wedding that the Murphys were kind enough to drop off prior to your arrival since they were staying at the same hotel, and the two of you had a little feast on the bed. Now you were nice and full, but not overly so that you felt sick, just enough that you were relaxed and a little sleepy—a food coma, if you will.

Many pillows were on the bed, and you moved some behind you to prop yourself up and lie back on. You grabbed your almost-empty complimentary bottle of water from the mattress beside you, unscrewed the cap, and took a drink.

“Cielito?” your husband called from the other room. “Do you want anything else to drink?”

The options included the bottle of champagne the hotel gifted you to celebrate your marriage, something from the living room bar, tap water, or the two of you could trek to the floor below to raid the vending machine in nothing but your robes and the slippers that were with them when you got there.

His question made you smile as you re-capped your water, stretching your arm to set the bottle on the bedside table. “No, babe,” you answered loud enough for him to hear. “I’m good—get back in here!”

He returned seconds later, his knees sinking into the mattress as he crawled onto it, smiling. Javi made his way over to you, and when he was at your left side, he wormed his arm behind your back, the other over your front to hold you close, his head nestled on your robe-covered chest. After getting comfortable, he sighed happily, closing his eyes with a little smile on his lips.

“Javi?”

“Yes, mi esposa (my wife)?”

The title made your spine tingle.

“God, I’ll never tire of you calling me that.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ll never tire of calling you it, my beautiful wife.” He quickly kissed over your heart, then rested his head on you again. “What were you gonna ask?”

“Oh, right. I know we should be having the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man right now—” Javi snorted. “—but, since we just ate, are you cool with us hanging out for a little bit while the food digests?”

“Are you okay with cuddling, or am I hurting your stomach?” He lifted his arm off your belly.

“Cuddling sounds wonderful.” You lowered his arm back to where it was, resting your palm on his wrist.

“Okay.” He nuzzled you with his face. “Would you, uh, want to play with my hair…?”

“You can bet your cute little ass I do.” That made him chuckle. Your fingers pressed into his hair, playing with the soft strands and lightly scratching at his scalp, which earned you a noise from the back of his throat that came close to a purr.

“How was your day?” you asked.

“Fucking amazing. How about yours?”

“Fucking amazing, though talk about our bad sex luck—which reminds me, thank god your dad does his laundry on Saturdays. When we return the Mustang, I need you to distract him while I disinfect his laundry room.”

Javi groaned at the reminder of hearing his cousin and your best friend Robyn fucking in said room. “I don't wanna think about that.”

“And you think I do? I just don’t want our father coming across a condom wrapper, or god forbid a used condom, when he goes to do his chores. You know as well as I do that he’d tell his sisters, and it’d be the chisme (gossip) everyone is talking about Sunday at tía María’s.”

Your hand was still on his head, curling strands of his hair absentmindedly around your pointer finger.

“Los chismosos (The gossipers),” he grumbled. “Hold on, why do we care if he finds evidence someone fucked in there?”

“Um, because they’ll all assume it was us, and I do not feel like announcing to our entire family that I exclusively get rawed and creampied.”

“Why would you announce that…?”

“Do you want everyone to think we’re horny newlyweds who fucked in a laundry room because they couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home?”

“We are horny newlyweds who couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home. We almost did fuck in that laundry room.”

“Sure, except if we had, we wouldn’t have left behind any evidence. We’re not sloppy, thank you very much. I mean, I know a lot about Robyn’s sex life—like a lot—but I don’t know how discreet she is. So, we’ll need to make sure nothing was left behind.”

“I say, if they’re gonna be rude and leave shit behind, we just throw them under the bus…”

Your hand stopped moving in his hair.

“You mean the woman who convinced me to let you fuck my ass?” you asked. “The woman who’s held down the fort while you and I fooled around on my lunch countless times? The woman who covered while I got you off in an on-call room at the hospital? The woman who has had our backs so many times I’ve lost count? That’s the woman you wish to throw under a bus?”

There was a pause, and you heard him gulp.

“I’ll tell Pop that I think one of the Mustang’s tires is low on air,” he replied, “so he has to go with me outside while you take care of the crime scene.”

His response had you smiling. “Thank you,” you said, leaning forward to kiss his head.

You resumed playing with his hair.

“No need to thank me. You, uh, had some good points.”

“I know I did.”

“I haven’t had a chance to see your nails.” His hand moved to grab yours that’d been on his wrist, bringing it up to his face to look at your white-tipped fingernails. “Look at those, they’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It’s a French manicure, and I thought they’d look really good with my dresses.”

“They’re perfect.” He kissed the back of your hand and continued holding it when his arm relaxed over your stomach again.

For a minute, it was quiet as you both lay there, your fingers slipping through the soft brown waves on his head in comfortable silence.

“Did I tell you what Olivia said before they left?” Javi asked.

“Um, I don’t think so?”

“She confused the fuck out of me—she thinks I play baseball.”

“What?”

“She gave me a pep talk…?” he said it like a question.

“A pep talk? About what?”

“Something about how she knows I secretly play baseball and that I shouldn’t be embarrassed I’m bad at it because I’ll get better the more I practice. To be honest, it was adorable, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t play.”

“That is extremely random. Why would she think you play baseball?”

“I have no fucking clue. I’ve been thinking back on my conversations with her, and I don’t think we’ve ever talked about baseball.”

“Maybe she misremembered something or misunderstood something her parents said? No clue why Steve and Connie would be talking about you and baseball, though.”

“I don’t know, either. They’re both aware I’m a swimmer and played some soccer.”

“True. Who knows where Olivia got the idea.” You shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah…”

“It’s gonna bother the fuck out of you until you figure it out, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

“We’ll ask Steve and Connie tomorrow at dinner, Detective Peña.” The Murphys were flying home the following evening, and the plan was to have an early dinner at the hotel restaurant before they left.

“Okay, Mrs. Detective Peña.”

“Oh my god!” you gasped. “I am Mrs. Detective Peña now!” you replied excitedly.

“Yes, you are.” The smile was evident in his voice. “You’re my wife.”

“Yes, I am, and you are my husband.”

“The best fucking thing anyone has called me.”

His response had you smiling.

It sometimes caught you off guard how much Javier loved you since the love you felt for him ran so deep that it consumed every fiber of your being. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could love you the same, not when your heart was more his than yours, yet Javi did. His devotion knew no bounds, and he saw you for everything you were and loved you despite it all—to him, you were perfection. No one would ever love you more, and you would never love anyone else more because he was yours, and you were his; fate, destiny, the writing in the stars led you to each other, and now your lives were so intertwined that his heart was your heart, his hands were your hands, his smile was your smile, he belonged to you as you belonged to him.

Enough time had passed for the food in your stomach to settle, and now you could acknowledge the want burning low in your belly, making your pussy drip with arousal. Something about how happy Javi was that he vowed to spend the rest of his existence with you was such a big turn-on that it was time for things to heat up so you could give him the sloppiest blow job to show your appreciation—except, you wanted it to be spicier than usual.

“My wonderful, perfect husband?”

“Yes, my wonderful, perfect wife?”

“You know what we should do right now?”

“Depends—has your food digested?”

“Yep.”

Javi jostled you as he moved his arm from under your back, rising up on it in order to meet your eyes, his plush lips smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. “In that case, have the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man?” And it became evident you’d been together a while when he wiggled his eyebrows at you as you’d done to him many times before.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, playfully pushing his shoulder.

“That isn’t a no,” he pointed out.

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head. “But I was thinking we could get some fresh air out on the balcony.” It was your turn to wag your brows at him. Javi chuckled, giving you a big smile.

“Champagne?” he asked. “Or should I get out the salt and limes for tequila?”

“The room came with salt and limes…?”

“No—I brought the salt, limes, and our bottle of tequila from the apartment.”

He also brought you both overnight bags and somehow smuggled your toiletries out of his dad’s house–you’d taken them to Chucho’s the prior night when you stayed over, and you were pretty sure it was Connie who did the smuggling. She probably had Steve deliver your little bag with the food before he returned to their room, which Javi assured you was on the other side of the hotel and out of hearing range to your suite.

Your eyes rounded. “Because you knew I’d need liquid courage to fuck around outside?”

He gave you a look like the answer was obvious. “Yeah?”

“That is so unbelievably romantic. Horny, but romantic.” Grabbing a handful of his robe, you pulled him forward as you leaned toward him, slotting your lips with his, kissing him; he smelled like the floral rose petal-scented shampoo he used in the shower, and he tasted sweet from the bites of wedding cake you shared with him.

When you broke apart, you were both smiling.

“You get the goods,” you told him, “and I’ll meet you outside—I gotta pee really quick.”

“Okay,” he replied and pecked you on the nose.

The bathroom was on the other side of the room, which meant you had to go around the bed after you got off of it, Javi following you and smacking your ass. There wasn’t much of a smack with the thick robe in the way, but it still made you giggle. He headed for the bedroom door, and as you continued your journey to the en suite, something shiny on his bedside table caught your attention and made you frown.

“Babe?”

He hadn’t left the room yet, standing at the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Does the gun have to hang out on your table, or can we put it in a drawer or something?” It was Chucho’s small revolver that he kept in the Mustang. Your husband didn’t want to risk it being stolen, so he brought it up to the room.

“Put it in the drawer.”

“Is it safe to touch…?” Unlike Javi, you did not have a lot of experience with firearms aside from treating many gunshot wounds when you worked in a big city emergency room.

“Would I ask you to touch it if it wasn’t safe?”

“No…”

“Exactly. The safety’s on.”

“That’s good,” you replied and moved closer. “I was worried about you shooting your cute little butt off when you shoved it in the back of your pants.” It was bewildering when he got out of the car and casually tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks.

A huff of air left his nose. “Fifteen years with the DEA, and I never shot myself in the ass.”

Opening the drawer, the only thing in it was a bible. You carefully picked up the revolver by its grip with two fingers like an old, smelly sock and set it atop the book. “Yeah,” you replied, “‘cause you had the sexy tac-vest-thingy with the holster on the front.”

“I didn’t always wear a tac-vest...”

“What?” you replied, shutting the drawer and spinning around to face him. His fluffy, white robe reached down to mid-thigh on him, and it was tied closed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “So, you’d wear a holster on your hip?” you asked.

You thought back to the pictures you’d seen of your husband in Colombia, trying to remember if he was wearing a holster in any of them.

His expression turned guilty. “No…”

The realization hit you. “A butt gun, Javier? You’d just walk around with a gun at your ass? That is not safe.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “The safety was on?”

