#slightly scuffed but I like it

[hammerheadhaps]

made a relative a beanie for xmas :) forgot to post here haha

[youreaclownnow]

I finally finished building MG shining. I love this gundam

[slothcookie]

THIS PICTURE IS SO SHITTY BUT I AM OBSESSED WITH HOW MY NEW EGGHEAD ROBIN FIGURE IS SO MUCH TALLER THAN THE EGGHEAD NAMI

[kheprriverse]

New kofi post for members! this one's relative small though, few hylia-related doodles, landscape practice, and a piece of Demise's relationship with Hylia and the world around him.

This page was done super on the spot after I got to thinking about the deities a little more again. + a silly concept I might delve into more later.

-> my Kofi page

[l0stw00d]

Firth, walking her pet lizard!! a friend introduced the concept of having a tamed Neck in Valheim, and it's been living in my head rent free, so here's Firth with one of her many slightly-ill-advised pets! Firth, walking her pet lizard!! One of my beloved mutuals on tumblr asked me to draw a Neck, and introduced the concept of having a tamed Neck in Valheim,. It's been living in my head rent free, so here's Firth with one of her many slightly-ill-advised pets!

[foxssonicdoodles]

finally sat myself down and did shade’s ref sheet!

[sysig]

Looney Tunes-ass setup

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x farmer reader: John gets dishonorably discharged, and finds a new purpose in accepting your farm job advertisement, and the rest of the taskforce task force slowly mould themselves into your life

This was inspired by @devil-in-hiding’s wonderful, amazing On the Run series! Make sure to send her and the fic so, so much love! 💕💞💕 truthfully, this isn’t much and it definitely didn’t turn out the way I hoped it would, but I still hope it’ll be enjoyable <33)

The creak of old wood and the faint hum of bees in the garden welcomed John as he stepped onto the porch of the small farmhouse. His boots, scuffed and caked with dried mud, felt heavier than ever, broad shoulders sagging under the invisible weight he carried. The sharp scent of freshly tilled earth and blooming wildflowers should have been a comfort, but John barely noticed it among all the thoughts swirling within his head.

It had been weeks since the dishonorable discharge (as if he’d ever leave his own men behind. As if.) , weeks of wandering aimlessly, a hollow shell of himself. The military had been his life, his purpose, and to be stripped of it so publicly left him untethered. The scars he’d accumulated over decades of service seemed trivial compared to this- the one wound he couldn’t bandage, couldn't let heal so it could turn to a forgotten scab.

The farm job advertisement he’d found on the bulletin board of a dingy diner while aimlessly driving had been a last-ditch effort. He needed something- anything- to keep his hands busy and his mind from spiraling.

And now here he was, standing at your door.

When you answered, he was struck silent for a moment. You weren’t what he had expected. A soft curve of a smile greeted him, paired with eyes that seemed to hold the warmth of the sun itself. Your frame was wrapped in a well-worn but clean dress, your body curvy and full in a way that instantly set you apart from the wiry, hardened edges of his old world. There was something disarming about the way you stood there, your hands dusted with flour, your hair slightly mussed from whatever you’d been working on before he arrived.

You were what he’d worked so hard to protect. To keep from seeing the horrors that were kept hidden from the larger public.

“You must be John Price,” you said, your voice soft but firm, like the lull of rain against a tin roof. You offered him a hand, strong but gentle, calloused with years of hardwork. “I’m glad you came. I’ve been needing some help around here.”

John nodded stiffly, his voice rasping from disuse. “Happy to help.” He said simply, though the words felt foreign in his mouth.

You studied him for a moment, taking in the set of his jaw and the way his blue eyes seemed darker than they should have been. You didn’t press, didn’t ask why he was here or what had brought him to your quiet corner of the world. Instead, you gestured for him to follow you as you began pointing out the work that needed doing.

The farm was modest but well-kept, with rolling fields of golden wheat and neat rows of vegetables that hinted at how hard you worked to keep everything running. Your tone shifted as you explained things, clear and confident as you outlined his responsibilities- though you had those written in the ad as well, and so he knew what to expect. There was no hesitation in the way you moved, and John found himself admiring the way your body seemed made for this life- strong and soft, with a natural grace that made him feel clumsy in comparison. A foreign feeling to him.

The work was grueling, but John threw himself into it with a determination that surprised even him. Fences were mended, fields were tilled, and hay was hauled, the strain in his muscles a welcome distraction from the heaviness in his chest, the daily routine providing a purpose he’d been searching for. You worked alongside him every day, your hands as dirty as his by the end of it. You didn’t shy away from the harder tasks, your body bending and lifting with an ease that left him stealing glances when you weren’t looking.

It didn’t take long for you to notice the cracks in him, though. The way his eyes seemed haunted in the quieter moments, or how he would pause, his hands clenching into fists as if fighting off a memory. He wasn’t sleeping well- you could tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the way he moved in the mornings, sluggish and stiff, gratefully accepting the tea you’d make. He wouldn’t talk about it, but you saw the weight he carried, and it broke something in you.

You began helping him in your own quiet way. A warm, full plate of food at the end of a long day, a soft blanket folded neatly on the porch swing when you knew he’d sit there at night. You didn’t pry, but you’d offer him small comforts, like the way you’d linger for a moment longer when handing him a glass of water, letting your fingers brush his.

“You’re doing good work here, John,” you told him one evening as you set a plate of stew in front of him. Your voice was gentle, though it left no room for argument. “Thank you. I’m glad it was you who came by.”

He grunted in response, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He appreciated your kindness, though he didn’t know how to express it. He couldn’t shake the way you made him feel- not just useful, but seen.

The first visitor arrived a few weeks later, just as you were finishing up the morning chores. Simon- whom John introduced as Ghost, military callsigns were strange to you- was as imposing as his name suggested, his tall frame and masked face almost startling you when you turned the corner of the barn.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, low and gravelly. His dark eyes studied you carefully, as if trying to assess whether you were friend or foe. “Heard John was here. Wanted to check on him.”

Simon stayed, though he didn’t say why and you didn’t ask. At first, it seemed like he was just there to make sure John was alright, but soon enough, he was pitching in, fixing broken tools and hauling heavy loads with an ease that belied his quiet nature. He was efficient and methodical, and your german shepherd dog, Riley, adored him from the get-go.

You noticed the way he watched you, his gaze lingering when you didn’t think he’d notice. Simon had a way of positioning himself near you, as if he could ward off any harm just by being close. He’d take over heavy tasks without you asking, broad shoulders and strong hands making easy work of things that left you breathless when John was busy doing something else.

The rain brought Kyle “Gaz” Garrick to your doorstep after Simon, his clothes soaked through and his face muted with exhaustion. He knocked once, and when you opened the door, his lopsided grin and the sparkle in his brown eyes immediately disarmed you.

“You must be the saint putting up with Price,” he’d joked, though his voice was warm as you fluttered and flitted about to bring him some towels, warm food and a chance to warm up. “Mind if I dry off before I drown?”

Kyle brought a lightness to the farm that you hadn’t even known had been missing, his laughter and teasing filling the air like birdsong. He quickly took to the work, his lean frame surprisingly strong as he helped with everything from repairing the chicken coop to plowing the fields. But you caught the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you, his smile lingering when you were near, and especially bright whenever you’d poke back at him.

“You sure you’re not too soft for this kind of work, Garrick?” you teased after he groaned about the weight of a hay bale, hands on your hips.

“Soft?” he shot back, flexing an arm, and then he winked at you. “These are prime muscles, love. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you keep sneakin’ looks.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed at the accusation, and Kyle smirked.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish arrived with the same energy as a summer storm, his laughter echoing through the fields before you even saw him. “Hope you’ve got room for one more!” he declared, his broad grin making you smile despite yourself.

Johnny was impossible to ignore, his enthusiasm infectious. He worked tirelessly, his hands calloused but gentle as he helped. He had a way of making you laugh, his jokes and compliments leaving your cheeks warm more often than not.

He immediately took to helping you with the animals especially, affectionately naming every goat and chicken, and teasing you about how they seemed to follow you everywhere.

“It’s because they know a good soul when they see one.” he said one evening, brushing hay from your hair. His fingers lingered a second too long before he pulled back, and you pretended your smile wasn’t bashful and your heart wasn’t thudding faster than baby goats running to drink their milk bottles.

The four of them fell into an easy rhythm just like that, their camaraderie seamless, and you truly understood just how close of a unit they must have been.

But what you didn’t notice was the way they watched over you. Whether it was John stepping in to take a heavy load from your hands or Simon silently following you to make sure you were safe, they all seemed to share an unspoken agreement to protect you.

And then there was the way they looked at you- not just with admiration, but with something deeper. John admired the way you carried yourself, your curves soft yet strong, a quiet confidence in every step. Simon found himself drawn to your steadiness, your calm presence soothing the chaos in his mind. Kyle loved your kindness, the way you always seemed to know what they needed without asking. And Johnny? Johnny adored everything about you, from your laugh to the way your body moved with an effortless grace.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you all sat on the porch, the scent of freshly cut hay hanging in the air.

“You’ve all been such a big help,” you said, your voice soft and happy as you looked at them, Riley curled near your feet. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

John’s eyes met Simon’s, and Kyle and Johnny exchanged a glance.

“We’re not going anywhere,” John said finally, his voice steady. “Not if you’ll have us.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through your chest as you looked out at the fields.

You had… truly never expected your precious little farm to become such a sanctuary for others as it was for you, but you were glad. It meant you were doing something right.

Something very right, going by the way you caught them looking at you.

At first, you hadn’t thought much of it. You were used to glances- it came with being a little softer, a little curvier than most women. People always seemed to look a little longer than they needed to, whether out of judgment or admiration, though you’d long since stopped trying to figure out which.

But this? This was different.

John’s gaze lingered when he thought you wouldn’t notice, sharp blue eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the swell of your thighs as you bent to collect eggs or reached up to pull a stubborn weed. When your skirts brushed your legs in the breeze, you swore you saw his jaw tighten, the flicker of something restrained in his expression before he turned back to whatever task he’d assigned himself for the day.

Simon was harder to read, but not impossible. He was quiet, his eyes shadowed under the brim of his cap or the mask he still occasionally wore out of habit, but there was a weight to the way he watched you. He never let you out of his sight if he could help it, always a step behind you when you carried something too heavy, his broad frame so steady and reliable it made your breath catch sometimes. When your hands brushed- accidentally, at first- he didn’t pull away quickly like most men would. Instead, he lingered just long enough for you to notice, just long enough to make you wonder how it would feel to have his fingers dig into your softness.

Kyle was far less subtle. He flirted openly, grinning whenever he managed to make you blush, which was often. He’d find any excuse to compliment you- how strong you were, how beautiful your smile was, how lovely your hair looked in the sunlight. It was playful at first, but then came the moments when his teasing turned quiet, almost tender, like when he brushed dirt off your cheek or tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His hands always hovered, careful but close enough to leave you wondering if he’d reach for you properly if you just gave him the smallest sign.

And Johnny? Johnny was a walking storm of affection. He wasn’t shy about how much he adored you. From the way he complimented your cooking- “I swear, love, you’re a magician in that kitchen”- to how he always seemed to find a reason to be near you, even when he wasn’t working. He’d lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and a crooked grin on his face as he watched you knead dough or arrange flowers in a vase. And then there were the touches- small, fleeting things, like his hand on the small of your back as he passed by or the way his fingers grazed yours when he handed you tools.

You’d been blind to it at first, convincing yourself it was just gratitude for the work, for the meals, for the home you’d offered them. But as the days stretched into weeks and their gazes grew heavier, their presence closer, it became harder and harder to ignore the truth.

They admired you.

Not just as a caretaker or a friend, but as something more- something deeper.

It was there in the way John’s voice softened when he spoke to you, the way Simon’s posture shifted when anyone unfamiliar stepped onto the property, putting himself between you and whatever potential threat he saw. It was in the way Kyle’s jokes always seemed to circle back to how lovely you looked doing even the simplest things, and the way Johnny’s laughter died in his throat whenever you smiled at him just a little too long.

And the realization left you flustered- unsure of what to do with the warmth that bloomed in your chest whenever they lingered too close or brushed against you without meaning to.

They all cared for you, and in a way that went far beyond just gratitude.

The knowledge sent your heart racing whenever one of them looked at you like that- like you were something precious, something worth protecting. Like you were worth staying for.

And maybe- just maybe- you were ready to let them.

[nexysworld]

Summary: Raccoon City, 1998. Leon, a rookie officer, encounters an exceptionally unique girl while on patrol. Captivated by her and concerned for her well-being, he decides to take her under his protection. Slowly, his thoughts increasingly revolve around her, and his concern for her safety turns into an obsession. Pairing: Developing Yandere Leon x Puppy Hybrid Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, Oneshot, Mild Slowburn, Female Masturbation, Sex, Creampies, Dubcon, Controlling behavior, Incredibly Naive Reader, Non Outbreak AU, Fingering, Pillow Humping, baby trapping, mentions of past trauma/medical related trauma, Umbrella corporation being evil, sweet sex, fluff, no use of y/n, heat cycles. WC: 14.6K

A/N: This was a commission for the ever wonderful and lovely @explorevenus. I loved writing this and I hope you love it too. <3 Also thank you @dollfacefantasy for beta reading for me. :)

Read on AO3 || Ask Box || Masterlists

Thick fog permeated the area obstructing Leon’s view through the windshield of his cruiser. He didn’t really see a point in traffic patrols on nights like this; the road wasn’t visible, nor was any potential crime. Though he had to admit it was nice being able to sit and listen to the radio with nothing else to pull his attention. 

The particular strip of highway he was monitoring connected to the dense and dark woods that began the separation from the city to the mountains – it wasn’t uncommon for the shadows of the wildlife to occasionally dance against his headlights before the animal skittered off. It was something that used to unnerve him, but he’d grown used to it by now. 

The night bore on with little eventfulness, it was nearly midnight and time for Leon to phone in that he was ending his shift. Another night, exactly the same as before. 

Carefully, he pulled the vehicle out onto the road, keeping just slightly below speed to make up for the lack of visuals. Not paying much attention to anything besides the dim road ahead, he didn’t process anything in his peripherals – especially not the figure running towards the street.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, slamming the breaks. While the impact wasn’t high speed, it was too fast to stop in time – as he braced himself by squeezing his eyes shut, he heard the thump of something hit the hood. By the time he opened his eyes, he caught the tail end of the body rolling off and onto the road. 

“Are you alright?” He called out, not sure yet if it had been an animal or a person, as he shakily made his way over to the scene. His breath hitched upon the sight. “What the hell?” A girl, naked and ragdolled onto the pavement with a nonhuman set of ears and tail. Leon bent down, pressing his fingers to her neck. “She’s got a pulse, that’s good. Hey, can you hear me?” No sound came from the girl before him.