“Okay? But even with the safety on, it’s still dangerous. I had so many people come through my ER because they didn’t properly holster their weapons. One dude had it in the front of his waistband, and when he went to pull it out, it accidentally discharged into his thigh and hit his femoral artery—dead on arrival.” Javi grimaced. “And don’t get me started on all of the butts I had to look at and treat because they carried like you and weren’t as lucky. Do you think I enjoy looking at strangers' butts?”

“I mean…”

“Us checking out bootylicious babes in San Antonio and Miami does not count, Javier. These butts I had to look at for work were mostly men’s butts, and I can tell you right now, they were not anywhere close to how cute yours is, and dear god, were a lot of them hairy—which, I am so thankful you are not a super hairy guy, and I really do appreciate that you trim your pubes.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He shrugged.

Your eyes lowered to his crotch, picturing what the white garment covered, your mouth watering at the thought of blowing him. Javi cleared his throat to get your attention, your eyes snapping up to his that sparkled in adoration.

“What were we talking about?” you asked.

Javi snorted. “You were getting on my ass about how I carry a gun.”

“Oh, yes—stop being dumb and protect what little ass you have.”

Javier was not going to reveal that there was a gun in the back of his waistband most of the time they went horseback riding.

“I’ll start using a holster,” he said. “But, if we’re going out on Pop’s land, you can’t complain if you see me carrying; I know guns make you uncomfortable, but our safety is more important.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders shrugged.

His eyebrows pulled together—he was expecting more resistance. “Really?”

“Yeah? You told me about all of the dangerous animals out there, and I’ll feel safer if you’re packing—that’s packing as in a gun on your person, not the big dick in your pants.” She winked at him, and Javier huffed in amusement.

“Thank you for the clarification. You’re taking this a lot better than I expected…”

She walked up to him with a grin and threw her arms around his neck, Javier immediately pulling her into him. “It’s marriage, baby,” she said. “We gotta compromise sometimes.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, his head moving forward to rub the tip of her nose with his. He whispered, “Does that mean you’ll let me teach you how to shoot?” Something she’s always refused.

“I don’t know—will it make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then fine, you can teach me.”

He pulled back to look at her. “Really?”

“Yes, because I am an amazing wife who loves my husband dearly.”

He grinned. “You’re a fucking incredible wife whose husband loves you more than anything.”

Javier didn’t give her a chance to respond; his lips crushed into hers, kissing her tenderly, hoping she could feel how happy she made him.

She really was a fucking incredible wife.

When they parted, he gave her another smack on the ass and told her to hurry, his wife giggling as they went their separate ways.

The balcony was covered, with a beamed ceiling overhead and walls on either end to offer some semblance of privacy—the railing was made of wrought iron, the vertical bars twisting like vines into delicate loops and swirls. The only furniture out there was a wooden bistro table situated against the stucco-coated wall with two armless chairs on both sides facing the river. The outdoor light was too bright, and Javier thought it would bring too much attention to them, so he settled on what light filtered out from the living room through the French doors’ windows and the brightness of the moon in the clear sky, illuminating the space in a gentle glow.

He was sitting back in one of the chairs, his legs slightly spread and his arm resting on the table beside him. On the tabletop was the half-drunk bottle of tequila, ziplock bag of cut-up lime wedges, and salt shaker he brought from their apartment, along with a shot glass he grabbed from their rented room’s bar that he washed himself to ensure it was clean.

The night air was cool and a little crisp as he looked out toward the Rio Grande, where, in the distance, he could see the lights of Nuevo Laredo across the way in Mexico. For some unknown reason—maybe being outside or how emotional the day was—Javier was craving a cigarette; even after quitting almost two years ago, he still felt the itch for nicotine here and there, and he’d done pretty well not giving in to the temptation, mainly because there was someone in his life now who distracted him from it. The French doors opened, and immediately, his head was turning in their direction to see his wife coming out.

His beautiful distraction.

He couldn’t keep himself from smiling even if he tried. She looked so comfortable in her robe that matched his, her face lighting up when her eyes landed on him. Her expression took him back to the first time he saw that beaming smile after she handed him the perfect tomato: that was the moment she pulled him in and made him want to know more about the sweet woman who was easily excitable over fresh produce. It was like meeting the sun—bright, warm, happy, and he wanted to bask in her rays and see that smile every day for the rest of his life. Better yet, he wanted to be the reason for that smile, and now he was proud to say he was.

Only a couple of minutes had passed since the last time he saw her, and when she made it over to him, she asked, “Is this seat taken?” She nodded at his knee closest to her, and without waiting for his answer, she sat down on his thigh with her legs between his and her arms around his neck, Javier pulling her closer.

His head was tilted up to look at her, his hand reaching to cradle her face in his palm, staring her in the eyes, smiling.

“I’ve got something else you can sit on,” he said.

“Javier,” she gasped. Her fingers went to his forehead, brushing stray strands of his hair off of it. “I’m gonna need a shot first, maybe two—actually, two for sure, no more than three because, as we know, one shot, two shot, three shot, four-the-love-of-god-stop-crying.”

He chuckled. “Two shots then, pero, quiero que mi esposa me bese primero (but, I want my wife to kiss me first).”

“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband).”

Javier couldn’t get enough of her calling him that.

He pulled her down until their lips were a hair's breadth apart. “Dilo otra vez (Say it again),” he rasped.

“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband),” she whispered.

“¿Quién soy yo (Who am I)?”

“Mi esposo (My husband).”

“Sí, chingados que soy (Yes, I fucking am),” he growled, pressing his mouth to hers.

The kiss was anything but chaste with how Javier plunged his tongue between her perfect lips to tangle with hers. His heartbeat sped up, the blood pumping through his heated body and traveling to his hardening cock. He moved his hand from her face down to her bare knee, tracing his fingertips up under her robe over the soft skin of her thigh to her ass to squeeze a handful of it.

There wasn’t the same pent-up need like their kiss in the Mustang when he parked them in the field. This one was instead full of promise for their night ahead, making the anticipation swell that they could now take their time and truly enjoy each other since they already dealt with the sexual frustration of being cockblocked multiple times when they were frantic in the car.

Javier savored the feeling of her mouth on his, how their tongues intertwined, and the sweet taste of her lips. He savored her moans and her fingers combing up through the hair from the nape of his neck to the back of his head, where she clutched it tight in her fists; sparks danced along his spine and collected at the base of it, feeding the fire of his arousal that had him half-hard already and wanting to touch more of his wife’s body.

His wife. His beautiful, smart, sexy, amazing wife.

They kissed until they were breathless, both panting when they separated. He nibbled on her chin, his mouth blazing a path along the underside of her jaw until he was at the taut skin of her neck, nipping and kissing down the column of it.

“Oh, god,” she gasped when he sucked at her pulse point, and it made him smile. She lightly tugged his head back by the hair to make him look at her. “Shots.”

“Yeah?” He squeezed her ass.

“Fuck yes.”

“Okay, baby. Ladies first.”

He got his arm out from behind her back, his other hand leaving her ass as his upper body twisted slightly toward the table to grab the bottle of tequila, unscrewing the cap and pouring the liquor into the clear shot glass. Then he opened the bag of limes and picked up the salt shaker, his attention returning to her.

“Where do you want the salt?” Usually, a pinch was licked off the hand between the thumb and forefinger, but he had other ideas for his turn.

She worked open the tie on his robe and pushed it away to reveal his chest, his arm going back behind her again to give her room. “Here,” she said, bending her head to lave at his nipple with her tongue.

“Fuck,” Javier breathed, swallowing hard—it looked like she had the same idea.

While she sprinkled the salt on him, he took a lime wedge out of the bag and gently bit the rind, holding it between his teeth.

Cielito set the shaker down to grab the shot glass and raised it. “Fuck the leather, fuck the lace, here’s to the one who sits on your face!”

The only reason he didn’t laugh was because immediately after she spoke, her face dipped down to suck the salt off his nipple—the shock of pleasure had the muscles in his thighs tensing. She quickly drank the tequila, her face pinching at the burn before she bit the lime out of his mouth.

The glass was back on the table, his wife setting the remnants of the fruit she sucked the juice from next to it.

“Woo!” she exclaimed. “One down, one to go.” She untied her robe and opened it, Javier’s eyes lowering to her bare tits.

His hand moved on its own accord, skating his large palm up her stomach to fondle her breast. He could hear her say something but didn’t make out the words. Her smaller hand came into view, and the snapping of her fingers ended his trance—he looked up at her. “Sorry?” he said.

She smiled. “I asked where you want the salt.”

“I think you know where I want the salt.” His tongue swiped along his bottom lip at the thought of getting his mouth on her tits.

“That’s why the robe is open.” She winked. “My guess was boobies or neck, and I see you’ve chosen the boobies, a tit for tit.”

“Don’t you mean a ‘tit for tat’?”

“No.” She shook her head. “A tit for tit works better in this situation.”

“I am so in love with you.”

“Good, ‘cause I am so in love with you.”

He took her breast into his palm and leaned his head forward, sucking her stiff nipple into his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat, the fingers on one of her hands going into his hair. Javier came off of her with a wet pop, her skin shining with his saliva. He shook some salt onto her, then poured himself a shot as she got a lime wedge.

“I expect a good toast,” she said. “No, ‘salud.’ Give me something raunchy that you and your guy friends would say in college, or you and Steve in Colombia.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Something raunchy Steve would say? The guy who doesn’t like us kissing in front of his kids?”

“Okay, you know what. The moment I said Steve, I realized the raunchiest thing he’d say before you guys drank would be cheers or bottoms up if he was feeling a bit scandalous. There’s gotta be shit you and your friends in college would say, though.”

He picked up the tiny glass that looked even smaller in his hand compared to hers and took a moment to think about what he could say. He’d never been much into toasting, and in college, they usually drank to getting laid or winning a swim meet. There was something he overheard years ago, down in Colombia, that an American tourist said that stuck with him. He just had to remember the wording…

She had the lime ready for him between her teeth, and he lifted the shot. “Here’s to love, here’s to honor; if you can’t come in her, come on her!”

Cielito was doing her best not to laugh. He sucked the salt off of her breast and shot back the tequila, the mineral lessening the initial burn—it was smooth with a sweetness of flavors, picking up vanilla and caramel and a hint of something oaky that was washed away by the sourness of the lime when he bit into it. The glass went back onto the table, along with used rind.

He looked at his wife. “How was that?” he asked, his hand around her back, squeezing her hip.

“Very good. I loved the play on words.”

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled at him. “Fucking amazing. Ready for round two?”

Javier mirrored her expression. “Where do you want the salt?”

This time, she salted his neck, and when she raised the glass, she said, “To us: may all of our ups and downs be in bed!”

Once again, he didn’t have a chance to chuckle before her tongue was licking up the sensitive skin of his neck, his eyes closing at how good it felt. The alcohol was warm in his belly, and he knew it’d take one more shot before he felt any of its effects—his wife would be feeling it any minute now.

For his turn, he chose her neck as well—a ‘tit for tit.’ He lifted the shot glass, keeping his gaze on hers, another lime wedge in her mouth for him. “To my wife, who I love more than anything. You are my forever and have made me the happiest man in the entire fucking world. This isn’t the best day of my life—it’s only one of them because I know there are many more ahead of us. Te amo, mi Cielito (I love you, my Cielito).”

Her eyes were misty, and he went through the steps—lick, drink, suck—she leaned his way, and he closed the distance, his tongue licking up the salty trail on her throat before he drank the tequila, then sucked the lime from between her lips. The moment her mouth was empty, she said, “Javier, how dare you say something so sweet when my toasts were gross.”

He spit the rind out onto the table with the others, the glass going bottom-up beside them. His hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. “I meant it all,” he replied, smashing his lips to hers.

His mouth muffled her moan—taking advantage of her parted lips, he licked inside, tasting the lime and sweet hints of tequila, their tongues dancing together as they had countless times before. His free hand gravitated to her tits, roughly palming one, then the other, pinching and rolling each of her pebbled nipples with his fingers.

Javier loved her breathy sounds.

The alcohol’s warmth was spreading through his body, his dick hard and throbbing, barely covered by his robe. His wife gave as good as she got, and she made him groan when she freed his length and wrapped her fingers around him, slowly pumping him up and down.

It was starting to heat up, and there was a list of things he wanted to do, but first, he needed to ensure she was comfortable. He detached his lips from hers, kissing the edge of her mouth, his nose bumping into hers.

“You good?” he asked. “Or another shot?”

“I’m good,” you answered and kissed his plush lips.

The booze had you feeling warm and tamped down your nerves. You were good, you were more than good, your cunt weeping with your need for him.

With the way your husband had been obsessing about eating your pussy all night, you knew that was the first thing he’d want to do, and you were curious to find out what he planned—was he going to sit you in the chair and get on his knees for you? Bend you over the railing and eat you out from the back? Or put you in the position he had you in earlier when you were interrupted, with your back against the wall and him kneeling at your feet? It was honestly a toss-up on what he would choose. Luckily, he didn’t make you wait long.

Javi’s mouth broke away from yours, grabbing your hand that was on him, ordering you, “Up.” You didn’t waste any time, rising to stand in front of him. He grunted as he got up with you, the seat creaking from his movements; he was so close to you that your bodies touched, your palm still in his—he tugged it to make you face him and have you chest to chest.

His eyes were dark with lust when they met yours. “I fucking need you,” he rasped, and suddenly those big mitts of his were framing your face, his lips finding yours. This kiss was fervent, urgent, his need evident as he turned you away from the table and backed you up into the wall beside the chair.

From how passionately he claimed your lips, it seemed his words had a double meaning: he needed you physically at this moment and needed you always in his life. He needed you in every way there was, and wasn’t it the same for you with him? You needed him in every way there was, too. Not only that, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to breathe without him; would your heartbeat cease without him? These were questions you never wanted to learn the answers to.

With your robed back pressed to the stucco wall, it was apparent he wanted to finish what he started earlier, and you were happy to oblige. The glow from the lights in the living room trickling out through the French doors’s windows, along with the moonlight, softly lit the balcony. Thankfully, it wasn’t bright enough for anyone to make out what was going on if they happened to look, and that, added with the tequila, eased any worries you had.

Your robe was untied, Javi shoving it open to reveal your entire naked front, the cool air causing goosebumps to prickle on your warm skin, your nipples to tighten. He kissed you hard one last time and then began his journey down your body. Earlier, when you arrived at the room, your husband was so focused on taking care of you that he didn’t get a chance to take his time to admire your bare figure—something you could tell he wanted to do badly when he was undressing you. Now, he could, the man worshiping you with his lips and hands, kissing and touching every bit of flesh he came into contact with; his palms mapped out your belly and hips, his mouth trailing down your neck to your chest, Javier whispering into your skin as he went, “You’re beautiful… you’re so fucking beautiful… I’m so lucky… fuck, I love you.”

He took your breasts into his hands, his head lowering to suck one of your pebbled buds into his mouth. The pleasure had you gasping and needing to touch him, your palms sliding under his robe to hold onto his waist. His teeth grazed over your stiff peak before he lightly bit it and tugged, making you loudly moan his name; he let it go and moved to the other, enveloping it in the warmth of his mouth, giving it the same attention.

Arousal was coating your inner thighs, the anticipation welling up inside of you—you wanted Javi’s face buried in your pussy as much as he wanted to do it.

Once he gave your tits an ample amount of attention, leaving your nipples and the skin around them glossy with spit, he continued making his way down the front of your body. As he lowered, so did his lips, his kisses all over your stomach imbued with his words of love. “So beautiful… I can’t wait to see you pregnant… you’re gonna look so good with my baby inside you… I love you so fucking much… you make me so happy.”

Even after all this time you’ve been together with Javi, it was still hard to accept that he truly found you beautiful. You knew he meant everything he said, but there were parts of your body you hated, parts that you could still recall word-for-word the negative comments your mother made about them, parts that were far from perfect that you couldn’t believe anyone would ever love. Except, there was someone who did love them—Javi. He genuinely loved every part of you, and he loved them all so reverently and with such conviction—like if he loved them enough, you would, too.

Maybe that would happen; maybe he’d help you break through the years of insecurity, and you would learn to love your imperfections—only time would tell. For now, you were finally to a point where you believed your husband when he told you how beautiful you were, and with his excitement over eventually seeing you pregnant, he’d helped calm your fears about the changes your body would go through.

He kneeled in front of you, grabbing handfuls of your ass while he placed a kiss on your mound. He put your leg over his shoulder to open you up, his fingers spreading apart your lower lips where you knew he could see how wet you were for him.

“Finally,” he whispered, and that was all the warning you got before Javi dove in face first, the flat of his tongue licking up your slit. He had you biting your lip and curling your fingers into the soft strands of his hair, making you keen when he started lapping at your perky little clit.

“Oh, god,” you breathed.

No one ate pussy like Javier—it was like he was starving for it, the rumbling groans he made as he dragged his mouth all over your cunt, wanting to taste every bit of your essence while inhaling your musk. His words vibrated against your cunt, “You taste so fucking good.”

“You’re too good at this,” you panted. The back of your head hit the wall, your eyes closing, moans falling unbidden from your lips as the first signs of your orgasm took shape low in your belly. “I’m so lucky,” you continued. “I can’t fucking believe I get this for the rest of my life.”

For only a second, he paused. “Any time you want it,” he roughly replied. “Fucking love this pussy.” He then sucked on his ring and middle fingers to soak them in saliva. You whined his name when he pushed them into your sopping cunt. There was a slight stretch, Javi putting his mouth back to work, licking and sucking at your sensitive skin. His come—still inside you from earlier in the Mustang—and your arousal had his thick digits moving easily in and out of you, your hips grinding against his face and hand.

“Just like that,” you said. “Oh, god, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Your limbs were beginning to tremble as the pleasure built inside of you, and you cried out as his fingertips rubbed that one spot only he could find—that only seemed to encourage him. He growled into your pussy and doubled down, hitting nirvana every time he pumped his fingers, his mouth focusing on your clit, alternating between sucking it between his lips and flicking his tongue along it side to side, over and over again.

“Oh my fucking god, I love you,” you told him in your blissful haze. “I fucking love you, Javier Peña.”

He hummed something that sounded a lot like, “I love you, too.”

The muscles in your stomach started tightening, the liquor in your system keeping you relaxed as you stood there on the balcony with your tits out, getting your pussy eaten by your new husband. It didn’t take much more to have you cresting, euphoria exploding out from your core as you came, gasping Javi’s name. He loudly groaned, saying, with his face in your cunt, “Good girl.” He replaced his fingers with his tongue, licking up your come and what remained of his inside you while you rode out your high.

Your body went lax, and you slumped; your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths panting from your lungs. When Javi got his fill, he carefully removed your leg from his shoulder and rose back up onto his feet with a pained sound from his achy knees. He gently kissed your chin, then one side of your mouth, and the other—his lips were wet, and you could smell yourself on him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his hard cock pressing into your belly. This was when his mouth met yours to properly kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue, hugging him in return, the skin on his back warm under your palms.

Between the tequila and orgasm, you felt amazing, and you wanted your husband to feel the same. You ended the kiss, your hands moving to hold his face as you looked at him—his eyes were closed, his mustache and lower half of his face glistening with your juices, a happy little smile on his lips. He looked so unbelievably adorable that you gave in to the impulse and squished his cheeks to the point his shiny lips pursed—it made you grin.

“You are so fucking cute,” you said. “Even when you look like a goldfish, you’re a capital C, Ca-Utie. Ugh, it’s illegal how goddamn adorable you are.”

His eyes opened. “You done?” he asked, sounding a little funny.

“Obsessing about how cute you are? Never. Like, you’re so cute.” A thought caught you off guard that had your eyes widening, the alcohol in your system amplifying the doubts. “You’re too cute,” you whispered. Letting go of his face, you continued, “Why would you want to be with someone like me? Do you like me?” you asked. “As more than a friend? Like, romantically?” You chewed on your lip.

His eyebrows pulled together, and he squinted, clearly confused. “I married you…” he said slowly.

“Yeah, but did you marry me because you love me or because we’re best friends?”

“Am I married to Steve…?”

“No, but he was already married when you met, and polygamy is illegal.”

“Cielito, mi amor, I married you because I love you, and you’re wearing the proof of that on your finger.”

“Friendship rings exist.”

“I sure as fuck didn’t give Steve my mother’s ring because we’re friends. I love you as more than a friend—wait.” His eyes rounded. Quietly, he asked, “Do you love me as just a friend or more than a friend?”

“How can you ask me that? I definitely love you as more than a friend!”

“You asked me first, and it fucked with my head!”

“I’m sorry, I needed to double-check.”

“I needed to double-check, too.”

“Well, I love you so much that I want to have your babies—” You poked him in the chest. “—and I can tell you right now, I don’t want to have Robyn’s babies. I mean, unless it was like a surrogate situation.”

That made him smile, his hands rubbing up and down your covered arms. “I want you to have my babies, too.”

“Then that settles it. We love each other as more than friends, but you’re still my best friend.”

“You’re still my best friend.”

“I won’t tell Steve.”

“I won’t tell Robyn.”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly, the two of you smiling when you broke apart.

“Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

An amused breath left him. “It’s a good thing we married each other, then.”