He knew he should’ve called for backup, had the paramedics on the way – but something about the whole situation was so peculiar it had his mind working at a negative speed. Gently he rolled her onto her back. There was no blood, just some scuffed up bruising on the girl’s left side from the impact, a goose egg forming on her head. 

Gently he tugged on one of the dog-like ears, expecting it to be part of a costume or a headband. Leon was thoroughly perplexed when he realized they were attached to the girl’s head, nearly jumping back when they twitched. A pained groan  left her mouth as she moved a bit, coming back to the conscious world, eyes lazily opening. Another muted mumble left her mouth as she rubbed at her head before sitting upright.

“Miss?” Leon put his hand on her shoulder trying to get her attention again.

She met his gaze and in an instant recoiled from him, growling as she scowled, even baring her teeth.

He noted the way the dog-ears on her head had pointed back all on their own, further evidence of them not being a costume prop. It was absurd, and he wasn’t sure whether to be on guard or laugh at her strange behavior. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been in such a strange situation in his entire life. “Miss, I need you to take a deep breath for me, calm down.”

She didn’t let up, growling at him with more intensity, her stance becoming tighter as if she was winding herself up to spring at him. Despite the hostility, he could see it in her eyes that she was scared.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached his arm out again, slowly. “I’m a cop, I help people….do you understand me?”

She gave him an untrusting glance, eyeing at the hand as if it were offensive to be in her presence, but the growling had stopped. He dared his hand even closer again, this time managing to gently touch her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “You’re safe with me.”

Her bottom lip quivered before she relaxed a little.

He smiled at her. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse.

“My name’s Leon. Do you have a name?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You got roughed up pretty good,” He tore his heavy uniform jacket off, wrapping it around her shoulders before standing. “You too hurt to walk? Need help up?”

She shook her head again, using the hood of the cruiser to wobble back to her feet. He could see the goosebumps on her skin from where the cool air was hitting everything not under the jacket – though he quickly averted his eyes up from where her indecency started. He placed a hand on her back, gently motioning her to follow him to the door of the car, opening it and ushering her into the warmth of the back seat. “What happened to your clothes?”

“Don’t have any.” She stared back at him, tilting her head to the side, dog ear flopping with it. It was cute, probably the cutest thing Leon had ever seen, and he wasn’t even sure what he was seeing still.

“Where are you from?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you doing out here alone?”

She didn’t reply, nor did he get a peep out of her for any other questions. When it became clear that she was shutting down, Leon had to think fast. “These are real, aren’t they?” He asked bringing his hand out to touch the soft ears atop her head again. He felt them perk up beneath his hand, and he gave a little scratch to it, hearing the telltale sign of her tale thump lightly against the leathered backseat. “You like that, huh?” 

She responded by closing her eyes, nodding into his touch.

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“No.”

Leon wasn’t sure what to do with the girl. She hadn’t done anything illegal – unless you counted public indecency, but he could tell that probably wasn’t by her own choice. On the other hand, she clearly wasn’t normal. He didn’t even know what to make of the animal attachments or her quirky mannerisms. With her head tilted to the side, he had a more clear view of her neck now, a tattoo catching his attention, it was a red and white logo he’d seen before. “The umbrella logo?” He asked out loud, more to himself than her.

She responded by jumping back in the seat, growling again, covering the mark with her hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He said, putting his hands up defensively. He was even less sure what a pharmaceutical company had to do with a girl like her – he could only venture to guess. Whatever happened there, she clearly wasn’t happy about it. “I won’t make you go back.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Then we’re in agreement.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, shaking it. She looked confused by the gesture but didn’t stop him. “When you shake on something, it means its a deal, you can’t go back on it.”

“Really?”

“That’s right. Why don’t you come stay with me for the night? You look like you could use some food and I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you stay out in the cold like this.”

“Ok.” He helped slip her arms through the holes in his jacket, zipping it up before clicking the seat belt into place. She squirmed against it in a panic. “No! No! Get it off!”

“Hey, hey.” He cooed again, cupping her cheeks. “It’s alright. It’s to keep you safe.” She shook her head, fat tears brimming at her lash line. “It is, I promise.” He held his hand out to her again. She took it this time, mimicking his earlier action of shaking it. “See? I have to keep my word now.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

You weren’t sure of the man sitting in the front seat, or why you had to be strapped down again. You hated being strapped down. But there was something about his eyes, they were so kind compared to the scary men in white lab coats. His scent too, sweet and musky, not the sterile chemical smell that was scattered around the labs. Leon was nice. Leon was safe.

The warmth of the moving box you were in was all it took for the soreness and fatigue to catch up with you, eyes growing heavier and heavier until you found yourself sinking into that sweet and comfortable darkness.

“Hey, we’re home.”

The familiar sound of Leon’s voice tore you from slumber, annoyed, you let out a grumble readjusting in the seat. Only the jarring feeling of the cold hitting you as the door opened again was enough to yank you fully back to consciousness with a frown. “Don’t wanna move.” 

He sighed. “Then I won’t make you,” a moment later you were being scooped up into his arms. Being cradled against his chest felt nice, another thing so very unlike the way you were used to being treated. 

The inside of his home wasn’t what you were expecting. Every corner of the small house radiated his scent, and it was warm. Not a concrete wall or blindingly white light anywhere. The couch he’d plopped you down onto was soft, fabric feeling nice against your skin. It couldn’t even hold a flame to the sticky leather of Dr. Birkin’s office seat. Sinking into the plushness, you couldn’t help but bury your nose into one of the pillows, tail wagging heavily as you took in more of Leon’s scent.

“Comfy?” He asked with a soft laugh.

“Yeah! Yeah!”

“You wait right there, I’ll be back. I just need to get out of these clothes, then we can work on getting some food in you.” He ruffled your hair, making you giggle. The heaviness of his jacket and the comfiness of the cushions kept you in place. 

When he returned, he was in gray pants and a white shirt. He held out some fabric towards you. “I get the feeling clothes aren’t something you’re used too, but I think it would be best if you put these on.” There was a light flushing to his face as he said the words, though you couldn’t figure out why.

“Why?” You asked, taking them from his hand. They didn’t smell as deeply of him as you’d liked, instead a synthetic floral scent wafted to your nose making your face scrunch up. “They smell bad. I don’t need them.” “Bad? They’re fresh out of the laundry they should smell like – oh. Your sense of smell is probably a lot stronger than mine, isn’t it? Hold that thought.” He ran back up the stairs again, this time coming down with another shirt. He thrust it out waiting until you took it. “That better?”

Yanking it from his hands, you brought it to your nose, inhaling it. It was much better, wrapped in Leon, you nodded in acknowledgement.

“It’s my undershirt from earlier, thought it might work better. Let’s compromise, you can wear that shirt, but the boxers gotta be fresh since they’re not as close to your nose.” 

You considered his suggestion, rubbing the fabric against your face again. “Alright.”  He helped you unzip the jacket and slide it off before slipping the shirt over your head, then holding out the black bottoms for you to step into. 

You didn’t love it, the way the clothes felt against your skin, it was restrictive in a way you weren’t used to – but when he praised you, petting your head again you decided you could suffer through the torment of clothing for him.

���Good girl.” He praised again, and you were done for, practically crawling into his lap to get closer to the hand that was scritching behind your ears. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore, but ok.”

“I think I have some medicine –”

“No!” You interjected. Medicine was never a good thing, it meant feeling hazy, fuzzy. It meant waking up with headaches, not feeling like yourself. Medicine was bad.

“It’ll make your head and side feel better.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ok, ok.” He gave in, pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around you, gently running his hand down the back of your head in slow repetitions. “But if it gets too bad, let me know. Are you hungry?”

“I am.” 

He nodded, reaching for the phone on the side table. He said something about a large with extra cheese, but you had no clue what that meant. 

In fact, when he eventually answered the door and presented you with the triangular piece of food, you were even more confused. “What’s this?”

“It’s pizza.” He replied as if that was obvious, holding up the dripping thing and taking a bite out of the pointy end. 

You sniffed at the unfamiliar food. It looked nothing like the slop that constituted your meals back at the lab. It smelled strange too – but as Leon wolfed down his own piece, you took that as a sign it was safe to eat, even if a little strange. 

You couldn’t stop the moan leaving your mouth as your tongue met it – a strange mix of flavors but all were delicious as it melted in your mouth. Practically inhaling the piece, you scrambled forward to stuff your face with more.

Leon chuckled, rubbing your back. “I get the feeling you’ve never been given a decent meal before.”

You shook your head, another piece of pizza dangling from your mouth as you did so.

“Well, from now on you won’t have to worry about that.” He assured. “Promise.”

Did he really mean it? You weren’t sure, but so far he’d been nothing but kind. You smiled at him, food still in your mouth as you reached over to shake his free hand, making sure he couldn’t go back on his word.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

The moment the front door flew open, Leon was greeted by the tell tale sign of her presence, feet pattering around against the wooden floors as she bounded towards him. He caught her in his arms like he had every prior day, holding her close and resting his chin on her head. 

Her tail wagged behind her so fast it was hardly visible, but he could feel the light air current it created. Nothing warmed his heart more.

“You have a good day, sweetheart?”

“Mmm yeah, was boring without you though.” She whined. “They played the same movie on TV like 8 times!”

He chuckled brushing some hair away from her forehead before planting a kiss there. “That’s the worst.” He agreed, gently prying the girl off of him so he could make his way further inside the home to begin their evening routine – the same routine they’d gone through each night since he’d taken her home.

Leon didn’t have much going for him, sure he achieved his goal of graduating from the police academy, hell he even got his first pick of the local stations. But it wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d hoped. He had no grand career plans, or even life plans. His only reason for joining the police force was so he could help people, something that he rarely even did.

Traffic patrol, pencil pushing, the odd bar fight break ups – that was his life. 

At least until now. 

He found his thoughts wandering to her every spare chance he got. The image of her stretched out on the couch taking a midday nap, her curious naivety and childlike wonder over new things. The most mundane of things still revolved around her – and he loved it. Having someone to come home to and worry about gave him a genuine purpose. 

“Leon?”

“Yeah?” He responded as he pulled the soft cotton tshirt over his head. 

“Can we go on a walk tonight, please? Please?” She begged as she sat on the edge of their now shared bed.

“I don’t know, you remember what happened last time - “ 

“I know, I know. But I swear this time I’ll stay right by your side. I’ll even wear the hat!”

He let out a sigh, it was hard to say no when she was looking at him like that. “What has you wanting to go out so badly?” The thought of it dredged up some anxiety. While she was free to run about the property as she pleased, taking her into public was a different challenge all together. Not only were her social skills needing some work, but he was worried that wherever she’d come from, whoever had kept her originally was still looking for her.  Despite the time spent together, she hadn’t opened up much about anything still, not that he blamed her.

“The TV said there’s a para aid tonight.”

“A para aid?” He had no clue what she was going on about.

“Yeah! They showed all these fancy lights and food.” 

“Oh, the parade! The one down by the carnival.” He said in realization. “I don’t know… there’s going to be a lot of people there, lots of smells and noises too…”

The way she immediately shrunk down on herself, deflated in defeat, broke his heart. Her tail stopped wagging, fluffy ears flattened against the top of her head. It felt so wrong to be the cause of that upset, gut wrenching really. “You promise to keep the clothes on the whole time, and not run off on me?”

She perked up immediately, so quickly he was under the distinct suspicion she’d only been feigning her upset to get her way. Even that was endearing though. “Promise!”

“Then we can go for a little bit.” 

When she was at home running around in his boxers and shirts, it was adorable. But something about her dressed in his oversized clothes did something to him that he couldn’t explain. The gray beanie keeping her ears in place, the blue jacket covering where her tail was belted to her back, the jeans bunched at the waist and pooling at her ankles – it was like a sign of ownership in a way. 

He wrapped his arm around her, keeping her tucked into his side as they walked. He could see her head darting around every which way as the overwhelming sights came and left their view. “You alright?”

“Yeah. There’s just so much.”

“I told you.” He chuckled, squeezing her into him more. “If it gets to be too much, let me know and we can head home, ok?”

She nodded, but her eyes were already glued on the twinkling set of lights from the moving vehicles ahead of her. Leon moved the two of them forward enough so they could see the floats clearly as they came by.

“They’re beautiful.” She said, eyes wide in amazement. He could feel her tail attempting to move under the confines of the jacket-belt combo. It saddened him a bit that she wasn’t able to express herself the way she deserved for such a happy moment.

“Not as beautiful as you.” He watched as she looked in the opposite direction of him, despite the glowing multicolored lights of the next vehicle making its way past the crowd, he could still see the twinge of a flush on her cheeks from his comment. She looked pretty like that, soft and vulnerable – he couldn’t remember the last time someone gave him that fuzzy feeling, made his heart skip a beat.

“You really think that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then why do I have to cover my ea - “

He shushed her, gently pulling her away from the crowd of people and the ongoing parade, until they were behind one of the teacup carnival rides. “You know you need to keep quiet about that when we’re out here. You promised.”

“But I don’t understand… if you think I’m pretty then why do I have to hide it?”

“Because - “ He was cut off when a group of teenagers bumped into them.

“My bad!” The kid said, waving them off as they walked away. The spot the two of them stood in was becoming more and more crowded as the street parade ended. With more people flooding in, Leon realized this wasn’t the time nor place for this conversation – but he knew he couldn’t leave her so upset either.

“Look, let me take you on one of the rides and we can talk, ok?”

“Rides?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it.” He said pointing to large ferris wheel rotating around. “That one, you get to sit in those carts and once you’re at the very top, you’ll get the view of the whole city.” Not waiting for her response, he took her by the hand leading her over to the line. Being halfway through the night there weren’t as many people lined up for the rides as there were for the games and food stalls. It didn’t take long before the two of them were seated, and the ride began to move.

He could tell by her body language alone the movement had her on edge. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t go any faster than this. We’re safe.”

“And I can look out?”

“Yep, just like I said, look.” He pointed out showing the bustling city below them as the wheel reached its peak.

“Oh wow.”

“That’s where I work.” He said pointing out to the large RPD building. “And that’s where I go to get the groceries.”

“And the pizza?”

“Over there.”

Now that the ride had been filled, it began to rotate again, she watched the city intently as it went around a few more rotations. He didn’t want to interrupt her intense fascination, so he let her be, only reaching out when she went a little too far over the opened window than he would’ve liked.

“Can we go again?”

“I can ask.” With the evening winding down more, and only a few others wanting to join the ride, the attendant nodded, allowing them to go again.