“True. Dumbasses need to stick together. Now,” you gripped the open edges of his robe and turned you both, pressing him back into the wall hard enough that he grunted. “It’s time for me to blow your popsicle, Mr. Peña.” Something you said you wanted to do earlier, but he told you could happen later.

“Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo, Mrs. Peña (My body is your body, Mrs. Peña). You can do any-fucking-thing you want to me.”

You grinned. “I love when you tell me that.” You leaned in to give him one last lingering kiss.

It was your turn to make him feel good, and you began by kissing down his body, starting at his jaw and moving lower and lower, down his gorgeous neck, his chest, his soft belly, crouching when you made it to the happy trail of hair below his belly button that you followed until you were face to face with his hard cock. It looked even better than you imagined earlier–long, thick, and with that slight curve that felt so fucking good when he was inside you, the tip flushed and shiny with precum. The tile beneath you was unforgiving when you kneeled on it, raising your arms above your head to drag your fingernails down his stomach and through the curls, Javi’s head falling back against the wall with a soft moan.

You spat in the palm of your dominant hand, wrapping your fingers around his shaft—it was hot and hard, Javi twitching in your grip as you started languidly pumping him.

Looking up at your husband through your lashes, you said, “Hey, babe?”

His face tilted down at you.

“Yes, mi amor?”

“What do you call a nurse with dirty knees?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“A head nurse.”

He went from chuckling to groaning loudly when the flat of your tongue licked up his length from root to tip, swirling it around the sensitive edges at the head. You reveled in how his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open, loving the salty tang of his precum as you took him into your mouth, continuing to stroke what didn’t fit. His big hands found their home in your hair, moving with your bobbing head as you hollowed your cheeks, taking more and more of him until he was hitting the back of your throat.

His rough voice came from above, “That’s it, baby—it feels so fucking good.”

That only egged you on. It could be said that you were an expert at blowing your husband. You knew all the things that made him tick and what would really get him going, like when your head rose off of him, gathering a wad of saliva on your tongue that you let drip onto the tip of him.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Spit on it.”

More saliva fell, slicking up the movements of your hand stroking him. You ducked your head, sucking one of his balls into your mouth.

His fingers tightened in your hair. “Fuck,” he groaned, and the way he said that word had your cunt clenching. You tongued at the thin skin of his sack, then gently sucked his other ball, your palm on his dick twisting on every upstroke to slide along the underside of the head.

The muscles in his thighs were tensed as you licked up his shaft to take him back into your mouth. His hips just barely rocked as his dick slid further and further along your palate until you were swallowing around him, his cock sliding into the tight space of your throat. Your nose pressed into the neatly trimmed curls at the base of him, smelling the soap he washed with in the shower.

“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped. Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as saliva dripped down his length, your hands clutching his thighs. You looked up, meeting his dark gaze, seeing the clear love and desire he had for you. “So pretty with my dick down your throat.” His palm caressed your cheek. “That’s my good girl making me feel so fucking good—fuck, I love you.”

This was why you genuinely loved giving Javi head—he was always so vocal, and when he praised you, it made you drip for him. Arousal was hot in your belly. It always turned you on to hear and see the effect you were having on him. You swallowed around his thick cock, causing your throat to squeeze him—his body shivered, and you watched it travel down from his shoulders to his hips.

“Shit,” he moaned.

The glow of the moon and what light reached the balcony from the living room softly illuminated the man above you, and you couldn’t think of a prettier sight than your husband struggling to keep from coming, as he was right then. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you with pleading eyes. “I don’t wanna come like this.” The words came out scratchy like sandpaper. “Can I fuck you? Please, Cielito?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Immediately, you came off of him, strings of spit and precum keeping you connected. Staring up at him under your eyelashes, you answered hoarsely, “Yes. Fuck me, Papí.”

That had Javi helping you stand. When you were finally up on your feet, his large hands framed your face as he kissed you hard. He didn’t care that your chin was wet with spit or your cheeks had tear marks; he kissed you as if his life depended on it and slowly started walking you backward toward the railing.

He spoke between kisses, his mouth pressed to yours, muffling his words, “Estoy tan feliz de que seas mi esposa (I’m so happy that you are my wife)… Estoy tan feliz de poder pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I’m so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with you)... Estoy tan feliz de que algún día seas la madre de mis hijos (I’m so happy that one day you will be the mother of my children)... Este es el día más feliz de mi vida (This is the happiest day of my life).”

Suddenly, your husband spun you, his palm smoothing up the cotton covering your back to signal you to bend toward the railing. The top of it reached the middle of your ribs, so you weren’t bent at the waist—you were leaning onto it, crossing your arms atop the metal, and popping out your ass with a widened stance to give him more room. He gripped your hips and pressed his throbbing cock into your backside. Javi leaned into you. “Feel how hard I am? That’s all you, my beautiful wife.”

Arousal swirled in your belly, the beat of your heart pulsing between your legs.

You turned your head, looking at him behind you. “You should feel how wet I am. It’s all you, my handsome husband,” you replied, wiggling your butt.

He smiled and kissed your shoulder blade. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too.”

It seemed he had enough talking. Javi straightened himself and flipped up the bottom of your robe to bare you, the cool air chilling the wetness at the crux of your thighs. He grunted as he crouched down behind you, squeezing handfuls of your ass. His teeth lightly sank into the meat of your inner thigh for only a moment, and it was like dousing gasoline on the flames in your core.

His hands spread open your asscheeks. “So fucking pretty,” he purred. A second later, a rumbling groan came from his throat as he licked up through your slit from your clit to your entrance before spitting on the skin between your two holes—you felt the warm wad of saliva dripping down to your already-soaked opening.

He smacked your ass, the cheek jiggling as he rose back up on his feet. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he whispered. One of his hands held your waist while the other slid his dick through your arousal and his spit to wet himself. He bent at the waist to rasp into your ear, “Don’t wanna draw attention to us—unless you want everyone to know how good your husband fucks you.” He squeezed your hip as he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance.

Your robe was open, your nipples tingling when a breeze hit your bare skin. The alcohol made you brave as you looked at him over your shoulder again with a smile, your hand going up behind you to touch his smooth cheek.

“I want the entire world to know how good my husband fucks me. Give it to me, Papí.”

A shiver moved down Javier’s spine, his cock jerking in his hand.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

“Scream for me, baby,” he replied, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm.

He started pressing himself into the tight clutch of her pussy, her inner walls hugging his thick length as he fed it inside her inch by inch—her arm fell back onto the railing, and they both moaned, Javier’s eyes closing, his jaw going slack at how good she felt around him, all hot and wet. His hips met the softness of her ass, and he looked down to watch as he slowly pulled out, his dick glistening under what little light there was.

“I love how wet you get for me,” he said. “All nice and soaked for your husband.”

He couldn’t get enough of being called that: her husband.

The quickie in the car scratched the itch; still, Javier had been looking forward all-fucking-day to the moment when he got to take his time and properly fuck his wife. Gripping her waist, he pushed back in, Cielito’s head falling onto the cushion of her arms with a breathy “Yes” that riled him up. She wanted everyone to know how good her husband fucks her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

He started moving in and out of her, keeping most of himself inside for her to feel every ridge and pulsing vein as he reacquainted her cunt with the familiar shape of him.

“It’s so good,” she moaned. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah? I’ve got you, hermosa (beautiful).”

He could make it feel even better—this was a position where she wanted him to be rough, where she wanted him to fuck her until she was cock dumb and her legs shook.

He began increasing the momentum of his hips, slickly sliding halfway out and back into her over and over again until he was railing into her with hard, even strokes that stuttered her loud moans. Javier grunted with each thrust, their skin clapping where it met. With how the balcony had walls on three sides, the sounds echoed off the stucco.

Fuck, he loved being inside her. There was nothing better than feeling the squeeze of her pussy around him. He did love her going down on him a little bit ago, and earlier, when she gave him a hand job after their marriage ceremony, he loved that, too. He also loved the occasions when she’d let him fuck her ass—Javier loved anything she wanted to do with him. But if he had to choose a favorite, it’d be a variation of what they were doing right now.

“You like this?” he mumbled between grunts. “Is it good?”

Several seconds passed with no answer, and there was no hiding his smirk. He slid a palm up the path of her spine to firmly grasp the back of her neck, his other hand going to her front, roughly fondling her breast. He kept up the punishing pace of his hips.

“Am I fucking you good, mi amor?” he tried again a little louder.

Her head lifted, turning her attention to him behind her. Even in such dim conditions, he could see her eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed over. There was a scrunch between her eyebrows, and her mouth was slightly agape—she was absolutely wrecked. She finally answered, repeating, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Pride swelled inside him. “You like how your husband fucks you?”

“Yes! God, yes!” she cried.

Her words had sparks igniting at the base of his spine, making his cock twitch. His fingers plucked at her nipple, rolling the stiff bud. It’d be hard for anyone down below to fully make out what they were doing, but there was no masking the noise—the filthy repetitive slap of skin hitting skin, his rough grunts, and her whining moans that filled the air gave them away.

They were usually much more courteous to their neighbors when it came to their volume. His wife always found it embarrassing when Mrs. Hernandez banged on the wall between their apartments or the people upstairs stomped on the floor to tell them to quiet down. It had to be the tequila—the liquid courage—that had her acting so brazen tonight, and he loved it.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asked.

“Yes! Don’t stop!” She started chanting over and over again, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop—”

He followed her orders, continuing to pound into her at the same speed, his fingers tweaking her nipple. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and the small of his back, his gaze locked on hers—she was so gorgeous.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Cielito,” he told her. “So fucking beautiful taking it like my good girl.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she loudly whined his name into the night. Her cunt was fluttering around him, her entire body quaking. She laid her head back onto her arms, and that told him she was almost to the finish line.

“Come for me, mi amor,” he said. “Let me have it.”

He’d follow soon after he. His orgasm had been slowly building inside him, feeling the pressure rising deep in his guts with every passing second. He was thankful they fucked in the car because there was no way in hell he would’ve been able to last this long if they hadn’t fooled around beforehand.

Javier loved every second of this, the thrill amplifying his pleasure. The thrill was the reason he enjoyed fucking in places he shouldn’t. He craved the adrenaline, something he experienced regularly in Colombia. But now, instead of possibly dying to feel that rush, he just had to try not to get caught.

It wasn’t much longer before they reached a crescendo. She let out an unintelligible cry, all of the muscles in her body pulling taut, choking his dick hard enough to stutter his rhythm—he sucked in a breath through bared teeth, willing himself not to come while he continued fucking her through her high, drawing it out.

It happened fast. Her legs went wobbly like a newborn calf’s. “Shit,” Javier breathed, quickly getting his arm around her middle and the other across her chest. “Don’t fall, baby,” he grunted, hauling her up against his body to prevent her from doing as much. It was his strength that kept her standing and walked her forward, pinning her by the hips to the railing.