This time, her fascination dwindled slightly as she stayed put in the seat. “Can we talk about it now?”

“Covering up?”

She nodded, fidgeting with the cuffs of the jacket sleeve.

“When you’re home watching TV, do you ever see anyone that looks like you?”

“No.”

“It’s because you’re special, one of a kind.” He said tucking a stray strand of hair back under the beanie. “And I love that about you. My special puppydoll.” He smiled as she nuzzled into his hand. “But, because you’re so special, other people might not feel the same. People can be really mean when someone is different than them. I don’t want anyone to be mean to you, or worse, hurt you.”

A moment of silence washed over them, she scooted closer to rest her head on his shoulder, the cart swaying slightly.

“They were mean to me.”

“Who?”

“Where I came from.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say to that, it was the most information he’d gotten out of her and it hadn’t been a lot, but he was happy that she was confiding something after all this time. “I’m sorry that happened to you . . . Do you want to talk about it?”

“Dr. Birkin was the worst. There were two of them actually, lady Birkin and man Birkin. They yelled at me a lot, asked me tons of questions. Sometimes they would put me on this big table and tied me down, poke at me…” As she spoke her voice became more strained, her body tensing up along with it.

It was clear that her short explanation was merely the cliffnoted version of events, and he wasn’t going to pry further than that – he got the idea. “Hey, its ok.” He cooed, wrapping both arms around her. “You don’t have to worry about them any more. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“What if they hurt you?” She peeked up from where her head had been nestled into the crook of his neck, a small wet patch formed where her eyes had watered.

“Why would they do that?”

“They’re bad people… and I wasn’t supposed to leave.”

“I’m a cop – its our job to keep people safe. And guess what?”

“What?”

“It makes us much harder to hurt.”

“Hey Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I try something I saw on the TV?”

“You’re not going to jump out of here, are you?”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, I think that would be dangerous.”

“Then go for it.”

He was surprised when her lips met his, her arms slinking around his neck. He returned the gesture, holding her tightly to him, closing his eyes. “You learn to kiss like that just from watching the TV? I’m impressed.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I do it again?”

“I’d never say no.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

The wheel came to its last stop, this time the man outside insisting they had to get off.  Leon nodded at the man, helping you step out of the cart.

“You hungry? I think some of the food places are still open if you want to try them. Or we can grab something on the way home.”

“Yeah, I’m starving.” You followed next to him as he was headed over to where the strong cacophony of smells was coming from. Like many experiences with Leon, it was something you couldn’t have imagined. Closing your eyes, you sniffed around, trying to identify and take in each individual scent that you could.

A familiar voice broke your concentration, if it weren’t for the stupid hat, your ear would’ve lifted allowing you better access to the sound. Instead it was muffled slightly, soon another familiar voice layered over that one. 

Swallowing dryly, dared to peek at the offending voices and immediately froze. The Birkins, it was hard to recognize them without their white outfits, but it was them – blonde hair and all, between them a small girl grasping at both of their hands. 

“No.” Voice breathless you tried to take a step and grab at Leon’s arm, only to realize he wasn’t next to you.

“What do you want?” The stranger responded.

“I-I’m sorr - “ The man didn’t let you finish, already walking away. Leon wasn’t anywhere in your sight, and despite your eyes darting around you failed to pick up on him or his scent. The surrounding crowd was beginning to overwhelm you, too much noise, too much to look at and take in.  “L-Leon?” No response, not that your voice could contend with the chatter around. 

A hand on your shoulder made you jump. “There you are.” Man Birkin. “We were wondering where you ran off too.”

Not giving the man a chance to do anything else, you took off. He gripped at the back of Leon’s jacket, almost yanking you backwards, but you caught yourself and slipped out of it, not caring if the surrounding people caught sight of your true form – all you were concerned with was getting away, putting as much distance between yourself and the Birkins as you could.

It wasn’t long before the maelstrom of colors and scents from the carnival died down, morphing into a disgustingly musty and cool toned city view. Legs burning, you stopped only to give yourself long enough to pant, trying to catch your breath.  Peering around the corner and doing a quick 360, there was no one in sight, not Birkin, not Leon, not anyone.

A new sense of fear encompassed you, the realization you were lost and alone again, just like that night in the woods. Even worse, fear that if Leon did find you, he’d be angry. The hat you were wearing long blew off in the wind, the belt having been ripped off to free your tail – it made running easier. You were exposed exactly in the way you’d promised him not to be, and you’d managed to leave his side too.

“He’s going to hate me.” You whined into your hands, slapping at your face as the tears began to spill. “I’m so stupid. So stupid.”  

Once calm enough to think the situation through more, you looked around again to assess your surroundings. The streets were empty, and it was a lot darker than it seemed from the top of the wheel. Eerily quiet too, so unlike the bustling cities you watched on the little box TV at home. 

Gripping your tail with both hands nervously, you started your trek down one of the narrow roads. If you’d learned anything from the TV, it was that you don’t stay in alleyways. Besides that, what knowledge you had was limited, a fact you were now painfully aware of upon realizing that you didn’t even have a clue of where you were walking to. A green sign pasted to the wall looked familiar. There was someone wearing clothes similar to Leon’s, and a big white arrow pointing down the path ‘RPD’, you’d recognized those symbols from Leon’s uniform, and the huge sign he’d pointed at during the ferris wheel. “Cops help people.” You reminded yourself of his words.

You followed the arrow, stumbling about until you were before the gigantic building. A man was leaning against the wall, talking into a small radio. He was huge, the biggest man you’d ever seen, brown hair and muscles everywhere. His clothes weren’t quite the same as Leon’s but seemed different than the other people at the carnival. Nervously, you stepped forward. “A-are you a cop?”

He looked down at you, despite his larger and slightly more gruff exterior, his eyes were soft and kind like Leon’s. “Not exactly, something like it though. Are you alright?”

“I’m looking for Leon.”

“Leon? Leon….oh officer Kennedy. He’s not working tonight.”

“I know, I got separated from him.”

“Ah, I gotcha.” He took a step forward, instinctively you took one back, not trusting of the stranger just yet. “Hey, no need to be scared. I can help you.”

“But you’re not a cop?” You asked, taking another calculated step back.

“Not a cop, but I still work here with Leon. See?” He pulled some type of badge out. It was too far away and too dark to see clearly, but the shape of the badge itself looked like the one Leon usually kept in his uniform pocket. “The name’s Chris, Chris Redfield. Come on, you can come inside and wait while I call him.” 

“Ok.” Where you had been standing it was dark, but once the streetlight fully illuminated your figure, you saw his face change. Sensing no malice, you didn’t make a move to run, but you didn’t walk any closer either. 

Chris opted to come to you, eyes narrowing suspiciously at your form. Your ears were flat to your head as you looked up at him. “Are those...real?” It was so similar to your first meeting with Leon, even the large hand coming down to pat your head, scritching at them. It felt so good, you’d let the grip on your tail go, rubbing back into his hand. You recognized the look of concern that spread over his feature, but it was quickly replaced with a smile as he guided you into the building, and past several doors. 

The man took a seat behind a desk, watching you as he picked up the phone. It rang a few times before he put it back onto the receiver, no answer. “You don’t look so hot. Hungry? Need a drink?”

“Please.”

“Here.” He said, opening a metal tin before handing it to you. “Homemade by my sister, guaranteed to be delicious.” He stood from the rolling chair he had been seated in, looking down at you. “Wait here for me, I think his cell number is somewhere around here. Just don’t leave this room, got it?”

Already halfway through scarfing down the sandwich, you couldn’t respond. You nodded in agreement though.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Leon had never experienced anxiety on this level before, not once in his entire life. One moment he was ordering food, the next he realized you hadn’t been by his side. His heart sank. 

The next hour he’d spend running around the carnival area, up and down the streets where the parade was, only to come up empty handed. When he’d stumbled upon his jacket, he felt sick to his stomach – only worst case scenarios came to mind; your dead body on one of his police reports, headlines about a mysterious science experiment gone missing, or arguably worse – someone else taking you home for their own pleasure.

The thoughts only worsened when he pulled the antenna up from his phone before flipping it open. “Leon? It’s Redfield. I think I have your uh….friend here. The one with the extra parts.”

“Is she ok? Is she hurt? How’d she get - “ 

“She’s fine. But we need to talk. I’m keeping her in my office for right now, no one else is here besides some pencil pushers, but some of the patrolling squads will return soon. I won’t be able to hide her all night.”

“Shit.” Leon dug his sneaker into the gravel. “I can be there in 15, no more like 25 with all the traffic leaving. Look Chris, I can explain. “

There was some shuffling and Chris greeting someone on the other end of the line before his voice picked up again. “Bad news, some of the teams are already back.” His voice was now a low hushed whisper. “Look, just go home, I’ll meet you there with her. You’re still at the old sheriff's house right?”

“Yeah but wait - “

“Gotta go.” 

Leon bristled as the call cut off, snapping the phone shut. The walk to his jeep, and the drive back home were done in silence. He felt out of his own body, swishing back and forth on waves of anxiety. He paced back and forth waiting for an update. 

It felt like a lifetime had passed before the glow of Chris’ headlights made an appearance through the front windows of the house. Leon couldn’t contain the childlike giddiness he felt, bolting out the front door and over to her; crushing her into a too-tight hug.

“Leon…” She whined, attempting to squirm under his grasp.

“No.” He said firmly, refusing to let go. “I can’t believe you ran like that, you promised me.”

“Leon it wasn’t -”

“I don’t care. Don’t you ever scare me like that again, do you understand?” He finally gave her enough room to look up at him. He felt horrible at the knee-weakening stare she gave back, but he couldn’t bring himself to calm down enough to comfort her just yet. “Go inside and wait for me, I have to talk to Chris.”

“But Le - “

“Go.” He said more firmly, pointing towards the front door. He waited for her to slowly make her way towards it, ears down and tail nearly tucked between her legs.

“Hey, don't be so hard on her.” Chris said, putting his hand on Leon’s shoulder.

“Yeah I know. I’ll apologize later. Thanks for bringing her home.”

“Sure thing.” There was a moment of silence that passed between the two men before Chris finally piped up again. “Leon . . . how do you even have that girl? I saw the umbrella logo on her neck, she’s probably some experiment, or worse, a bioweapon.”

“A what? Her? No. No way.” Leon said, shaking his head. “She’s different...but harmless.”

Chris sighed. “I think so too, but you never know. How did you even get her? How long have you had her?”

“Almost a year now. I kind of stumbled on her one night during the end of my patrol. She was so scared, I couldn’t send her back Chris, not if you saw that look in her eye.” 

“I get it.” The taller man said. “You should be more careful. I’m not sure the ins and outs of it all myself, but I know that higher ups in the S.T.A.R.S. unit sometimes work with Umbrella. I wouldn’t even be surprised if that girl was reported to them already. I’d keep her away from the city from now on.”

“You’re right.” It wasn’t like he’d let her go out often as it was, but after tonight, he was realizing that she wasn’t made to go out at all. She was far better off here, at home. He also knew that she wasn’t going to like that change - but it was for her own good. “You’re not going to uh…say anything are you?”

“Nah.” Chris shrugged. “I don’t see a point, it wouldn’t benefit anyone. She’s better off with you, I think.”

“Well thanks again for bringing her back.”

“No problem. If you two need anything, let me know.” 

Leon nodded, he watched as Chris made his way back to his vehicle and waved him off, not moving until it was out of sight. The anxiety from the evening hadn’t fully left Leon, and now that she was back home and it was just the two of them, he was nervous. Not in the sense that he thought they would have a confrontation, but he knew given everything it would be awkward and he hated the feeling of awkwardness. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” He called out noticing she wasn't splayed across the couch like he expected. The non-immediate response set off alarm bells in his head, but he was relieved when she came trodding downstairs in her usual attire. 

“What?” 

As expected, she didn’t look happy, brows knitted together anger written all over her face. He pulled her into another hug with one arm, his free hand gently smoothing over the top of her head, focusing on her ears in a short rhythmic pattern. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. I’m just happy you’re safe, and home.”

“I didn’t mean to run off.” She mumbled against him, clinging to him in a hug of her own. “Really. One moment I couldn’t see you anymore, and I saw the Birkins there. It was so scary, I didn’t know what to do.”

“I should have kept a closer eye on you. I’m sorry.” Leon gave her a quick peck of the lips before pulling back.

“Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I in trouble? I let Chris see me and -”

“No. No, you’re not in trouble.”

“Are you going to be in trouble?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Chris is a cool guy, you can trust him.” 

“Ok.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

It was about a week after the night at the carnival that you noticed something was different between you and Leon now. You weren’t sure if it had to do with the kiss, or the rest of the evening. A sneaking suspicion told you it was likely both. 

Since that night, he never seemed to leave you alone. It wasn’t a bad thing, at first. New rules in place meant you weren’t allowed outside without him now, even on the property. He taught you how to use the house phone just so he could start calling several times a day to check in. When he was home, he was all over you, scarcely allowing you to even remain in a single room by yourself. 

It was all for your own safety, is how he’d explained it.

He cared about you more than anyone else ever had, and the added attention made your stomach tingle, tail wagging and ears perked. 

But soon it became too much, suffocating as time went on. It left you with torn feelings, on the one hand you knew you should be grateful to Leon, should soak in all the affection he bathed you in. And you wanted to really. Guilt ate away at you every time one too many hugs became irritating. One too many phone calls pulling your concentration from your current task. Going stir crazy in the same 4 walls day in and out. Not even being able to sit alone on the porch for a minute of solace. 

It was so reminiscent of the lab, and you hated yourself for making that connection – because Leon was not like the Birkins or anyone else there. He was kind. He was sweet. You loved him. Moreso, even being locked within the house, you had more freedom than those sterile white walls and blinding lights that you’d grown accustomed to. 

You felt shameful disgusted with yourself for harboring such thoughts. Despite that, the annoyance didn’t go away, it only grew despite yourself.

“Leooonnnnnn.” You whined, angrily tapping your fingers against the kitchen table. “You’ve been gone every day this week.”

“I know, I know. But Marvin’s been out sick, they needed someone to cover his shifts. Next week I’m all yours.” He said, ruffling your ears and kissing the top of your head like he always did. It was a small comfort, enough that you felt your tail do a single little thump against the seat. It wasn’t enough this time to improve your soured mood.

“I haven’t been out of the house in almost two weeks and that was just to sit on the porch. I’m bored. Can’t we go on another walk?”

“I told you to stop asking me that.” 