By some miracle, his cock stayed inside her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “My legs feel like jello.”

He carefully pulled the robe off one of her shoulders to lightly kiss the side of her neck, her skin prickling with goosebumps. “Don’t apologize,” was his muffled reply. “Means your husband fucked you good.” His lips made a journey to her ear. “Do you wanna stop?” he whispered. “Or can I keep going?”

She reached up behind her, combing her fingers into his sweat-damp hair. “Mmm, definitely keep going.”

Javier smiled. “Yeah?” He kissed that one sensitive spot behind her ear—she hummed happily. “I wanna look at you,” he said. “Can I turn you?”

“Of course. Just help me, please. I don’t trust my legs.”

He chuckled. “I’ve got you.”

He slipped out of her, the back of her robe falling into place. Her legs were still shaking as he helped her face him, pressing her into the railing again. They locked eyes, and both smiled. His hands reached to hold her perfect face while her arms went around his neck, her fingers pushing into the brown waves at the back of his head.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” His thumbs stroked over the apples of her cheeks. “There you are. My beautiful wife.”

Before she could respond, he closed the gap between their lips, hers petal soft and slotting together with his perfectly. He wanted to kiss her slowly. He wanted to savor this moment, take his time, but she made this delicious little noise that broke his resolve, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again. It made him greedy. Not only did he want that noise, he wanted her moans and her sighs. He wanted to hear her mouth caress the syllables of his name and cry it out when he brought her to the brink of ecstasy.

The kiss turned hungry and passionate, both of them ravenous. When that sweet sound met his ears again, it spurred him on. He was still hard and aching to come. Unable to wait any longer, Javier reached down to hook her thigh onto his hip, then guided his length back into her pussy. The moment his cock breached her tight opening, he moaned into her mouth, his head going dizzy at how good it felt.

He started slowly thrusting, his lips breaking away to nip at her chin. “Can I make you come again?” he breathily asked. “Please?”

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and she pulled on it to get his attention. “Is that what you need, baby? You wanna feel me come around your dick? You wanna watch your wife come?”

Javier whimpered—his eyes squeezed shut, and his cock pulsed inside her. He wanted to watch, he wanted to feel and hear her come, taste her tongue on his, and smell the sex on her skin. She already occupied his every thought, and he wanted her to take over his senses, too. Take over his entire world until she was all that existed.

He continued moving his hips, his dick sliding easily with how wet it was between her legs.

Javier looked at her, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “Yes,” he answered. “Can I?”

Her palm pressed to his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “Yes, Javi.” This time, she was the one who crushed her mouth to his before he could utter another word, her fingers threading into his hair. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and he groaned, the kiss turning messy.

He was still so worked up that it wasn’t going to take a lot to get him off. Javier increased his pace, going harder and faster. There was an audible wetness where they were joined, and he could hear himself working in and out of her used cunt, her arousal dripping down his shaft and balls.

This was what he wanted. To be able to kiss her. To see her and watch her fall apart. He had one hand gripping her leg at his waist, keeping it up, and snaked his other between their bodies, sliding it down her stomach to the apex of her thighs to rub her clit. He swallowed her moan, her fingers tightening in his thick strands of hair. His lips broke away from hers, Javier ducking his head, spreading sloppy kisses along her collarbone, on her shoulder, and up her neck. With her robe open and off her shoulder, it gave him a canvas of bared skin for his mouth to map out.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he murmured against her throat. “Can you do that for me?”

He was doing everything in his power to hold off his own end so she could take him with her. The muscles in his belly were knotted up, his heart pounding in his chest. His cock was throbbing almost uncomfortably with his need to come.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Javier sucked on her earlobe, then returned his attention to her neck and shoulder, kissing and biting the skin. His voice was muffled as he rambled, “I’m gonna make you come, and when I do—fuck—when I do, I’m going with you.” He was circling her clit, giving her the friction she needed. “I'll fill you up, and you’re gonna stay full. I fucking meant it when I said I’m gonna keep you stuffed full of me.” He was panting hot breaths as he kissed her, getting himself worked up with what he was saying. “I can promise you—shit—I can promise you, I am going to get you pregnant. I am going to knock you up.” He swallowed hard, his hips continuing to fuck into her. “You’re gonna have my baby. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

They were pretty sure her actual shot at getting pregnant was the week prior. But since they weren’t 100% positive, they didn’t want to miss their chance, and that possibility made the shit they said while fucking even hotter.

“Please,” she moaned. “Put a baby in me. Please. I want it. Fill me up, Papí.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You can have it—fuck—you can have any-fucking-thing you want. I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

He tucked his face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. It was taking most of his focus to keep himself from blowing his load.

“I’m close, Javi!” Cielito whined. “Oh, god, I’m gonna come!”

The excitement caused his rhythm to falter for a split second. “Shit,” Javier hissed. He quickly got back into tempo, his head lifting to look at his wife. Her eyes were closed, her forehead shining with perspiration, moans spilling from her rounded lips. His fingers kept strumming her clit, and his other hand gently grasped her jaw.

“Look at me,” he panted. “Open your eyes, Cielito. Let me see you.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he was met with hooded lust-blown eyes.

“Javi,” she gasped. Her fingers were clenched in his hair. “I’m gonna come, Javi.”

“I know, baby. I know. Come for me. Take me with you.”

She was quivering as his hips swung hard and fast into her. Javier watched as each stroke took her higher and higher, his gaze never leaving hers. After half a dozen more thrusts, she finally told him, “I’m coming.” Her eyes squeezed shut, moaning as she peaked; her body seized up, her pussy clamping down on him.

That was it for Javier.

A strangled noise left his throat as his balls drew up, pushing himself all the way to the root inside her. Pleasure erupted from his core, his dick pulsing, painting her insides with rope after rope of his come. He rolled his hips, fucking his spend as deep as it would go. The primal part of his brain making him ignore how sensitive his cock was in order to fill the depths of her cunt.

When every last drop was wrung out of him, he stopped moving, and his body became boneless. He slumped into his wife, but not before wrapping his arms around her and burying his face back into the crook of her neck. All thoughts had left his brain, the man blissed out, basking in her warmth and the familiar scent of her skin. And then she did his favorite thing and started playing with his sweaty hair. He sighed happily, nuzzling his face closer to her like he was trying to burrow himself under her skin.

This. This was the closest thing to heaven on earth. This was his heaven. She was his heaven.

Javier grew up going to church with his parents, and his interpretation of what he read and heard was that if there were a heaven, it wouldn’t be a physical place. There were no pearly gates or St. Peter waiting to greet you. Instead, it was a state of being where there was complete fulfillment and nothing but absolute happiness. How fucking lucky was he that he found that in life?

He stood there, his body pressed into her softer one, as the beat of their hearts slowed and their breaths evened out. There was a low rumble of cars driving on nearby roads and unseen crickets chirping in the distance.

It took a few minutes before either of them spoke.

“Javi?” she croaked.

He kissed the side of her neck. “Yes, baby?”

“I’m ready to go inside.”

He straightened to his full height to see her face. “Okay, mi amor.” He pecked her on the lips, rubbing his hands up and down her robed arms. “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrow rose. “Can I walk? Mr. I’m-going-to-make-you-come-so-many-times-you’re-gonna-need-a-wheelchair.”

Javier tried not to smile and failed, his hands pausing. “A wheelchair?”

“Yes, a wheelchair. Because my husband loves to fuck me to the point I can’t walk.” She wasn’t wrong, and it made his chest puff up. “Should’ve brought one home from work a long time ago.”

“You don’t need a wheelchair, baby.” He gently squeezed her biceps. “I did it, and I’ll get you where you need to go. Does a bath sound good? Or do you wanna get into bed? We could also watch TV on the couch—order a pay-per-view movie.”

Her lips lifted into a knowing smile. “Pay-per-view movie, huh? Like, porn? Javi, when you stay in hotels by yourself, do you order pay-per-view porn? You can be honest with me. I’m your wife.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “I mean, not every time… what about you? You can be honest with me. I’m your husband.”

“A time or two, out of curiosity.”

He smiled. “Out of curiosity, huh?” His voice went a little deeper. “Did you touch yourself while watching…?”

“What do you think?”

Javier grabbed her hips. He leaned in to hover his mouth over hers, nuzzling her nose with his. “I think,” he rasped, “you played with your pretty pussy while watching. Did you get yourself off with your fingers?”

“Vibrator. You know I don’t like playing acoustic pussy unless I have to.”

“You like my fingers.”

“Because you’re sexy and an acoustic pussy maestro.” She brushed his lips with hers. “It’s your turn to choose,” she said. “Bath, bed, or couch, Mr. Peña?”

“Bath sounds nice.”

“Bath sounds wonderful.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, Mrs. Peña.” He ended the sentence with a kiss, something slow and tender. They broke apart, smiling. “Let’s go, Cielito.”

The rectangular whirlpool tub was massive enough that your husband could sit across from you with his long legs fully extended while yours rested over his. Javi’s cheeks and chest were painted with a pink flush from the bath’s heat, his broad shoulders dotted with a constellation of freckles. Your bodies were submerged in the hot water, covered from your shoulders down, the bathtub’s jets rumbling as they massaged your backs. It was relaxing, the warmth of the water and the pressure of the spray along your spine easing all of the tension from your body.

To continue the celebration of your nuptials, your husband brought the complimentary bottle of champagne into the bathtub with you. He popped it open and poured you each a glass, the two of you toasting to your marriage and the start of your family before drinking and chatting, laughter quickly filling the room. The bottle was over halfway empty, and you both were buzzed.

“You’re fucking with me,” he said with a grin. His arm was resting on the edge of the tub, holding his flute of bubbly. The man always had to be touching you, his other palm under the water rubbing up and down your calf, but it paused when he spoke.

Your smile got bigger. “I’m not!” you laughed. Your champagne was sitting on the bathtub’s rim, your fingers fiddling with the stem of the glass. “When I graduated nursing school,” you said, “I was trying to figure out what I wanted to specialize in. So, I did a rotation in labor and delivery, and I had this mother in labor who needed a C-section. Like, it’d been hours with zero progress, and the doctor called it. She told the couple, and I quote, ‘This baby has to come out the other way.’ I shit you not, after the doctor left, the father looked at me and asked, ‘They’re gonna pull the baby out of her butt?’”

He huffed amusedly, his head shaking in disbelief. “Jesus.” He took a sip of his drink and set it back down.

“It was so hard not to laugh,” you said. “Surprisingly, not the dumbest or wildest thing anyone has ever said to me at work.”