You recoiled. He didn’t yell, Leon never yelled, but his voice was sharp and cut like a knife. His usually soft features were pointed with irritation, and it seemed so unfitting for him. It was only the second time he’d ever snapped at you like that. He wasn’t wrong either, you’d been shot down every time you’d asked, and when you kept up the onslaught of begging, he had respectfully told you to stop. 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said as he idly grabbed the ingredients for dinner. “I know you’re going a little stir crazy here, I get it. Really.”

“Does that mean you might change your mind?”

“No.” He said, shooting you a weak smile.

“But you just said you understood.”

“I do understand. But sometimes what’s best for us isn’t what makes us happy, we gotta stick it out.”

“How long do I have to stick it out?”

“I don’t have an answer for that. But I promise it won’t be forever.” 

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but nodded anyway. “Ok.” 

This time when he ruffled your hair, you felt a strange warmness waterfall over you. It had you squirming in your seat. “Can I go sit on the porch while you make dinner at least? Please?"

He shot you a warning look, but it softened in an instant. "Fine, but only the porch, not a step past it. "

"Thank you! Thank you!" You cheered, assaulting his cheek with an onslaught of kisses the moment he'd agreed. You heard him say something as you skittered off, but it didn't register, beyond happy to finally have a taste of fresh air - a view of something that wasn't the same set of walls for the first time in weeks.

The air slapped your face immediately. It was chilly outside, so much so you were debating heading back to grab a coat or a blanket, but the fear that you may not be granted permission to go back out if you even stepped an inch back into the house, kept you planted. A little cold was nothing compared to feeling of the wind in your hair, the different scents of nature drawing their way into your nose.

Your ears twitched, picking up the sound of something nearby. Chirping. A bird! It was perched in a tree at the end of the property where the well-groomed lawn spread out into the wilderness that spanned beyond the old fence.

The bright red was unlike anything you'd ever seen before in person. You wanted a closer look, just to observe it, halting the moment your foot lifted off the threshold of the porch. Leon had only permitted you to stay on the porch. He trusted you.

Your legs felt antsy, burning with the need to move, run. Your mind itched with the want to get closer to the small bird before it flew away. Before you were confided to the house again. A pathetic squeal-like whine worked its way from the back of your throat as you gripped the ledge of the porch, bouncing your legs up in down as if you were marching. You just wanted to see it.

Sure Leon would be mad if he knew, but if you were quick enough, only a minute, then he'd never know. Besides, you would still be on the property, technically.

Apprehension settled in your stomach, tethering you to the porch. "Leeeoonnn, I'm hungry. Is dinner almost done?" You called, cracking the back door open just enough to hear his response.

"Five more minutes." He called back, "I promise you won't starve, just wait out there for me, we can eat on the porch tonight."

"Ok!"

Five minutes. The door closed with a creak, the latch of the doorknob clicking into place. The fiery bird was still there, perched happily on the branch. Five minutes. You repeated on more time before taking off.

It felt so good, the bottoms of your feet flattening against the grass with each step. The wind knocking your hair backwards out of your face as you ran, tail and ears pointed. You had to resist the urge to spin, arms out, happy to be in the center of the open yard again. But there was only limited time, and you needed to make sure your little trip meant something.

Five minutes. "Crap." You muttered to yourself. "How long has it even been since he first said 5 minutes?" Realizing you didn't have the time to linger, you continued your journey jogging until you clutched the fence with both hands. "Ow!" The fence was splintered a part from age, but you hadn't expected it to bite you.

Only one hand was injured, little speckles of blood forming against your skin. The most damage done to your index and middle fingers. You shoved them into your mouth to suck and lap at the injury, ignoring the metallic taste in favor of finalizing your mission.

There it was in all its glory, this fat red bird seated in its nest. It turned its head side to side a few times as if looking down at you. "Wow." Murmuring around your injured fingers, your free hand cam up to reach out to it. It chirped and hopped around before fluttering it's wings and landing on your extended finger.

Eyes wide as saucers, your face almost hurt from how outstretched your smile was. Despite being so plump looking, the bird was surprisingly lightweight. It chirped a few more times. "Hello." If not for the stinging in your left hand reminding you of the current situation, you'd have felt like the Disney princesses Leon showed you.

Leon that's right, dinner would be done soon and you had no idea how much of the five minutes had been wasted. The turning off the doorknob in the distance had your ear twitching in that direction. It was too late to head back.

The sound of plates crashing to the wooden flooring made you want to cry, the bird sitting on your finger kept you where you were. Your hope was that maybe Leon would see it, understand why you'd done what you did, but the heavy stride of his steps told you otherwise.

"Leon -"

"Don't."

The last loud step by your side had the bird flying away, making you sad.

"You promised me! The first time I give you an ounce of trust and this is what you do?"

"I'm sorry - "

"You're always sorry! Do you want to be taken away? Do you want to go back to the lab, or worse be stuck with some stranger?"

"No."

"Go back inside."

"Leon the food -"

"Go. Back. Inside."

It was the first time Leon ever looked genuinely angry, his sky blue eyes feeling like lasers boring into the back of your head as you shamefully walked back towards the house. The remnants of dinner scattered over the porch from where he'd dropped them.

"Careful." He commanded, lifting you from behind to help you up and over the mess of glass and food, though the tone was far more annoyed than caring. You stood in the corner of the living room, watching him stomp around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets a little too roughly as he grabbed cleaning supplies.

Even the way he knelt down to begin scraping up the glass and food remnants off the ground just radiated negativity. "I can help clean it up."

"Don't bother." He said, getting as much of the mess into the dustpan. You sunk to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, a defensive pose learned when you were still with the Birkins.

Leon didn't say another word to you as he stormed around the place, and you didn't have the guts to say anything to him either. You were in trouble. Real trouble.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

 He can't remember the last time he was so angry. He didn't usually get angry. Just wasn't that kind of guy. On the rare occasion it did happen, he was pretty good at reigning it in.

Now though? It felt like pure heat radiated from every vein in his body. He couldn't breathe without steam working its way from his lungs. He wasn't sure what he was the most upset about, the breach of trust? The defiance? Or maybe the way she batted those lashes, the stupid bird on her hand.

Manipulative. That's what she was being, he was sure of it. Manipulative because she thought she understood how things worked, thought she could just decide to do whatever she wanted without consequence. Worse, she thought he was a pushover that would just allow it at every turn.

He pinched his nose, leaning against the counter. When he finally felt a little more numb to his emotions, he allowed himself to look over to where she was sitting, curled up in the corner like a child. He wasn't sure if it was genuine submission he was viewing, or another way of trying to get under his skin. The gurgling of her belly coupled with the silence from her mouth was enough to at least draw his focus from the situation to her immediate needs.

Leon pulled the phone off the receiver, speed dialing the Chinese place. He wasn't in the mood to cook again, and while he didn't want to reward your misbehavior, he couldn't help the pull of the crab rangoon, knowing it would make his own mood improve.

"Get up." The words came out harsher than he had intended and when she flinched from him, he felt nauseous. He cleared his throat, trying again, this time much softer. "I need you to get up, you can't stay there all night."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes." She look like she'd been shot. "But I won't be forever. " He gently tugged her arm, helping her to her feet. He ruffled the hair on her head before smoothing his hands over her ears a few times. "I ordered something to eat. Let's talk before it gets here."

It wasn't a request, but he still appreciated the nod he got in return as he led her over to the couch. He had to admit now that he was mellowing out, he didn't like the invisible separation between the two of them. Now he finally understood what people meant about the tension being thick enough to cut. The way she was sat, stiff as a board hands palm up in her lap, he bristled once he realized one of them was injured. If it weren't for the still lingering simmer of anger in him, he'd have given in already pulling her close and doting on her until that sad look on her face melted to the gleeful smile he was used to.

"You broke my trust." He began, "That really hurts my feelings. The first time I give you a little leeway and this is what you do? I'm so disappointed in you."

"I just wanted to see the bird..."

"Why didn't you come ask?"

"Because you would say no! You always say no!"

"I didn't say no to the porch, did I?"

"No...but - "

"I let you do almost anything you want, damn it! The only time I say anything is when it has to do with your safety. So the few rules I have in place I expect to be followed. It's that simple. You're more human than dog, control yourself next time." He was raising his voice again, and he hated the sound of it. His own words rattling in his head and yet they continued to flow like a venomous waterfall.

"It was just the end of the yard. I thought I'd see it up close, then come right back."

"And you got hurt anyway. Look at your hand. That fence was old, dirty, that could get infected. And then what? It's not like I can take you to a regular hospital...." He put his palm over his face, sensing he needed to calm down all over again.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Really I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He wish he hadn't looked. Her face contorted and scrunched, red, tears and snot running down her cheeks. His chest tightened, mouth suddenly dry. That wasn't manipulation. No one ugly cried like that if they didn't mean it. It didn't change the fact that the trust he had in her was fractured, but any other negative feelings fizzled out with a pop.

"I believe you." He cooed, reaching forward to wipe some tears away from her face. "I forgive you. "

"I...love you....Leon" The words came between wracked sobs.

"I love you too." He wrapped his arms around her tightly, letting her sob into his shoulder. "It's ok. It's ok," he repeated as he pet her hair. "You just gotta listen from now on, sweetheart. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. I don't want to lose you. It would break my heart."

"I will. I promise."

He wasn't so sure of that. He believed that she believed it though, and that sentiment was enough. He let her finish out her crying session until the delivery driver knocked on the door, tearing them out of the moment.

"Just a minute!" He called out, returning his attention to her. "After I grab the food, we'll get your hand cleaned up, eat, and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better, alright?"

"Promise?"

"Promise." He cooked his pinky finger around hers, pressing a quick peck to her lips. Her ears pointed up in return, tail lifting to slowly move back and forth. That was his girl.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

 That strange warmness from earlier was back. A feeling of longing you couldn't quite place tugged at your core while heat made every part of your skin tingle, the bedding sticking to your clammy body. The wedge of moonlight coming in through the window caught your attention, pouring all your focus into eyeing it, trying desperately to ignore the discomfort, and to not wake Leon up. The last thing you needed right now was to have him upset with you all over again.

But whatever was wrong with you had slowly become too much, worsening by the hour.

The floorboards creaked with each step, feet feeling heavy as you tried to pad your way to the bathroom as quietly as you could. Even your lungs felt like you'd run a mile, panting the only way to get enough air without feeling suffocated.

One time, at the lab, you remembered feeling this way. It didn't last long before lady Birkin was stabbing a needle into your arm, frigid liquid cooling you down from within your veins. From that moment on, the shots became regular. They didn't explain what any of it meant, but you never felt that all consuming inferno again -- at least not until now.

Liquid cold. Instant relief.

That's all you craved. That's all you needed. That's all you could think about.

Liquid cold. Instant relief.

Stumbling into the bathroom, you flicked the light on, gripping the sink with your good hand so tightly a part of you was scared you'd crack the porcelain from sheer force of will. Your breath expanded over the mirror, fogging it up each time a heavy breath escaped. "Ok...I got this.....ok...." You told yourself, scuttling over to the tub.

Shower or bath, you mulled over the options quickly trying to make a decision. Leon took cold showers. He told you so, sometimes in the middle of the night, other times in the morning. You'd vaguely wake up to something poking you, and he'd be shuffling out of the bed. 'Shh. Go back to sleep.' He'd coo. 'Just feeling a little hot, 'gon take a cold shower, and I'll be right back.'

Good enough for you. The overhead shower roared to life as you turned the cold knob to max, water pattering loudly against the tub. You didn't even bother to strip, flopping yourself into the basin, clothes and all.

It felt like ice shards clattering against you, steam sizzling off your skin from the sheer difference in temperature. In any other situation, it would've felt miserable, too cold and uncomfortable. But right now, even the stinging pain of the water felt intoxicating compared to just being hot all over. It wasn't as good as the shot from lady Birkin, but it was enough to sooth.

As your body regulated its temperature, the aching sensations became more noticeable now. A pang of something between your legs had you clamping them together instinctively, skin making a slapping noise from the mix of force and wetness.

Your nipples hurt, hardening beneath the water, too rough against the tank top's fabric you had on. You needed to be freed from the clothes, weighing you to the bottom of the tub and sticking to your skin.

The shirt was the first to go, tugging it up and over your head, frustrated as the wet fabric seemed to stretch and stretch before it finally decided to free you of its grasp. The wet shirt hit the door with a smack and a plop, before sliding down onto the tile floor. You hiss when your nipples were exposed to the air, droplets of water making direct contact with the pruning skin. It wasn't as painful as the fabric, but it was definitely more sensitive.

Flattening your palms against your chest, you kneaded at your breasts, hoping warming them up a bit might help. It served its purpose, but each movement, skin rolling against skin made unfamiliar sensations of longing pulse between your legs.

You groaned, squeezing your legs together again. Every time you fixed one issue, another seemed to pop up somewhere else. You just wanted it all to go away.

The boxers were next, discarded next to the tank top. Now you felt weightless where you laid, nude flesh encompassed by the hug of the tub, water splashing down on you like rain. You were sure this is what heaven felt like, until another round of pulsating from your core made you bristle, ruining your moment of peace.

"No more..." you breathed out loud, startling yourself with the unrecognizable tone of your own voice.

You adjusted, one arm snaking its way under your neck for support, the other finding itself between your legs hoping to massage out the sensation if you could, like dealing with any sore muscle. The cold tips of your fingers brushed past something that made you gasp, toes flexing. A cold jolt, a warm tingle.

Tentatively, you brought your fingers back to that spot again, pressing down. It felt good, not quite as good as the first time, but the firm pressure seemed to quell some of the throbbing. You could feel your pulse in your fingers - were they being warmed by whatever was between your legs? Or was the cold of your fingers icing the spot there. You couldn't tell, both sensations melding together.

Why didn't it feel like the first time? Your brows came together, as you thought, eyes slipping closed. Spreading your fingers outward in a V shape, you felt it again, that jolt that made your lower half jump. The little bump, you discovered, was the key to that feeling.

Experimentally, you ran your index and middle finger over it again in a circular motion. A strangled noise worked itself out of your throat, and a muscle you weren't even aware you had tightened. It felt so good, but not enough. A burning pleasure on the outside, a dull thrum of need somewhere deep inside of you.

You wanted more room, spreading your legs as much as the tub would allow before hooking one over the ledge. You could worry about the water running off your foot and onto the floor later.

The water above served only as background noise now, your skin long numbed from the cold, allowing your brain to focus solely on what was happening below.

It felt like something was building up, like every sensation was working towards something, something you couldn't grasp. Frustrated noises echoed through the tiny bathroom, and your arm muscles burned with overexertion. Despite that, the need for something, anything, kept you going, desperately rubbing your fingers over the bundle of nerves in no rhyme or rhythm.