His expression turned curious. “What’s the wildest thing someone has said to you?”

“Ummm.” Your eyes left his to think about it for a second, your mind running through many memorable interactions until one in particular stuck out. Your attention went back to him. “Probably the guy who may or may not have been a gang member who gave me his number and told me if I ever needed someone taken out—as in murdered—to give him a call. He even said it’d be free of charge, which was weirdly sweet? Not that I’d actually take him up on it,” you clarified, lifting your glass to your lips for a sip.

His eyes rounded. “What…?”

Your champagne returned to its spot on the tub’s edge. “It’s kinda like how people propose to me all of the time because they’re so thankful I brought them food after they fasted for their procedures. When scary-looking dudes who may or may not have gang ties come to the hospital, and you treat them like any other patient—you know, with dignity and respect—they really, really appreciate it. Their way of thanking you is by offering their services or illegal goods.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Illegal goods, like drugs…?”

“Sure, and weapons.” You shrugged. “One guy offered me illegal European cheeses, and I won’t lie, that one was tempting.”

“Do you still have the contacts?”

“No. I never kept their info, and let’s be real, they weren’t using their actual names. Once they left the hospital, they were no longer my patient, and what they did was none of my business. Snitches get stitches and all that jazz.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and his hand began a new circuit along the skin of your leg. “What’s the dumbest thing someone said?” He had another sip.

“Oh, listen to this. A male patient came into the ER complaining about abdominal pain. After the doctor did a quick exam, he ordered an ultrasound. When we told the patient about the ultrasound, he shouted, ‘I’m not pregnant! I’m a man!’”

“You’re fucking with me,” Javi said again, looking just as amused as the first time, his champagne flute hovering over the water.

“I swear I’m not!” you giggled. “He said that! This guy was in his mid-fifties, too. His wife was so embarrassed. The doctor had to pull out a fucking human anatomy diagram to educate the dude.”

“I’d be a shitty nurse. I wouldn’t have the patience for all of the stupidity.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, thinking about Javi as a nurse. “Between your grumpy resting face and the fact you cannot hide what you’re feeling, you’d be so bad. No offense, babe.” You patted his knee underwater.

“None taken. I said it first. It’s nice knowing my wife has the patience of a saint to put up with my bullshit.” He raised his glass your way in toast, then took a drink.

“Stop it. You’re perfect. Now, are you finally gonna tell me how much you spent on this room?”

He smiled, setting his champagne back onto the rim. “No.”

“Rude.”

He chuckled. “Just enjoy it, baby.” Water droplets trickled as he lifted your leg out of the bath and leaned in, kissing the inside of your ankle.

“But I’m curious as fuck,” you whined.

He returned your leg to the water. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Earlier, you mentioned we sometimes have to compromise, so I’ll tell you how I got the room, but I won’t tell you what it cost me.”

That had you perking up. Maybe you could call the front desk and find out the price yourself.

“The front desk won’t tell you,” he continued, looking a little too pleased with himself. Of course, he knew what you were thinking.

You deflated with a sigh. “Fine,” you said. “How were you able to get the room?”

“The manager is mi prima’s (my cousin’s) brother-in-law.”

You grinned. “You’ve got connections. That’s very sexy of you.”

He was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges and shining with love—a look you were all too familiar with and hoped he could see on your face. His hand continued stroking your leg.

He chuckled. “Even with connections, it took some negotiating. It was worth it, though. You’re worth it. I know our wedding was pretty short notice, and since we couldn’t get time off from work for me to whisk you away on a real honeymoon—which I plan on doing sometime this year before we have a baby—this was the next best thing to show you how much I love you and what you mean to me. You deserve the very best, and that’s what I’m always gonna give you, and nothing less.”

His words had you melting, your heart skipping a beat. It was a regular occurrence where Javier said or did something that made you wonder once again what you did to deserve him in your life or to be loved in this way you never knew existed. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“I beg to differ because I am married to arguably the greatest man on earth, who worships me like a goddess, and that’s not even an exaggeration. A freaking goddess! Me! Insane.” It was crazy how much you loved this man, and the alcohol had your feelings threatening to burst from your lips. So, you let them. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“You make me feel so safe. You make me feel comfortable and so fucking loved. Javi, I’ve never been so loved, and I know it’s sad, and you hate thinking about it, but I’ve never had someone love me unconditionally like you do.” The emotions had tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ve never experienced a love like this that I feel deep in my soul, and that’s how I know it’s real. I’m not as poetic as you are, so I’m just going to say what comes to mind. Prepare yourself for some sappy bullshit.”

He was watching you with a fond expression and watery eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Hold my hand.” You reached out to him, and he grasped your fingers, his thumb rubbing over the tops of them. You cleared your throat to compose yourself. “There was an emptiness inside my chest?” You said it in question. “A lifelong longing for something I never knew I needed until you came along. You redefined the void. You gave it meaning. You’ve shown me what it is to be seen, to be cherished, to be truly loved. You’ve shown me a world that, up until you entered mine, was nothing more than a fantasy I’d only ever dreamed about. It was something out of reach, you know? But here you are, a dream come true, who loves me unconditionally, and for that, you have my love, you have my total devotion, you get my every morning and my every night. You get slow dances in the kitchen and four a.m. grilled cheeses—ooh, I like how that kinda rhymes.” Your husband laughed, his lips curved up in a smile. “I’m not half bad at this. Javi, I am going to give you the life you’ve always deserved but never felt worthy of—a wife, kids, dog, house, and hopefully, happiness. I want to make you as happy as you make me. This is my long way of saying I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for loving me.”

“I’m so fucking happy,” he replied. “Come here.” He beckoned you toward him, lightly tugging your hand. Without another thought, you moved, the bath sloshing as you pushed yourself up onto your knees and crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. Javi wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly to his body, your face nestled into the curve of his neck. His head tilted to touch yours. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so fucking much. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how fucking lucky I am to have you. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you, and sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is all a dream. You have no idea how many times I’ve almost pinched myself because being with you feels so right and so perfect that I think it all has to be too good to be true, and I’m gonna wake up alone in my bed at the ranch or in fucking Colombia.” You gasped, your heart squeezing at how heartbreaking that was. “Being with you is teaching me that life can be kind and there is hope for the future. You’re my future, and even though there are moments where it feels too surreal and too fucking good, it is real. What we have is real, and I am grateful for you. I will forever be grateful that you chose me, and I will never take for granted a single day that I get to share my life with you.” His head turned to kiss your cheek. “This is my long way of saying I love you, too. Thank you for loving me.”

“Oh, Javi.” You sat up, taking his face into your hands. Sitting in his lap, you were taller than him, and his chin raised to look at you with his red-rimmed eyes. “It is real. It’s so fucking real. I love you.”

That was an understatement of how you felt about him. Not when it felt as if his heart was beating in your chest, and looking into his eyes was like coming home—the familiarity, the comfort, the safety. Almost as if you’d always known that those irises, with their unique mix of chocolatey-colored hues, would belong to the one who was meant for you. A recognition, a certainty when your gazes met that he was your person, your other half.

Emotions had you smashing your mouth against his, kissing him hard. You poured your love into each press of your lips to his, letting him taste the devotion on your tongue. His arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you flush to him. It didn’t matter that you’d already come a handful of times tonight. The things he said had you wanting, no, needing him again, the desire searing through your veins and pooling in your belly.

An interesting side effect of being in love with Javi and knowing he loved you, too, was how it made you so fucking horny. Confessing your love to one another was basically foreplay, and wasn’t that adorable? A couple of love-sick fools getting turned on from loving each other. Robyn would absolutely fake-gag if you told her about you and your husband’s love kink.

He sounded breathless when he came up for air. “I love you.” He messily kissed your chin and the shape of your jaw. “I fucking love you,” he murmured into your skin.

“I love you, too.” His face was still framed in your hands, and you pushed him back to gain access to the line of his neck, your head dipping to swipe your tongue up his salty skin.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his throat bobbing. You rocked your hips, rubbing his already half-hard cock with your cunt, his hands grabbing ahold of your ass, the soft flesh firmly filling his palms as he helped you move. You sucked over his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark, Javi groaning, “Fuck, I love you.” The words vibrated under your mouth, making your lips curl in delight.

“I love you, too, Javi.” Your mouth traveled up to take his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling on it before your lips were at his ear. “I really fucking love you.”

“I’m yours.” His fingers dug into your asscheeks, moving you. “You fucking own me. I’m yours forever.”

“And I’ll always be yours, Javi. Always. For-fucking-ever.”

His large hand came up, lightly grasping your jaw to maneuver your face in front of his, Javier’s lips colliding with yours. This kiss was much more frantic, the headiness of passion overtaking you both, matching each other's energy, heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath. He was completely hard as you rolled your hips along his shaft, the bath’s water lapping at the sides of the tub. Your arms went around his neck, threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

You loved this man so much that he was your entire world, everything that mattered, and the wild thing was, he felt the same way about you—you were his entire world and everything that mattered to him. It was an intoxicating feeling to love and to be loved.

The sweet heat of want burned at the base of your spine, the tension rising with each desperate kiss until it hit a breaking point. In sync, your mouths separated, you lifted your hips high enough for Javi to position his cock at your entrance, and then you sank onto it.

“That’s it, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasped when he was fully seated inside of you.

There was nothing better than the familiar fullness or how he stretched you open.

Your gazes were locked.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said. “Use me, Cielito. Make yourself come. I wanna feel you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Javi leaned up to capture your lips once more, his hands gripping handfuls of your ass. Your palms slid up his flushed chest to grab his shoulders, and you did what he said: you started moving. You ground your hips, keeping most of him inside you while rubbing your clit on the coarse hairs at the base of his dick. Sparks danced in your core, your pulse pounding. Your husband helped you grind in his lap.

“Te amo (I love you),” he said between kisses. “Te amo muchísimo, mi amor (I love you so much, my love). Eres mi todo (You are my everything). Toma lo que es tuyo (Take what is yours).”

“I love you, too, Javi.” Pleasure built, and the coil in your tummy started to tighten. “I fucking love you. I’ll always love you.” Your hips circled in the most delicious rotations.

His tongue delved between your lips, plundering your mouth, moans coming from the back of your throat. With how close you were physically—your bodies pressed together like pieces of a puzzle—and emotionally—your love and devotion for each other—this was the closest you’d ever been with another person, and it felt much more intimate than sex. It was something deeper. Something on a different level where you were caught up in one another, lost in your own little world and the overwhelming feeling of love. Maybe it was the oxytocin, the love hormone, flooding your system that had you thinking this must be what it felt like when your souls came together, the two halves melding to become one.

The water splashed against your back and ribs, the bath’s jets continued to rumble. You didn’t stop the rocking of your hips or sloppily kissing your husband. He felt so good inside you, the pressure on your clit pushing you higher and higher.

“Eres mi vida (You are my life).” It was muffled into your lips. “Eres todo para mí (You are everything to me). Quiero que me uses como tú quieras (I want you to use me however you want).” He switched to English. “I wanna feel my wife come. You gonna get yourself off?“

“Yes.”

“My good girl. I love you. Take what you need, mi amor. Don’t stop. You come, I come. I’m following you. You’re taking me with you.”

Your orgasm was close, the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“I will, Javi. I will. I fucking love you.”

This man you married knew exactly what would have you careening toward your climax. He took your breasts into his hands, ducking his head to suck on your hardened nipple, his fingers teasing the other one. It felt like every nerve ending in your body lit up, your eyes closed, the shock of it making you cry out.

“I love you,” you repeated. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Each time you rolled your hips, it created the best friction against your clit, and that, combined with the attention he was giving your tits, had you tumbling over the edge, coming with a gasp of his name. This orgasm was softer than the others. When your body tensed and your cunt squeezed him, Javi hissed. He grabbed your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he used his strength to keep moving you in his lap. He kept those gentle waves of pleasure flowing through you, letting you ride out your high while your husband chased his own.

“I’m yours, Javi,” you told him. When you opened your eyes, you saw his were shut tight, and his teeth were bared. It was that sexy look he got when he was close to coming; he just needed a push to get there. You touched your forehead to his, your fingers clutched in his hair. “I’m yours, baby. I want you to come. I want my husband to come. I want you to fill me up and fuck it so deep inside me you knock me up.” He whined, and that just encouraged you. “Get me pregnant, Javi. Let me have it. Let me feel it.”

“Fuck,” he gasped. “I love you. I’m gonna—Christ—I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. I’m gonna fuck you full of my come. Fuck it—shit—fuck it so deep in your pussy it takes. Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo más que a nada (I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything).” The groan he let out was guttural. He hugged you to him, holding you still, his face pressing against your throat as he came. His teeth sunk into your neck, the pleasurable pain causing you to moan. His cock jerked inside you with each spurt of his spend gushing into your inner depths, and when it stopped, his heavy breaths were hot on your skin.

The only sound in the bathroom was the tub's jets. The water had turned lukewarm. The large mirror on the opposite wall over the two sinks was still fogged up. It was peaceful and calm. Time stood still in this little bubble where you luxuriated in one another and those happy chemicals flowing through your bodies. All of your muscles relaxed, making you melt into your husband. Javi nuzzled his face into your neck, and your fingernails lovingly scratched at his scalp, earning you a happy hum.

You loved these moments. You loved how comfortable it was to hold each other, your bodies and souls bare. You didn’t feel self-conscious or a need to cover up. You just wanted to share in the afterglow with the man you loved.

Javier told you once that his favorite part of having sex was this: the post-sex glow when you cuddled close and came down with the other person. He loved the intimacy of it. He craved it. He also revealed that down in Colombia, he’d pay the sex workers he slept with extra to stay with him longer instead of leaving immediately after he came so he could have some semblance of that intimacy. It was a little sad if you thought about it too hard; if you thought about how lonely and touch-starved he was, that was made exponentially worse because his love language was physical touch. You’d never let him feel that loneliness again. You were happy to spend those minutes with him after you both finished, cradled in his arms. You were happy to give him that intimacy he craved. You were happy to do whatever it took to make him feel as loved as he made you.

Seconds turned into minutes. Finally, Javi broke the stillness with a kiss to the skin his face was pressed against.

“Javi?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.”

He was smiling when his head lifted to look you in the eyes, and you matched his expression.

“I love you, too.”

“I have a serious question.”

His smile fell. “Yeah?”

“Are you a sea lion?”

As expected, his face pinched in confusion.

“What…?”

“Are you a sea lion?” you repeated.

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean, you must be a sea lion ‘cause I can sea-you-lion in my bed tonight.” To really sell it, you wagged your eyebrows.

He tried to hold in the laugh, his cheeks flushing red, but he couldn’t keep it in. He sputtered into full-on laughter, his eyes practically disappearing with how they crinkled in glee. It had you cracking up, too, joining him in the merriment. His head fell against your shoulder as you both laughed at your stupid pick-up line.

It took you back to your wedding ceremony, when you both vowed your marriage would be filled with love, happiness, and laughter. Which was another thing you loved about your husband: he made you feel comfortable enough to be your true goofy self. Something you didn’t feel in your past relationships. But Javi–even with him being a somewhat serious, no-nonsense guy—he appreciated your humor and laughed at your dumb jokes. He never made you feel stupid or embarrassed, and it was truly a breath of fresh air that you could simply be you.

Eventually, you both calmed down. Your husband kissed your cheek and then sat up, rubbing his palms up and down your ribs. He looked at you with soft eyes and a sweet smile.

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he said.

You grinned. “And I am so fucking in love with you,” you replied, poking the tip of his nose. He snatched your hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss your wedding ring.

“I love you naked like this,” he rasped. His burning gaze traveled from your face to your breasts, drinking in the sight of you before his eyes returned to yours. “But you know what would look really good on you?”

“Lingerie? That red thong you love?”

“Me.”

“Oh,” you gasped, your eyes widening. “That just made my pussy flutter.”

“I know.” Because he was still inside you.

You gulped. “Can I, uh, see your left hand real quick?” It came out of the water, dripping. He held it straight up for you to see the back of it. You stared at his fingers, seeing the gold band on his ring finger, and nodded. “Yep, that is a wedding ring. Jesus, you really did marry me. Me. That’s fucking crazy.”

“Stop that.”

Your attention went back to him to see he was frowning. “Stop what?”

He sighed and took both of your hands into his. “Thinking I’m out of your league. I hate it. Cielito, you’re fucking beautiful. Say it. Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

“You’re beautiful.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “You know what I meant. Say it.”

The thought of repeating it made you wince, but you did it anyway. You mumbled, “I’mbeautiful.”

“Say it louder.”

“I hate this,” you whined.

“And we’re working on fixing that. So, say it again.”

You took a deep breath. This was so fucking hard. “I’m beautiful.”

He smiled. “You are. Repeat it.”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Again.”

“How many times are we doing this?”

“As many as it takes for you to believe it. Again.”

You sighed. “I’m beautiful.”

“What are you?”

“I’m beautiful.”

He made you say it five more times, and it got easier each time you said it.

“One more,” he ordered.

“I’m beautiful.”

“Good girl.” He closed the gap to kiss you, his big hands coming up to caress your face. When his lips left yours, he nudged your nose with his. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, sweet, sexy, talented, and an amazing partner. You’re perfect. I need you to remember that. You’re perfect,” he said again, “and I am lucky to have you as my wife.”

“Thank you, Javi. You know I struggle when it comes to that stuff.”

“Yeah, I do know. We’ll keep working on it.” He kissed your forehead.

“I’m lucky to have such a supportive husband who calls me out on my bullshit.”

He huffed. “You do the same for me. I love you, mi amor.”

“I love you, too.” You pecked him on the lips, then pulled back when you started to yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.

“You ready for bed?” he asked.

The question made you realize you were exhausted. “God, yeah.”

“Let’s go, baby.”

Thirty minutes later found you dry, your teeth brushed, and naked under the covers, with Javi spooning you from behind. The curtains were closed, the bedroom dark save for the alarm clock on the bedside table, whose glowing red numbers told you it was almost two a.m. Your husband’s arm was around your front, your hand over his on your breast, your rings touching. His nose was buried in the hair at the back of your head.

It was cozy and warm, feeling so happy and loved. Sleep was coming for you, and your eyelids were getting heavy, your thoughts slowing. In your sleepy haze, you remembered something.

“Javi?” you whispered.

“Yes, Cielito?” he answered just as quietly.

“I just realized Valentine’s Day is next month. I don’t know if you have anything planned yet, but you know what I’d love to do?”

“What?”

“You.”

He chuckled, hugging you a little tighter and kissing your hair. “That’s what we’ll do then. Any other requests?”

You smiled, wiggling back to get closer to him. “Nope. Do you have any requests?”

He was going to ask for the red thong.

“You said something about the red thong in the bath.”

There it was. You giggled. “You got it, babe.” You patted his hand, your rings clinking together. “Sweetest dreams, my wonderful, perfect husband.”

“They’ll be about you, my wonderful, perfect wife. I love you, Cielito.”

“I love you, too.”

Steve lifted his wrist to check the time, the hands on the watch face showing 3:16 p.m.

He frowned. He could’ve sworn he told Javier earlier when they talked on the phone to meet in the hotel restaurant at three p.m. Not 3:30, three on the dot, because he had to get Connie and the kids to Laredo’s tiny airport by six p.m. for their flight to Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, where they’d get on a bigger plane to take them home to Miami.

Where the hell were the newlyweds?

He was sitting at the head of the long eight-person dining room table at the hotel’s restaurant, Zaragoza Grill, with a clear view of the entrance. Instead of a chair to his right, there was a wooden highchair with his one-year-old, Nate, sitting in it, chewing on a small slice of bread from the bread basket. Connie was next to their youngest in the middle seat, talking to Stevie, their three-year-old, on her other side while he used crayons to color the paper kids’ menu the hostess had given him. Olivia was at the other end of the table, opposite Steve, coloring her own menu.

His arm lowered as he looked at his wife. “Con?” he said.

Her head turned his way. “Yes?”

“I told Javi three, right? Not, 3:30?”

“Yes, you told him three.”

“Why aren’t they here yet?”

“Honey, they got married yesterday. You remember what it was like the days after our wedding. All of the laundry we folded.” She smiled.

‘Folding laundry’ was their codeword for sex, and he absolutely remembered the days following their wedding. They went at it like fucking rabbits and didn’t leave their hotel room in Cabo San Lucas for days.

He smirked. “How could I forget our honeymoon, baby? We had a good time. A really good time. You know, we should go back to Mexico. Maybe we could get your sister to watch the kids while we go on a little vacation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming, Steve. We’re not gonna be able to go on vacation alone until Nate graduates high school, and that’s a good seventeen years away.”

He sighed. She was right. They couldn’t pawn their children off on someone to fuck off to Mexico for a week. “You’re right, sweetheart.”

“I always am.”

That was the end of their conversation, Connie’s attention returning to Stevie.

Behind him was a table for two against the brick wall. The young women sitting at it had walked by them when they were seated, and he estimated they were in their twenties. He couldn’t help eavesdropping on their conversation when one of the girls asked, “Can you believe all that noise last night?”