As fast as your body would allow, you pawed at yourself closer and closer until it felt like you were tossed off the edge of a cliff. Every muscle in your body tensed up. You forgot how to breathe. Splotches of white and black lights danced behind your eyelids. The shower was silent against the heartbeat hammering against your eardrums. Fuzzy ears twitched with your pulse, tail sloshing back and forth in the shallow water.

And as quickly as it came, the feeling was gone. So much rubbing, so much effort, so little warmth and too much exhaustion.

You went lax like a rag doll, leg sliding back into the tub, sore arm left where it was, hand still resting flat against your pubic area. When was the last time you felt this relaxed? Tired? Never, probably. Not even having the capacity to reach up to shut the water off, you were fully unconscious within seconds, facial muscles relaxing as the water rained down on you.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

 Light burned through his eyelids, the familiar feeling of consciousness tugged at his mind. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. It was rare he didn't have to wake up to an alarm, it felt nice, just getting to lay there for a bit. The lack of warmth and dip in the mattress next to him made him grumble. "Sweetheart?" He reached over, patting around for her and coming up with nothing but the cool sheets beneath his palm.

Panic made him shoot up, eyes barely adjusting to the light as he looked around. The sound of the shower caught his attention. It meant she was home, at least, easing part of his concern. However, she never showered in the morning. Was something wrong?

Leon wiped the crust and sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the upstairs hall to the bathroom. The door wasn't closed all the way, stopped from swinging open by wet fabric bunching beneath it when he tried. "What the?" He knelt so he could move the cloth from the door before swinging it open. He was more confused at first, not seeing her silhouette. In fact, the shower curtain was mostly open, water having misted around the floor. Where the hell was she?

His took a step forward, knees buckling at the sight. He caught the edge of the tub with his hands, pajama pants soaking into the water on the floor. She was in there, unconscious. Her skin blueish in tint, unmoving was the water splashed over her form. He scrambled to shut the water off, almost turning the wrong knob in his panic.

"Come on, wake up." He said, shaking her by the shoulder. Her body wiggled, but she didn't move on her own. "Sweetheart... what did you do?" He looked her over again. Did she fall? But there was no bruising or blood. He lifted her arm, dropping it back on top of her. Nothing. He tried to feel for a pulse, but her skin was too cold to feel anything. Luckily, with the water off, it took only a moment before he heard the telltale sound of her teeth chattering together, even her tail seemed to vibrate as her body shivered involuntarily trying to gain some warmth. He'd have turned the warm water on if not for how pruny and textured her skin already was. She was practically water logged, but alive.

He yanked the towel off the bathroom rack, tossing it over her, helping to get a grip on her torso before pulling her out of the tub, cradling her against himself. He cartoon slid out of the bathroom, water making his feet hydroplane on the finished wood as he rushed you back to the bedroom. He didn't care about the mess, he just needed you to be ok, stuffing your cold body under the comforter, wrapping himself under with you, cocooning you in his body heat.

"Leon?" She blinked, knocking a few beads of water off her plush eyelashes. She was shivering violently. "I'm so cold."

"What the hell happened!?" His words held no malice, he was terrified more than he had the capacity to be angry, rubbing his palm against her back desperate to get some friction going between them.

"Was so hot... just wanted to cool off. Fell asleep...."

"You fell asleep in the shower?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you manage that?"

"So hot, then so sleepy."

He hadn't a clue what the hell she was talking about, but he was glad she was alive. He made a mental note to add a rule now that she wasn't allowed to use the shower without him from now on. In fact, he was already brainstorming a whole new set of rules and restrictions.

Every day, it seemed like she was tempting to pull herself away from him in one way or another. If it wasn't the way he could see her face tense when he was being overly affectionate. The way she complained and pushed boundaries. But this? God, he couldn't trust her to do anything anymore, could he?

His precious puppydoll, what was the matter with her? He peppered her forehead with kisses, ignoring his own shivering as the cold passed between them. She curled herself into him, his only focus was getting her comfortable and warmed up. He just couldn't understand her.

He wasn't sure how long the two of them had been laying there when she finally stopped shivering, falling back into sleep. Her breathing even, the sun through the window warm against the now soiled blankets. Leon couldn't find it within himself to do the same. He was wide awake, thinking about what to do. Watching her puppy ears twitch every now again, idly running his fingers through her now drying hair.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

You couldn't remember sleeping like that before, so exhausted, the world was gone. Dreamless. Vaguely, there was the memory of feeling so cold that your bones ached. Even when your eyes cracked open, part of your face felt numb - still you were nude, half wrapped in a towel and curled under the blanket.

'When did I come back to bed?' You thought to yourself, pawing at your eyes to get the crust and goopy feeling to go away. Despite the memory of freezing, the only thing you felt again was hot. Pure heat all over again.

"Good morning." Leon's voice caught your attention, his hands gently stroking your ears.

"Morning." You said, still groggy, a squeaky yawn leaving you as your eyes adjusted to the world. As if the warmth wasn't bad enough, everything felt off, the man laying in front of you just seemed so much more than he normally was. Leon's face was smooth, skin vibrant with life. You were hyper aware of the warmth on his cheeks, the cool undertones that cast the shadows of his features. His blue eyes were so opaque they could've been painted on stained-glass.

"Are you ok?" He asked, his large hand cupping your cheek. "Your pupils are dilated."

You had no clue what that meant, but you had this overwhelming instinct to press yourself to him, and you did. Nose nestled firmly into the crook of his neck, taking in a deep inhale. Had he always smelled this good? You whined, fisting his shirt to anchor yourself to him, tail drumming behind you in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from the stimuli. His scent was so intense, it was hypnotizing, and you craved more of him. Your tongue reached out to lap at the junction between his neck and collar bone, tasting his skin. That new but familiar aching between your legs was back with a vengeance. You wormed your hand down between your legs attempting to stave off the feeling, when Leon's hands met your shoulders to push you away from him slightly.

"What are you doing?" His face was tinged with a bright blush you hadn't seen before on him. Was he embarrassed by something? You weren't sure why, he looked so perfect right now. "H-hey now." He said, pressing you away from him, a firm grip on both your shoulders.

"Leoonnnn..." You whined his name, squirming to get back to him. When he wasn't budging, face still etched in confusion, a low growl began to bubble from the back of your throat, fangs bearing at him from frustration.

"What the hell's gotten into you? Are you seriously growling at me?" He kept his hold on you firm, giving a light squeeze to your shoulders. His face morphed into something you couldn't fully read, a cross between what you presumed to be anger and something else. Unable to articulate your need for him, the heat you were feeling - the growling didn't ease up. You struggled in his grasp, snapping and snarling, pawing at his arms as best you could with the awkward angle.

"Bad girl!" He snapped, voice loud and sharp. He rolled you over, pinning you down against the mattress, using his body weight to keep you there, his face level above yours. The surprise movement coupled with chiding made you halt for a moment. With his face so close to yours, there was no reason for you to remain so upset, instead you happily peppered his face with kissing, running your nose against his jaw again to take in his scent. A contented mewl dug it's way out of you.

"Leon, please." Tail wagging between your legs, you tried so hard to get him to understand. "Too hot. Everything's s'hot. Make it better?" You ground your hips upwards against him a few times. Something hard poked against your thigh as you did it, but Leon didn't move immediately.

When he finally did move, he was peeling himself away from you. "What the fuck?" He asked aloud to no one in particular.

"Leon!" You demanded, reaching your hands out to grab at him. He dodged them easily, slipping off the mattress, staring down at you. "It hurts, it's too hot. Leon, please." The room felt like it was teetering, you were so wound up, you wanted to cry, scream, throw yourself onto the floor. Anything to help cope with the overstimulation of everything going on. Even the silence was too much, aiding in your ability to hear both your heartbeats pounding in your head. The heat, smell, the visuals.

Flopping forwards onto the bed, you buried your face in the blanket, inhaling his scent again. The corner of his pillow had caught against the spot between your legs from the movement. It was dull, but you felt it. That same pleasurable feeling from the night before. With a soft groan, you bore down again, grinding your hips onto the bed to try and get more of that pressure, anything to quell that ache.

Leon still hadn't said anything, but you were too driven by instinct to even care. The blanket blocking your vision, his scent mixed with laundry detergent sating your olfactory, all you could focus on was rocking your hips against the pillow letting that pressure build up again.

"I get it now..." He finally piped up, kneeling down and patting your shoulder.

Panting, you lifted your head to look at him. "H-help me?"

"I can't, at least not how you need." He brushed some of the hair that had clung to your face from sweat away. Again his expression was unreadable, and you hated it. You didn't understand, all you wanted was to feel normal again. For the heat and ache to go away.

Tears clung to your lash line, unable to cope any more as your hips picked up speeding, rutting desperately against the pillow. Leon drew his hand back as he stood again. He did a strange shuffle messing with his pants, before quickly exiting the room. You reached out for him, wanting to call him back to you, beg him not to go, but the door slammed closed behind him. Unable to do anything else, you squeezed your eyes shut, flopping there until a few more movements of your hips had that same pleasurable feeling washing over you again.

Sighing in relief, you just laid there, bringing the blanket back to your nose to inhale it.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˚♡︎˚˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

The moment the door slammed behind him, Leon bound down the stairs, skipping half the steps. He needed to distance himself, clear his head. Her erratic behavior had thrown him a loop that he could hardly process. The way she was begging for him, clinging to him, fucking herself against his pillow - all within a few minutes of waking up. It was enough to make his pajama pants tent painfully.

What he wouldn't give to let you pepper his face in more of those kisses while he railed you into the mattress. She shivered at the thought, pushing it to the outskirts of his consciousness to try and calm down. His palms felt sweaty, and his heart was hammering a mile a minute.

He couldn't do that to you. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair. You were in heat...at least he thought so. Not in your right mind. But even if you were in your right mind, he still hadn't concluded what exactly your relationship was. Were you even aware enough to consent to anything more than kisses?

He didn't know. And he wished he didn't care enough to know, wanting to give in to his baser instincts.

For now, he was stuck sitting on the floor in front of the couch, catching his breath. He leaned back, letting his head fall onto the cushion. "Fuck." He palmed himself through the cottony fabric of his pajama pants to ease his own tension. He couldn't get the image of her out of his head, every time he blinked he saw her dilated pupils, that lovesick longing. Leon's had girlfriends before, not many, but he's had them, and he's sure not one of them ever looked at him like that. There was never a connection he'd felt with someone so intense before, like she would die without him. Maybe she would.

She would.

She would.

He was sure of that fact, especially after last night.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 'She does need me, I know that.' He confirmed to himself. 'God.' He let out a few deep breaths, removing his hand from his crotch, allowing his erection to deflate. It was just one more thing to add to the list of everything else he was dealing with.

Her behavior. Her desire to keep pushing his boundaries. Her erratic behavior the night before. Now this.

He listened to see if he could hear her. Luckily, there was nothing but silence from the upstairs bedroom. She'd likely fallen back asleep, giving him even more time to process things. In all his 21 years of life, he was sure he had never faced a challenge like this one before, but he was never one to give up or back down. His puppydoll needed him, and he was going to figure things out, even if it was the death of him. He owed her that, he owed himself that.

"I could call Chris, maybe..." He mumbled to himself, looking to the landline. Something about the idea of Chris knowing she was in heat, even imagining what she was looking like right now didn't set right with him. Leon wasn't a jealous person by nature, but somehow a phantom jealousy shut that idea down. No, she needed him not anyone else right now.

"Think, think." He chided himself, cupping his temples with his hands. Did he go back upstairs to her? Comfort her in the short term? Did he leave her there? Longterm?

He slicked his hair out of his face, emptying his head of all thoughts for a moment. "If she's in heat then she must have other instincts right? She's fertile, and she'll want to nest and...mating makes animals closer right?" He mused out loud, then it occurred to him. This situation was the solution, not another problem.

"No, that's messed up... I shouldn't even be thinking about..." But he was, the image of her swollen and gravid with a baby, his baby flashed before his eyes. She'd be so needy, tired. So focused on what her body was meant to do, she wouldn't need to try and get into any more trouble.

It was tempting. So very tempting.

It would solve her problem of being bored too, with a baby to focus on, take care of. She wouldn't have to be lonely while he was away.

The more he thought of it, the more appealing it was becoming. His cock was filling out again, twitching each time he pictured it. He had a solid job, a house, two things most people his age didn't. He could do it. Really.

By the time the wet spot formed on his pajamas, any moral argument against the plan had disappeared by the need to get his rocks off, to fuck a baby into her. He was convinced that this was the perfect solution in totality.

His legs were a little shaky as he stumbled to his feet, every step of the stairs felt like running through sand. Electricity skipped through his nerves, leaving him tweaking like a livewire. The door creaked open slowly, and he poked his head back in.

She hadn't moved from her spot, face down on top of the covers. One of her ears twitched, before pointing up in his direction. "H-hey."

Her head lifted just enough to look at him, her eyes glossy and dilated still. The sheen of sweat that made her skin glisten was enough of an indicator that she was still hot all over. "Are you mad at me?"

That shattered him, truly. "No, no sweetheart, I'm not mad. I was just...surprised." He coaxed her to sit up, taking his own spot next to her. "I'm sorry for responding that way. Are you still feeling uncomfortable?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Not like because, but everything is still so hot."

"Is that...is that why you took a cold shower last night?"

"Just wanted it to stop."

He nodded, "I understand. You had me so worried though, you can get really sick if you stay cold too long."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He said, pecking her on the cheek. "I'm sorry you're feeling so unwell. I think I can help you now though. Would you like that?"

"But I thought you said - "

"Nevermind what I said before. I was being stupid." The look she was giving him now nearly sent him into cardiac arrest, that sweet pleading face begging for him to devour her. "I promise, I'll make it all better, ok?"

"Really?"

He smiled, reaching down to lock his pinky around hers. "I promise. I'll make it all better, just trust me."

She nodded, and he took the opportunity to lean forward and capture her lips with his own, unlike the ferris wheel or any other time, he tried his best to convey his own need. He groaned into her mouth, tongue sweeping against her bottom lip before slipping it into her mouth the moment her lips parted. He slid it along hers, nearly whining himself as he pressed her back down onto the bed, grinding his tented and leaking cock down against her a few times, his pants soaking with her own juices.

"You're so pretty. So perfect. My pretty perfect puppydoll. " He cooed, pulling away just enough to kiss her jaw, then her neck. "I've never met anyone like you before. I've never wanted anyone as much as you before." He admitted, swirling his tongue over one of her nipples.

"Leon!" She gasped, squirming beneath him. He pressed himself down onto her more to keep her still before popping off to latch on to her other breast. He ran his thumb over the perked up one, smearing his own saliva across it as he worked the current one with his mouth. He could feel her thighs twitching from the stimulation, he could only imagine how her poor pussy was feeling. Her skin was feverish, sticky. He loved it, it felt so primal.

"Don't worry sweetheart." He leaned back to give her a moment to catch her breath, seizing the chance to spread her legs. He groaned at the sight of her slick folds, her hole twitching and closing over nothing. Prettiest pussy he'd ever seen, he ever would see, he was sure of it. Leon made a mental note to devour her next time, make her squirm and scream on his tongue until she was pulling his hair out - see how many noises he could get her to make. The thought alone almost made him cum, and he had to take a deep breath to refocus.

There was a task at hand, and his own need was starting to become painful. He tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock and balls, letting his shaft slap against his abdomen. He hissed at the feeling of the air, relief washing over him from the lack of restriction.

With one hand he squeezed the base of his shaft, holding the pressure there before stroking himself slowly, as slow as he could without torturing himself. With his free hand he slipped two fingers into her folds, running them up and down, coating them in her slick.

"This might feel a little weird, just trust me, ok?" He warned.

"I trust you." She whispered, barely louder than a mouse.

"Good girl." He heard her tail hit the bed, wagging from the praise. 'Fuck, she's too cute.' He pressed his fingers into her slowly, she was so tight, so wet. He could only imagine the way she'd feel finally wrapped around him. He pressed his thumb against her clit circling it gently, leaving the inserted fingers still. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. Feels good."

"Good." He nodded, beginning to move his fingers in and out of her slowly. "If it hurts, tell me, alright?" He picked up speed, switching from thrusting to spreading his fingers within her, feeling the resistance of her walls contracting from the movements. Her slick covered the palm of his hand, and he refocused his thumb back to her clit.

She made a noise, he wasn't entirely sure if it was agreement or not, but the look on her face was enough to tell him she was enjoying herself. He continued to finger her, entranced by the small squeaks she made, the way her facial muscles twitched with each new sensation. The sun hit her face at just the right angle, illuminating her features like an angel.

She was an angel.

God he loved her so much, it hurt.

He pulled his hand out, chuckling at the needy whine she let out. "Don't worry, just give me a sec." He wiped the slick from his hand all over his tip and shaft, making sure it was good and wet before leaning over her again. Pressing the mushroomy head against her entrance, he kissed her one more time. "I love you." He mumbled against her lips.

"Love you t-"

She was cut off when he sunk himself inside of her. He was careful, slow, whimpering at how constricting she was. It was euphoric nearly, how her walls squeezed against every inch of him, sucking him into her. Her eyes were wide, mouth parted the moment he gave a shallow thrust.

"So good. So good for me baby." He cooed, resting both elbows beside her head, lazily grinding into her. "Never had someone so perfect before."

"L-leon... so full...what's happening....?"

"I'm making you allllllll better." He said, sloppily kissing her jaw a few times. "Just like I promised." He enjoyed the closeness, the intimacy of laying atop her like this, slow, soft. "Gotta take care of my puppydoll."

She squeezed her eyes shut, relaxing against the pillow, soft whines escaping her with every movement he made. Now that she was more placid, and he was able to sink himself fully into her. The feeling was indescribable. He was on cloud nine balls deep inside of her.

"Such a good girl. Good, good girl." He chanted, pulling back just enough to pull her legs up to her chest, so he had a better angle to bear down into her. She wrapped her arms around him, latching her nails into his back, red crescent shaped marks left over every time she dragged them against his skin. Her nose buried in his neck as she clung to him, whimpering and whining.

The sound of his name falling from her lips, mumbled into his skin like a prayer, coupled with the squeezing of her walls around him, was enough to make him lose it. He felt his balls tighten the moment she came, nearly crying as he gripped her hips bruisingly, slamming the head of his cock as deep as he could. He held himself like that as he shot his load. "F-fuck." He groaned, squeezing his own eyes shut before shallowly thrusting again, riding out the hot waves of pleasure that overcame him.

He caught his breath, kissing her forehead a few times. He wasn't ready to pull out, even when he felt himself going soft. Instead, he propped himself above her a little longer before daring to crack his eyes open. She looked half asleep, peaceful beneath him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired....good."

"I'm glad, baby. Still hot?"

"Not like before... Am I fixed now?"

"I think so, we might have to do this a few more times. But you'll feel better and better each time." He assured.

She nodded, yawning. He could see her eyelids growing heavy again, fighting off the impending sleep. "Poor thing, you should get some sleep."

"Slept a lot, don't wanna."

"You need it." He slowly pulled out of her, rolling off to the side so he could hold her close. He flattened his palm against her belly, imagining the future again, what it would feel like a few months from now. "Take a nap, I'll lay with you. I'll even take you on a walk later. "

"Really?"

"Really." He pulled the blanket back over the two of them. "I promise." She nestled herself into his side, hooking her pinky around his. She didn't say anything further, closing her eyes and sinking into unconsciousness next to him.

[luminni]

I have a strangely specific idea in my head of Captain John Price meeting you, a twenty something year old grad student, at the pub he frequents on leave. It's close to your uni and you let your friends drag you away from your term paper for a night to dry and de-stress. You end up dancing and mingling around the crowded space with your friends, slowly watching as they start talking to some nice looking guys and you get stuck with some finance bro who's trying to mansplain cryptocurrency and investments to you. You excuse your self to the bathroom only to escape from the agonizing conversation and find yourself up at the bar. Trying to be the responsible (and mostly sober) friend, you pay and close your friends tabs because they're drunk enough already, when you see him. Leaning over the bar, button up shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the nicer pants he still had on from his meeting earlier in the day made him standout from the usual college kids and drunk regulars. Nursing a whiskey with an orange slice and running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, you realize you've been staring when his gaze shifts in your direction and you lock eyes.

You realize you should probably say something or at least try to pretend you weren't just ogling him because he has to be the most attractive man you've ever seen. But he just silently flags over the bartender and orders you a copy of his drink. When you try to stutter out an apology because you had already closed your tab, he just hits you with the,

"I know, 's why I'm paying" in a gravelly and commanding tone that makes your hair stand on end. So you mutter a thank you and lean your back against the bar. He hands you your drink when it comes, waving off your second attempt to thank him, instead saying,

" 's dangerous for ya to be hanging around here on your own."

"Oh I'm not," you reply quickly, "I'm here with friends, they're just," you gesture to the dense crowd, "somewhere in there"

He hums, looking at you from over his shoulder, watching the way your throat bobs as you take a sip of the amber liquid. Barking out a small laugh when your face screws up at the intense, bitter taste. Finally turning to lean his back against the bar top after finishing the last of his drink, crossing his burly arms in front of his chest, looking down at you as you cough a bit.

"Not used to it huh?" He grins

"Oh be quiet" you tease, slapping him on his bicep, eyes widening at the solid block of muscle you just hit, "Not my fault uni kids only drink shitty hard seltzers"

"Uni?" he questions, one eyebrow raised

"Stuck in grad school" you confirm

"Livin' on this campus?" He asks, gesturing vaguely with a tilt of his head.

You nod your head, "Got a little place with my roommate." Shifting the focus, you look up at him, "So how about you? No offense but you don't exactly look like a college student."

He chuckles, "No, no I couldn't pass for that 'f I tried." He took a deep breath, "'ve got a flat a little ways away I stay in when 'm on leave."

"Leave?"

"When 'm off duty," he tries to explain but you just tilt you head, "Military." He explained again

"Ohhh" you respond, exchanging the simple pleasantries back and forth with him for quite some time, what's your major? where are your from? that sort of thing, until, after a brief silence,

"Boyfriend?" He asked quickly, seemingly out of nowhere. You looked up at him startled, an awkward laugh escaped your lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know," you joked, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground for a moment as silence filled the conversation, "...but no, I- I don't have one"

He shifted slightly, "Unless you want to count the guy who tried to explain the budgeting to me earlier tonight." You laughed

"he think you didn't know what that was or something?" He smirked

"apparently" You giggled, missing how his eyes narrowed in fondness.

Suddenly you jumped up to stand straight, "Oh I love this song!" you beamed, starting to sing along to the lyrics of what he immediately knew was "Reelin' in the years".

"So you're a Steely Dan fan huh?" He moved closer to you

"Love 'em" Your smile was infectious, "What? you're old so you have to like them."

He scoffed, "37 isn't that old."

"37? Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

That got a full laugh out of him, a surge of pride went through your chest as he leaned his head back and ran a hand over his face. As the song faded out and the music went back to stuff you either didn't know, didn't like, or both, you sighed. Looking over at him to find him admiring you already, he strode closer to you and leaned down to mutter right in your ear,

"c'mon doll, 've got a vinyl player at my flat." He leaned back and gestured with his over his shoulder and to the door.

It was your turn to scoff, "For real? I don't even know your name!?"

Your puzzled expression warmed his heart a bit, "It's John."

"That doesn't change anything." you rolled your eyes and watched as his eyebrows raised. You held his gaze for what felt like an eternity as your resolve faltered in his presence. "Just- let me tell my friends!" you spat out, "and it's," you yelled your name to him as you turned to find your friend among the crowd. He repeated your name to himself with a smile and grabbed his old Carhartt jacket for you to wear.

A/n: I'll write more for this later teheheh

Edit: I did write more pt.2

[kateschi]

what goes unsaid

synopsis: you started to notice small things todoroki does, but you’re not sure what they mean just yet.

pairing: timeskip!todoroki shoto x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i listened to you guys

the buzz of the office fades into background noise as you shuffle through the latest batch of mission reports.

your shoulders ache from a particularly rough day in the field, and the stiffness in your neck only serves to remind you of the long hours stretching ahead.

you rub your temples, trying to stave off the impending headache.

“rough day?”

the voice pulls you from your thoughts, low and calm with a subtle edge of concern. shoto todoroki stands in the doorway to your shared agency’s common room, his presence as composed as ever.

his hero uniform is slightly scuffed, evidence of his own busy day. still, his mismatched eyes fix on you, quiet but observant.

“yeah, you could say that,” you reply with a weak smile, closing the folder in front of you. “I’ll be fine, though. just a few reports to finish up.”

without another word, todoroki crosses the room. he places a paper cup on the desk beside you, the warm aroma of your favorite coffee wafting up immediately. you blink, glancing between him and the cup.

“thought you could use this,” he says simply, his tone casual but laced with that understated sincerity that’s so distinctly him.

your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “thanks, todoroki. you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady as he turns to leave.

it’s not the first time he’s done something like this—little gestures that seem small on the surface but hold a surprising amount of thoughtfulness.

you’ve chalked it up to his polite nature, the way he’s always been one to notice when someone needs a hand.

but lately, those gestures seem to happen more often, and each time they do, you can’t help but wonder if there’s more behind them.

a few days later, the intensity of the work begins to weigh on you again. a gruelling mission left you feeling physically and emotionally drained, and your muscles protest every movement you make.

you collapse on the couch in the break room, still in your hero gear, too tired to even think about a shower.

todoroki walks in, fresh from the shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. he eyes you for a moment before disappearing into the adjacent kitchenette.

you don’t think much of it until he returns a few minutes later, setting a small ice pack on the table beside you.

“for your shoulder,” he says, nodding toward where you’d been absentmindedly massaging your arm.

you blink, caught off guard by the quiet care in the gesture. “oh, thanks. you didn’t—”

“you overextend that side sometimes,” he interrupts, his voice calm. “you should be careful.”

your mouth opens, but no words come out. instead, you nod, pressing the ice pack against your shoulder as he sits in the chair across from you. the silence that follows is surprisingly comfortable.

you can feel the weight of his gaze occasionally flicking over to you, but it’s not heavy or demanding—more like a quiet understanding, the kind that doesn’t require explanation.

there’s a certain ease between you two, even when neither of you says much.

it’s in the way todoroki always seems to anticipate what you need, how he quietly adjusts the environment around you without ever making a show of it. and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it feels…right.

the moments continue to add up, each one more subtle than the last.

after a long patrol, you find a bottle of water placed carefully on your desk with a note—drink up, you’ve been dehydrated all day.

it’s an obvious thing, but the gesture still feels personal, like he noticed something you hadn’t even considered.

the next day, you’re struggling to get through a particularly difficult set of paperwork when your phone buzzes on the table. you glance at the screen to see a message from him: how’s the report going? 

you smirk at the simplicity of it. he knew exactly what you were doing.

when you reply that you’re about to hit a wall, todoroki doesn’t respond immediately.

but later, when you make your way into the break room for a quick break, there’s a sandwich on the counter—your favorite kind, carefully wrapped in a napkin.

no note this time, just the quiet understanding that he had noticed, even from across the building.

it’s when you’re sitting on the rooftop of the agency a few weeks later that the weight of it all really hits you. the city sprawls out before you, the lights twinkling against the night sky.

you’re lost in your thoughts when the sound of footsteps pulls you back.

todoroki appears at your side, a familiar calmness in his expression. he doesn’t say anything right away, just leans against the railing beside you.

the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. you’ve shared enough of these moments that you don’t feel the need to say anything.

“figured you’d be up here,” he says eventually, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

you glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “needed a breather. what about you?”

“same,” he admits. “it’s been a long day.”

there’s something in his voice, a small shift, and for the first time, you realize just how much of an emotional weight he carries.

you’ve always known him to be calm, calculated, and collected, but there’s something more underneath, a pressure he doesn’t always show.

when he looks at you now, there’s something in his eyes—something softer, more open than usual.

“thanks for the coffee earlier,” you say, breaking the silence. “and…everything else. you don’t have to do all that, you know.”

he turns his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. there’s a flicker of something in his expression, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift. “I know,” he says simply. “but I want to.”

his words hang in the air, quieter and more vulnerable than usual, and for the first time, you see the full weight of what he’s been doing all along.

these small gestures, these little acts of kindness, have been his way of showing something he’s never been able to put into words.

weeks pass, and despite everything happening around you—missions, deadlines, late-night training—there’s a steady rhythm to the way shoto treats you.

he’s never one to speak loudly about his emotions, but the small things he does start to stand out in a way that feels undeniable.

there are days when you catch him looking at you from across the room, his expression slightly more intense than usual.

he doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his eyes linger a little longer than they should, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

he’s quiet around you, often lost in his thoughts, but when he speaks, it’s always with a softness that’s impossible to ignore.

it’s as if every word he says carries the weight of more than just friendship—though, he’ll never admit it outright.

it’s late one evening when the two of you find yourselves standing side by side in the agency’s common room.

the glow of the lights is soft, the building nearly empty after the day’s work. you’re both exhausted, but neither of you is quite ready to head home.

shoto hands you a fresh towel as you come out of the shower, his movements slow and deliberate. you notice how carefully he looks after even the smallest details:

making sure the towel’s warm and that the temperature in the room is just right.

you take it from him with a soft smile. “you’ve been really nice to me lately.”

shoto pauses, his eyes flicking to yours. there’s an emotion there you can’t quite place, something quiet and unspoken.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his voice steady. “I want to.”

the words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you charged with something that hasn’t been said aloud but feels clear all the same.

you’ve always known shoto in pieces—quiet, introspective, deeply caring in his own way—but this is different. this is more.

when you step closer, your heart thumping louder than it should, he doesn’t pull away.

instead, he looks down at you, his mismatched eyes soft with something that’s not quite a confession but feels like one all the same.