“Oh my god, I know, right? Like from what it sounded like, either the woman in the room above us was getting it real good, or the rumors are true, and this place is actually haunted. But I just don’t think spirits of nuns would make those noises, you know what I mean?”

“Girl, the moaning? The screaming? The sound of that pounding? Whoever was staying upstairs is one lucky bitch. Her man knows what he’s doing, and I don’t blame her for not being able to stay quiet. I also think they probably figured that since they were on the third floor, no one would hear them going at it.”

Steve inhaled deeply, shaking his head. He knew who was staying on the third floor—he’d even been inside the massive suite. Javier had handed over $150 per night, a pair of expensive courtside tickets to a San Antonio Spurs vs. three-time defending NBA champions Chicago Bulls game, and all of his wife’s tamales from his and his father’s freezers for it. The hotel apparently didn’t rent out the Presidential Suite to just anyone to keep its allure of being something exclusive for the rich and famous who passed through the area. Javier’s local fame, unfortunately, wasn’t enough.

That didn’t stop him, though.

His pal could be a real stubborn son of a bitch.

Javier got intel that the manager was a huge fan of his mom’s tamales and the San Antonio Spurs. He lucked out that his wife’s tamales were the closest to his late mother’s, so he bribed the manager with fifty-something tamales and the highly sought-after tickets to the Spurs vs. Bulls game to book the place at full price.

There was no way in hell Steve would ever pay $150 per night for a hotel room. That was a month and a half’s worth of mortgage payments on his four-bedroom, four-bath home in Florida, for Christ’s sake. The only reason Steve rented a two-room, double-queen suite here in Texas was because Javi and his wife paid for it. They wanted his family to have roomy accommodations since they had their three kids, which was greatly appreciated, and their room only cost a reasonable fifty dollars a night.

Movement at the restaurant’s entrance caught his attention, and he watched as the new Mr. and Mrs. Javier Peña made their way inside. Steve snorted at seeing the newlyweds in matching outfits of jeans and lavender-colored shirts, Javi’s a button-up, and his wife in a V-neck. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, they were practically fused together, with her tucked under his arm and pressed against his side, their heads close together, smiling and talking as they walked his way.

Steve had been friends with Javier for close to twenty years, and in all that time, he had never seen his best friend happier than he was with his bride. He wasn’t the same man Steve knew in Colombia. He wasn’t even the same man who lived with his family after he took down the Cali Cartel and quit his job. He changed, and he changed for the better.

To be honest, at first, Steve worried about his friend leaving the DEA and returning to civilian life. Javi had all of the signs of being what they call a lifer—someone who spends, if not all, then a significant portion of their career with the same agency. He’d been married to his job and fully committed to seeing it through no matter what it cost him. He didn’t visit his parents for years, and when his mother tragically passed away, he’d only gone home for a few days. Instead of grieving her death, he threw himself into his work. It sure as hell wasn’t healthy, but it was what he had to do to keep going.

Steve was so fucking thankful his friend got out and was getting a second chance. After all of the bullshit he went through, Javier deserved to be happy, and there was no doubt that this girl he married made him happy. She was the best thing to happen to him, and even though they needed to cool it with the PDA in front of his kids, Steve could admit they were really good for each other. He would never say it out loud, but he thought it was cute that a grumpy fucker like Javi ended up someone so bright and cheery.

He rechecked his watch to see it was 3:20 p.m.

The couple approached the table.

“Hey, guys,” the dark-haired man greeted as he pulled out the chair across from Connie for his wife to sit in. “Sorry, we’re late.” He got her settled, kissing the top of her head before taking the seat to Steve’s left.

“Tío (Uncle)!” Stevie shouted and hopped off his chair to run around the table to Javier.

His friend smiled. “Hey, mi principito (my little prince),” he grunted as he lifted the child into his lap.

When Javier was around, Steve and Connie no longer existed to their two eldest kids. Did that bother them? No. It gave them a break, and they weren’t going to be mad about that. They never expected Javi to take on the role of an uncle to their children. They never expected him to be as great as he was with their kids, either. He took his title of tío (uncle) seriously and loved the little Murphys as if they were his flesh and blood. It honestly caught Steve off guard the first time he saw how gentle and sweet Javi was with Olivia.

Steve could admit that at first, he didn’t like that his friend was so good and helpful with his daughter because it made him look bad. Steve grew up believing that, aside from the occasional diaper change, everything involving the children was his wife’s job. Looking back, he could see how that was a shitty way of thinking, and he felt ashamed for putting Connie through all of that. Seeing everything Javi did and how it helped his wife ended up being the swift kick in the ass he needed to step up and be a better father and husband.

“We lost track of time,” the bride said. “Empire Strikes Back was on the TV.”

That title sounded familiar.

“Is that one of those,” Steve started. “What’s it called? Star Trek movies?”

“Star Wars,” Javi corrected. Stevie got off his lap to run back to his original chair to grab his menu.

Nate had lost interest in the bread, so Connie put it on the table in front of the baby. Steve leaned down to his right to get into the diaper bag on the floor, grabbing a bottle of watered-down apple juice that he handed to the one-year-old as he sat back up.

“The ones with those, uh, laser swords?” Steve asked.

Javi sighed. “Lightsabers.”

“Never pegged you as a sci-fi guy.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Peña interjected. She looked past her husband at him. “Javi’s a space nerd.”

Steve smiled. “Is he, now?”

His son returned, holding the paper up to his tío (uncle). “Look!” He had crayons clutched in his other hand.

Javi’s attention went to the toddler. “Were you coloring, bud?” The man put the child in his lap again, and the page with a rainbow of scribbles on the table in front of them. “It looks good, buddy. What are you getting to eat?” He had an arm over the back of his wife’s chair, his other hand pointing at the list of three options, reading what each one was. Mrs. Peña watched the interaction with a fond expression.

Steve looked at Connie. “Honey?”

She met his eyes. “Yes, baby?”

“Five bucks says our kids will have a new cousin by the end of the year.”

She smiled. “I’d be stupid to take that bet.”

“She’s right,” Javi added before going back to talking to Stevie.

“Y’all are no fun.” Steve pouted.

The server interrupted to take their drink orders. After she left, Olivia called from across the table. “Tío (Uncle)?”

Javi turned to see her concerned face. “¿Sí, mi tesorito (Yes, my little treasure)?”

She asked him something in Spanish while pointing at his head, and whatever the question was made the other man’s cheeks flush and his new wife’s eyes widen. Connie looked where their daughter indicated and tried but failed to stifle a giggle.

“What did she ask?” Steve asked. His eyes traveled to each adult, hoping for an explanation.

Javier’s expression could be described as ‘panicked’ when he met Connie’s eyes. She didn’t even let him say anything. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know what happened, so you have to take this one.”

“What did she ask?” he tried again.

Connie caught his gaze and put her hand up to hide her mouth from Olivia while she mouthed at him, ‘Hickey,’ and pointed at the side of her neck. Great. Steve pressed his fingers to his forehead and sighed. They better come up with a believable excuse. His daughter did not need to be finding out what hickies were.

Javi finally answered Olivia in Spanish, and the young girl asked him another question Steve didn’t catch.

He hated it when they did this. He could make out some words, but his daughter and her tío (uncle) sometimes spoke too quickly for him to understand. They also liked to make it obvious when they were talking shit about him because they found it funny and enjoyed annoying the hell out of him.

Javier smiled and shook his head as he replied.

“What are they talking about?” Steve asked.

His friend’s missus threw him a bone. “Olivia asked about the bruise on Javi’s neck, and he told her what happened; he hit it on something last night, and he’s embarrassed about it.” That was a decent excuse. “She also wondered if it hurt, and he reassured her that it didn’t. Is that right, guys?” She addressed the uncle and niece.

His daughter said, “Yep!”

Javi turned his way and nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced over to Olivia and then back to Steve as he said something in Spanish that his daughter laughed at.

This was shit that made his jaw clench. “Hey, you guys know it’s against the rules to talk about me in Spanish.”

“Who said we were talking about you?” Javi replied. His attention returned to Olivia, the two of them, plus his wife, chatting in the language Steve barely understood.

“Leave them alone, Steve,” Connie said, and his eyes went to her. “It’s good practice for Olivia.”

“It’s rude,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

The server returned with their drinks, and the newlyweds had a chance to look over their menus, so the table ordered their food. Minutes passed. While Stevie was occupied with coloring, and the women were talking to his daughter about some show or movie he’d never heard of, Javier leaned his way and whispered for only him to hear, “Why does Olivia think I play baseball?”

The blonde man’s eyebrows knit together as he thought over the question. Why would Olivia think that Javi played baseball? It hit him: the conversation Connie and he had the day before on their way to the party after the ceremony. They used baseball terms to discuss whether the newlyweds would figure out how to fool around on the drive back to the reception.

He leaned toward his friend to reply just as quietly, “She wasn’t supposed to mention it to you.”

“Mention what?”

“It was nothing.”

“It was obviously something because your daughter is under the impression that I am a shitty baseball player.”

Steve had to hold in his laugh, air quickly leaving his nose. He needed to give his friend some kind of answer.

“You know how Connie and I use ‘folding laundry’ as a codeword?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Well, we were talking more in-depth about the topic, but we used baseball terminology, so if the children overheard, they wouldn’t know what the hell we were talking about.”

“And it was about me…?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you discussing my sex life…?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Okay. I was being an ass and bet Connie that you horndogs wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants on the drive to the party.”

“She would’ve lost. I hope she didn’t take it.”

“Of course, she didn’t, and I sure as hell didn’t take her bet that you guys would be able to wait until you got back to the hotel to score the first run on opening day.”

“Consummate our marriage?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a losing bet, too.”

“How the hell did you manage that with your wife driving?” he harshly whispered. She drove the two of them from the ceremony to Chucho’s house. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“It was later on our way to the hotel,” he told him anyway. “We stopped in a field.”

“Are you guys trying to get arrested?”

“It was in the middle of nowhere. We were fine.”

Whatever happened to saving those kinds of activities for the bedroom?

“Uh huh, right.”

“Hold on a second, if Olivia overheard your baseball shit and assumed I played, where’d she get the idea that I’m bad at it? Did you fucking tell her that?”

Again, Steve had to keep himself from laughing, but this time, when he whispered, his voice was a little squeaky. “Maybe…”

His friend sat back to glare at him and forgot to keep his voice low. “You asshole.”

“You ass’ole!” the three-year-old in Javi’s lap parroted. “You ass’ole!”

The other man’s eyes rounded. “Oh, Shit. I mean, shoot.”

Steve groaned. “Goddammit, Javier,” he hissed.

“OH, SHI’!” Stevie yelled at the top of his lungs. He turned his head to look at Steve, pointing at him. “Daddy, you ass’ole!”

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