“I’ve always wanted to be there for you,” he adds quietly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I just…couldn’t figure out how.”

the quiet honesty of it leaves you breathless, and for a moment, you let the words come freely.

“you’re doing it, shoto,” you say. “you’ve been doing it.”

before either of you can say another word, the space between you seems to shrink of its own accord.

his gaze lingers on yours, and there’s a long moment of quiet before you close the small gap, your breath mingling with his.

his hand lifts, brushing against your cheek, and it’s the gentlest touch, but it sends a warmth through you that settles deep in your chest. without a word, he leans in.

and when his lips meet yours, it’s not forceful, nor is it rushed—it’s as natural as everything else that’s happened between you.

when you pull back, there’s a soft smile on his lips, a look of quiet satisfaction as he rests his forehead against yours.

“guess this makes it official,” you chuckle.

he hums, “yeah.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[bratscave]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 THIS MEAL !

warnings/includes. sort of nsfw content, implied younger! reader x old man! logan

you sat perched on the edge of his rickety kitchen table, legs crossed in a way that made your short pink skirt ride up just a little too high. Logan tried not to notice, but it was impossible not to. His eyes trailed up from the scuffed leather of your heels to the way the fabric clung to your thighs, before resting on the innocent look you gave him from under your lashes.

"you really don't cook much, do you, mr. Howlett?" you teased, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you got up, eyeing the near-empty fridge, right behind him.

logan grunted in response, his attention more focused on the way your lips pouted slightly as you spoke. the years had made him rougher when fucking, he’d learned to channel it differently — steady hands, less rush.

but you.. well you, brought all the nasty ideas out that he thought he'd long have burried behind.

you weren't subtle, not even a little. every glance you threw his way was loaded, every touch lingered just a bit too long. he knew the type — hell, he’d had his fair share of girls like you in his youth, the 70s especially. but this time, the game felt different, heavier. maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were waiting for him to make a move, or maybe it was just the reminder that he wasn't the man he used to be.

"i manage," he says gruffly, forcing himself to focus on the sparse contents of the fridge rather than the way your legs look in that damn skirt. he could practically hear your heartbeat, fast and eager, the scent of something sweet in the air.

"oh yeah?" your tongue trails over your lip as if you were thinking when he knew damn well whatever you were about to say was pre-planned, "what about we eat out then? something cute, nothing to fancy."

you did in fact not eat out.

it ended up with the both of you not even making it till the restaurant. his hands wander over you, not slow, yet also not to face. lifting up your skirt, inspecting, whispering filthy things into against your skin.

whispering as if there were people around, as if it was dangerous little secret to keep, you should be very careful about you being sort of a 'slut' (he said it so endearingly you almost couldn't believe your ears).

he's so talkative, talks about anything and everything in that deep, gravelly voice of his — comments on the material of your underwear, turns out he 'loves lace' and you 'should wear it more often'.

before you could process the fact that he just implied this wouldn't just be a one time thing, he was all over you again, mouth sucking, teeth bitting, the little stubble scratching your fragile skin but you didn't have time to really think of that.

and when you came, not once, not twice, thrice, in the back of his limo, made a mess of the plush leather seats, he mumbles what a good meal he just had; could taste you forever.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.3: Ecdysis

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 23K

part 1 | part 2

Love hurts.

But honestly, who would survive without love?

A small window into the present:

The park is quiet this afternoon, the kind of peace that feels slightly artificial—manicured paths, neatly trimmed grass, and a fountain bubbling in the center as if someone planned it to be calming. The air is crisp but not cold, the weak winter sun filtering through the bare branches. You sit on a bench near the lake, waiting. It’s been a week since dinner at Minji’s parents’ house, a week of strained silences and avoidance. Not intentional, not entirely, but life has gotten in the way. Work has been relentless, and honestly, you weren’t sure how to approach her after everything. That dinner had been a disaster—a collision of expectations and tension, her parents’ thinly veiled judgment clinging to the air like smoke.

You spot her before she sees you, walking down the path with her usual poised stride. Minji is dressed simply—a long, beige wool coat belted at the waist, black boots clicking softly against the cobblestones. Her hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her glasses reflect the weak sunlight. Even in this casual setting, she’s impeccable, and it makes you feel a little underdressed in your battered jacket and scuffed boots.

She notices you and gives a small, polite wave. You stand up as she approaches, shoving your hands into your pockets to hide your nerves.

“Hey,” she says, her voice calm but guarded.

“Hey,” you reply, gesturing to the bench. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She nods, sitting down gracefully, her hands folded neatly in her lap. You sit next to her, leaving a deliberate gap between you.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, breaking the silence first.

“Busy,” you say. “Work’s been... you know, the usual.”

She hums softly, her eyes on the lake. “And otherwise?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I started therapy.”

That gets her attention. She turns her head, her expression softening slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “I—I needed to. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dealing with my shit instead of burying it.” You glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “My psychologist recommended AA, too. I'm thinking of giving it a try. I’m not blaming it all on the drinking, but I think it’s tied up in... everything else.”

Minji’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I’m really glad to hear that. I know it wasn’t easy for you to get to this point.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit, leaning forward, your elbows on your knees. “But I think it’s the right thing. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just surviving day to day.”

She nods, her gaze softening. “You’re taking a step, and that’s what matters. I'm proud of you.” There’s a pause, the kind that feels both comforting and uncomfortable. You shift slightly, the tension in your chest easing just enough to let you exhale.

“What about you?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “How’ve you been holding up? How are your parents?” Minji’s expression falters for a moment, the mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain beneath. She adjusts her glasses, buying herself a second before answering.

“They’re... adjusting,” she says carefully. “It’s a lot for them. They’re not used to this kind of… situation. Nobody really is.”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Dinner had been rough—her father’s terse remarks, her mother’s forced smiles, the unspoken tension hanging over the table like a storm cloud.

“I hope I didn’t make things worse,” you say quietly.

Minji shakes her head. “This had to be done sooner or later. They’re just... traditional. It’s going to take time for them to see things differently.”

You watch her for a moment, the way her fingers fidget with the belt of her coat, a rare crack in her usual composure. “I want to make it right,” you say softly. “With them. With you.”

She glances at you, her expression unreadable. “We'll get there.”

The restrained distance between you feels less sharp now, softened by the honesty in her tone. You both sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks glide across the lake.

“I meant it, you know,” you say eventually. “About wanting to change. I don’t want to keep screwing things up.”

Minji turns to you, her gaze steady. “I believe you.”

You nod, the weight on your shoulders lifting just enough to make the world feel a little less heavy.

“Thank you,” you say.

—

The park ice cream stand is one of those charmingly outdated carts with a cheerful umbrella and a grumpy vendor who only half-cares whether you want sprinkles or not. You order two cones—strawberry for Minji, chocolate for yourself—and hand hers over as the two of you start walking. It’s quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional laughter of kids running past. You’re trying to keep the momentum going, anything to draw her out a little more after the conversation about her parents.

“So,” you say, licking your cone, “are you sleeping any better these days?”

Minji glances at you, her lips brushing against the edge of her ice cream. “Not really,” she admits after a pause.

“Still the nightmares?”

She nods, looking ahead at the path, her face thoughtful. “It’s weird. I’ve always had the occasional bad dream, but ever since... you know, the hospital, it’s like my brain can’t let me have a single peaceful night.”

You frown, concern tightening in your chest. “What are they about? Same one, or do they change?”

“They change,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “But there’s this one I’ve been having lately. It’s... strange.”

“Strange how?”

She takes a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “I’m in this garden. It’s beautiful, like something out of a storybook. Perfectly trimmed hedges, colorful flowers everywhere, the works. It feels like mine, you know? Like I take care of it.”

You nod, already intrigued. “Go on.”

“And there are these birds,” she continues, her voice taking on a distant quality. “Hundreds of them, all in cages. They’re everywhere—hanging from trees, lining the paths. But they’re not unhappy. It’s like... they belong there.”

“Okay,” you say, licking your cone thoughtfully. “Then what happens?”

“Something breaks,” she says, her brows furrowing slightly. “I don’t know what—maybe the wind, maybe it’s me—but the cages all shatter at once. Suddenly, the birds are flying everywhere. They’re panicked, and so am I. I’m running through the garden, trying to catch them with my hands.” Her voice trembles just slightly, and you glance at her. She’s still looking straight ahead, her posture composed but her eyes haunted.

“Why were you trying to catch them?” you ask softly.

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I just... I felt like I had to. Like, if I didn’t, something terrible would happen. They were important to me. But there were so many, and they kept slipping away, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Did you catch any?” you ask.

She shakes her head again. “I don’t know. I always wake up before I can figure it out. But it’s so... desperate, you know? Like this frantic feeling in my chest that doesn’t go away, even after I’m awake.”

You take a moment to process that, glancing at her as she licks her cone absentmindedly, lost in thought. “You know,” you say finally, “I think you caught some.”

She looks at you, surprised. “What?”

“The birds,” you say, shrugging. “I mean, if they’re that important to you, I like to think you managed to catch at least a few. Maybe not all of them, but some. The important ones.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re an optimist, huh?”

“Not really,” you admit, finishing the last of your cone. “But I figure dreams are weird like that. They don’t always give you answers, so you might as well make up the ones you like.”

She chuckles softly, and for the first time that day, she seems a little lighter. “Maybe you’re right.”

You walk in silence for a while, the sound of the gravel underfoot filling the space between you. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the park.

“Thanks,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?”

“For this,” she says, gesturing vaguely to the park, the ice cream, the conversation. “For listening. You know I like talking to you, I always have.”

“Anytime,” you say, meaning it.

As you walk back toward the bench where you started, you glance at her again. She still looks a little haunted, a little worn down, but there’s something else now too—a faint glimmer of hope, like maybe she’s starting to believe she can catch at least some of those birds.

—

Back to the past

The bar hums with the low buzz of voices, the occasional clink of glasses, and the muted crackle of a classic rock playlist that’s been stuck on repeat all week. You’ve been here since six, same as always, pouring drinks and wiping counters, forcing smiles and easy conversation like a well-rehearsed act. The clock ticks past ten, and you’re starting to think everyone’s forgotten your birthday.

Not that you expected much. Birthdays aren’t exactly high on the list of priorities when you’re juggling shifts and school deadlines. Still, the lack of acknowledgment stings more than you’d care to admit.

You’re stocking glasses when the door swings open, and in walk Ning and Minji, their energy lighting up the place like a spark in dry kindling. Minji’s carrying a neatly wrapped box, and Ning—beaming from ear to ear—is balancing a modest cake in her hands, the kind that looks too perfect to eat. Behind them, your coworkers suddenly start clapping and shouting, “Happy Birthday!”

You blink, startled, as they gather around.

“Surprise!” Ning practically shouts, setting the cake down on the bar with a flourish. She's wearing this short red dress that you've never seen before, while Minji is cozy in a beige sweater.

“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” Minji says, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Well, I—” You trail off, feeling a ridiculous wave of emotion swell in your chest. “You guys are insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” Ning corrects, nudging you with her elbow.

After your coworkers and even the few customers present at the bar wished you a happy birthday, you find yourself sitting at the counter, a glass of something amber and sharp in your hand, while Ning fusses over the cake she’s brought. She’s crouched on the other side of the bar, carefully lighting the candles one by one, her face illuminated by the small, flickering flames. Minji leans against the counter beside you, her head tilted as she watches Ning, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Minji asks, her tone light but edged with amusement.

“Not even a little,” you admit, taking another sip. “I thought you two forgot.”

“Forgot?” Minji repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Are our morale really that low?”

“We would never forget, silly,” Ning chimes in, straightening up and stepping back to admire her handiwork. She looks at you, her catlike eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Happy Birthday, obviously,” Minji says, nudging you lightly.

The room quiets as everyone gathers around the bar. Ning starts the song, her voice sweet but a little off-key, and the others quickly join in. Minji doesn’t sing—of course she doesn’t—but she taps her fingers against the counter in time with the melody, her eyes never leaving yours.

When the song ends, Ning beams at you. “Make a wish!”

You stare at the cake, its frosting a perfect swirl of white and blue, the candles flickering like tiny beacons. For a second, you feel like a kid again, the kind of kid who still believes in wishes.

You blow out the candles, and everyone cheers. Ning claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels, while Minji leans closer, her voice low enough that only you can hear. “What’d you wish for?”

You smirk, leaning back slightly. “Not telling. It won’t come true if I do.”

“Superstitious,” she murmurs, her lips curling.

The cake is sliced, the drinks keep coming, and the music on the jukebox changes to something faster, something that makes it impossible not to move. You’re buzzed now, maybe more than buzzed, the alcohol blurring the edges of the world in a way that feels like freedom.

Ning is the first to drag you to the small open space near the jukebox, her hand tugging insistently at yours. “Come on,” she says, laughing. “It’s your birthday. You have to dance.”

“I don’t dance,” you protest, but she’s already pulling you along, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Minji follows, her movements slower, more deliberate, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells you she’s enjoying this more than she’ll admit. The three of you end up in a loose, messy circle, moving to the beat in a way that’s more about feeling the music than looking good. At some point, Ning spins you around, her laughter ringing out like bells, and when you turn back, Minji is there, her hands brushing against yours as she steps closer. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades.

—

It’s later—maybe an hour, maybe two—when the dynamic shifts again. The music slows, the room thinning out as people leave, and suddenly it’s just the three of you near the jukebox. You’re sitting on a stool now, another drink in your hand, watching as Ning and Minji dance together.

They move differently when it’s just them. There’s a fluidity to it, a quiet intimacy that makes it hard to look away. Ning’s hands rest lightly on Minji’s shoulders, her head tilted as she says something that makes Minji laugh—a soft, genuine sound that you don’t hear often. Minji’s hands skim Ning’s waist, her touch fleeting but deliberate, and the way they look at each other feels like a conversation you’re not quite part of.

They know you’re watching; Minji glances over her shoulder, her eyes locking with yours for just a second before she turns back to Ning, her lips curling into a smirk. Ning follows her gaze, her expression softening as she meets your eyes.

“Come dance with us,” Ning says, holding out a hand.

You hesitate, the weight of their attention making you feel unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. But then Minji tilts her head, her expression calm but expectant, and you realize there’s no saying no. You stand, letting Ning pull you into their orbit. It’s not much—a simple sway to the music, their hands brushing against yours, their laughter low and easy—but it feels like more. Like something unspoken is passing between the three of you, something you don’t fully understand but don’t want to let go of.

At some point, you find yourself sitting at a corner table, away from the noise and laughter. The room spins slightly as you lean back, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.

“Hey.” Ning’s voice pulls you back. She slides into the seat next to you, still wearing that easy grin of hers, the hem of her dress riding up slightly as she crosses her legs.

“Hey,” you mumble, your words slurred but soft. “Having fun?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling heavily. “It’s... nice. Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, her smile softening. “Oh, and I didn’t bring your gift tonight. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you say, shaking your head. “Your company’s already the best gift.”

Ning’s cheeks flush slightly, and she ducks her head, hiding her expression behind her hair. “That’s sweet,” she murmurs.

There’s a pause, the kind that feels comfortable and heavy at the same time.

Then, Ning speaks again, her voice quieter. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, your head lolling slightly as you turn to face her.

“Are you and Minji... you know... sleeping together?”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What? No,” You lie instinctively. Something tells you that telling the truth now, under these circumstances, is not a good idea. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging casually but with an edge of something sharper in her tone. “She’s been meeting you alone a lot lately. And you guys talk about... stuff.”

“Yeah, studies and stuff,” you insist, feeling a little defensive despite the alcohol muddling your thoughts. “That’s it.”

Ning studies you for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true,” you say, leaning back and running a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

Ning shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. “Okay,” she says, her voice light, almost teasing. “But can I ask you something else?”

“Sure,” you say again, your voice slower now, confused but too drunk to really think it through.

She takes your hand—gentle but deliberate—and places it on her bare thigh. The warmth of her skin jolts through you, and you freeze, your mind struggling to catch up.

“Do you like this?” she asks.

“What... what are you doing?” you stammer, blinking at her.

“Nothing,” she says. Her hand moves yours slightly higher up her thigh, her dress hitching up with the motion. “Just asking a question.”

Your fingers twitch, and she leans in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Squeeze it,” she whispers.

You do, but it’s hesitant, your grip light and unsure.

“Do you like it?” she asks again.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you mumble.

Your hand is still resting on her thigh, and every second it stays there feels heavier, more confusing. The alcohol muddles your thoughts, makes everything feel both too sharp and too distant at once.

“And,” Ning says softly, her voice carrying a dangerous kind of sweetness. “What do you think of my body?”

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and uncertain. “What?”

“My body,” she repeats, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes almost playful. “Do you like it?”

“I—” You stammer, your throat dry. “Ning, you’re—you’re my friend.”

She smiles faintly, but there’s something sharper behind it. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you admit, your words slurring slightly. “You’re—you’re beautiful, okay? You know that.”

Her smile widens, but it doesn’t feel warm. “So you do like it.”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter, rubbing your temples with your free hand.

“Relax,” she says, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I’m just asking questions.”

Her fingers brush against yours on her thigh, and you flinch slightly. She doesn’t let go. “Did you know I was the one who reminded Minji about your birthday?”

“What?” you ask, blinking at her.

“The cake?” she says, her tone light but insistent. “The party? That was all me. I thought of the flavor, too. Minji wouldn’t have remembered without me.”

You stare at her, unsure of what to say. “Thanks,” you mumble finally. “I mean it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Her grip on your hand tightens slightly. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course,” you say, looking at her through the haze of alcohol. “It... it means a lot.”

Her smile softens, but only for a moment. Then, she leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Have you ever imagined me naked?”

The question hits you like a slap, and you jerk back, blinking at her. “What? No!”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her tone unnervingly calm. “You can be honest. I know how guys are. Sooner or later, you all think about it.”

“I haven’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “I swear.”

She tilts her head, studying you like she doesn’t believe you. “Well,” she says quietly, “I’ve imagined you naked.”

You try to pull your hand away, but she keeps it there, sliding it a little higher up her thigh.

“Ning, stop,” you mumble.

“Why?” she asks, her tone almost innocent. “Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t—” You shake your head, trying to focus. “Ning, what’s going on with you?”

Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice dropping lower. “Are you having sex with Minji?”

“For the last time, no!” you say, frustration breaking through the fog in your mind.

“That’s good,” she says, her smile returning. “Because she can’t, you know. Not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her heart,” Ning says, her voice soft but steady. “She can’t handle anything that gets her heart rate up too much. No sex, no heavy exercise... nothing.”

You stare at her, your mind reeling. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” she says, sliding your hand a fraction higher, “that means you don’t have anyone to make you feel good. But I could. If you gave me a chance.”

You feel a sudden urge to vomit, and you finally manage to pull your hand away, the effort making your head spin. “Ning, stop. Please.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice sharper now, almost accusing. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”

“Because,” you say groggily, leaning back against the booth, “you’re like a little sister to me. I want to take care of you, not... not this.”

Her expression flickers, something dark passing over her features. “A little sister?” she echoes, almost disgusted.

“What’s going on with you?” you ask, your voice heavy with exhaustion and confusion.

Before she can answer, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and clear.

“What are you two doing over there?” Minji calls from the other side of the bar, her tone light but with an edge of suspicion.

Ning sits up straight, her movements quick and practiced. She adjusts her dress, tugging the hem back down, and smiles sweetly in Minji’s direction.

“Just talking!” she calls back, her voice cheerful.

Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, turning back to her drink. Ning glances at you, her smile turning sly.

“You should drink more,” she says softly, nudging a fresh glass toward you. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Your head is spinning, your thoughts tangled and heavy. You don’t know what to say, so you pick up the glass, hoping the alcohol will blur the edges of whatever just happened.

—

Ning grips the small, neatly wrapped package in her hands, her palms damp with sweat. Her stomach twists with nerves as she walks toward the bar, the memory of last night replaying in a loop she can’t turn off.

She hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning as the weight of what she’d done settled deeper into her chest. The heat of embarrassment burned through her every time she replayed the moment she put your hand on her thigh, the words she whispered, the things she revealed. It had been wrong—she knew that now, knew it even then—but the alcohol and whatever storm had been brewing in her mind made it all seem like a good idea at that moment.

Now, she’s stuck between two strategies. If you remember, she’ll apologize, chalk it up to being drunk, to losing her mind for a second. She’ll laugh it off, maybe throw in some self-deprecating humor about how dumb she can be. But if you don’t remember—well, then she’s off the hook.

And she hopes, desperately, that you don’t.

When she steps into the bar, the air is cool and familiar, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeting her like usual. But you’re not there.

“Hey,” she asks one of your coworkers, her voice tight. “Where’s—uh—where is he?”

“In the back,” they reply, jerking a thumb toward the storage room. “We just got a shipment in. He’s organizing it.”

Ning nods, swallowing hard, and makes her way toward the back. Each step feels heavier than the last, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. She clutches the gift tighter, as if it’s a lifeline.

When she reaches the door to the storage room, she hesitates, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

The sight stops her cold.

You’re there, your back to her, leaning against one of the shelves stacked high with boxes of liquor. Minji is in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your chest, her lips pressed against yours in a kiss that’s somehow both casual and intimate.

Minji left the dormitory when Ning was taking a bath, and didn't bother to say where she was going. Now it makes sense.

Ning’s heart plummets, her breath catching in her throat. She doesn’t even think to step back, to hide—she’s frozen, rooted to the spot as the scene plays out in front of her.

Minji’s eyes are closed, but as the kiss lingers, they flutter open—and meet Ning’s.

Minji doesn’t react the way Ning expects. There’s no guilt, no panic, no scrambling to pull away. She’s calm, composed, as if she knew this moment was inevitable. She doesn’t move at first, just looks at Ning with that quiet, assessing gaze of hers. Then, she lifts one hand and nudges you gently, breaking the kiss.

You turn, confused at first, until you see Ning standing there, pale as a sheet, clutching the small package like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh,” you say, your voice awkward, unsure. “Ning. Hey. What are you doing here?”

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. She clears her throat, forcing the words out. “They said you were back here.”

“Yeah, uh...” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of the situation. “We were just, um, sorting the shipment. Minji was helping.”

Ning’s eyes flick to Minji, who’s watching her with that same impassive expression. Not smug, not apologetic—just... unreadable.

Ning nods stiffly, holding out the package like it’s a shield. “I brought your gift.”

You blink, caught off guard, and take it from her hands. “Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice clipped.

You fumble with the wrapping, tearing it open to reveal a hardcover book you’d mentioned weeks ago, something about entrepreneurship or finance that you’d wanted but couldn’t justify buying. Your face lights up, and you look at her, genuinely touched.

“This is... wow. Ning, this is perfect. Thank you.”

Without thinking, you pull her into a hug, the book still clutched in your hand. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing, her arms looping around you loosely.

When you pull back, she’s already stepping away. “I should go.”

“What? No, stay,” you say, frowning. “I was just about to head back to the bar anyway. We can hang out—”

“I can’t,” she cuts you off, her voice flat but with an edge that betrays her. “I have stuff to do.”

Before you can say anything else, she’s already turning, her steps quick and purposeful as she makes her way out of the storage room.

You’re left standing there, the book in your hands, a strange weight settling in your chest.

Behind you, Minji speaks for the first time. “She’s upset.”

You turn to look at her, but her face is as calm and unreadable as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I noticed.”

Minji doesn’t reply, her eyes fixed on the door Ning just walked through.

“Why would she leave like that?” you ask aloud, not really expecting an answer.

“Like I said, she’s upset,” Minji repeats.

You turn to her, frowning. “But why? I don’t get it. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes steady on yours. “It’s not about you doing anything wrong,” she says, her voice measured and thoughtful. “It’s... Ning.”

“What about her?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Minji sighs softly, taking a step closer to you, her hands clasped in front of her. “Ning likes to be the center of attention. Always has. It’s part of who she is. She doesn’t know how to share things—friends, experiences. She probably thinks I’m stealing you from her.”

You blink, her words sinking in. “Stealing me? That’s... I mean, I don’t think that’s it.”

“She wouldn’t say it outright,” Minji continues, her voice gentle but firm. “But she feels it. She doesn’t like to share her people. And lately, she’s been sharing you more than she’s used to.”

You frown, glancing down at the book in your hands. “I don’t want her to feel that way. I hope I didn’t mess things up with her.”

“You’re not messing anything up,” Minji says, her voice softening as she takes another step closer. “This isn’t your fault.”

You look up at her, and for a moment, you’re caught by the way she’s looking at you—steady, calm, her expression full of quiet understanding. She’s close enough now that you can smell her perfume.

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “Maybe I should talk to her.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minji says. “Let me talk to her later. She’ll listen to me.”

You nod slowly, relieved but still uneasy. “Thanks. I just... I don’t want things to get weird, you know?”

“They won’t,” she says, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Trust me.”

Before you can respond, she closes the remaining distance between you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she says again.

Her gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric, and then she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft but insistent.

You freeze for half a second, but then you find yourself leaning into it, your eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of her mouth against yours sends a rush of heat through your chest.

When she pulls back, her face is still close to yours, her dark eyes searching yours for a reaction.

“Minji,” you murmur.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she repeats, her tone steady but soft. “You’re amazing.”

You feel a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest—confusion, excitement, guilt. But most of all, you feel captivated. Minji is... everything. Beautiful, intelligent, composed. She’s the kind of girl you never thought you’d have a chance with, the kind who feels like a fantasy brought to life.

“Thanks,” you say finally, your voice shaky. “I just... I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“They won’t,” she says simply, her hands sliding down your arms before she steps back, giving you space. “We’ll figure it out.”

You nod, swallowing hard as you watch her. There’s something about her that draws you in, something magnetic and almost overwhelming. You can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled into her orbit, whether you’re ready for it or not.

—

The dorm is silent and cloaked in darkness when Minji steps inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her eyes adjust quickly, tracing the familiar outlines of the room: the tidy desk on her side, the slightly chaotic one on Ning’s, and Ning herself—sprawled face down on her bed like a discarded doll.

Minji knows she’s not sleeping.

She turns on the lamp by her desk, its soft glow casting long shadows across the room. Ning doesn’t stir, but her breathing isn’t the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. Her messy hair spills over her pillow in wild waves, her loose top riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her waist above her panties. She’s a cute mess, but a mess all the same.

“Ning,” Minji calls softly, her voice calm, measured.

No response.

Minji crosses her arms, leaning against her desk. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ning turns her head slightly, just enough to meet Minji’s gaze. Her eyes are red, swollen, and have deep dark circles, as if all her accumulated tiredness had collapsed on her at once. Minji doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she holds up the tub of ice cream she’s carrying, Ning’s favorite flavor, like it’s a peace offering. “Sit up,” Minji says gently.

Ning hesitates, her expression guarded, but eventually pushes herself upright, her movements sluggish. Minji walks over and sits beside her on the bed, her posture as perfect as always, even in the dim light.

“Why’d you leave the bar like that?” Minji asks, her voice calm but probing.

Ning shrugs, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I just felt like leaving.”

Minji isn’t buying it. She studies Ning for a moment, then leans in slightly. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Ning doesn’t respond, her silence speaking volumes.

Minji sighs, setting the ice cream tub on the bed between them. “Alright,” she says, her tone soft but purposeful. “Then let me make it easy for you. Yes, I’m seeing him. We’re hooking up.”

Ning stiffens, but she keeps her eyes down, her expression carefully blank.

“Does that bother you?” Minji asks, her voice light but probing, her gaze unwavering.

Ning stays silent, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

Minji presses on, her tone shifting to something softer, almost confessional. “I only let things happen because I thought you didn’t care. You’ve always said he’s just your friend. And I believed you.” She pauses, letting her words settle before continuing. “But if I was wrong... if you like him too, tell me. I’ll step back.”

Ning looks up at her then, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Minji says, her expression calm. “You knew him first. You introduced me to him. If you like him, I’ll stop seeing him. Friendship comes first.”

The words hit Ning like a punch to the chest. There’s nothing accusatory in Minji’s tone, no edge to her gaze—just an unshakable calmness that makes Ning feel small and foolish.

“I don’t like him like that,” Ning says finally.

Minji tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to suggest she doesn’t entirely believe her. “Are you sure?”

Ning hesitates, her mind racing. If you and Minji are already together, what difference would it make? You’d never leave Minji for her. She’s better than Ning in every way—prettier, smarter, more composed. Ning would just make everything worse by admitting the truth.

“I’m sure,” Ning says again, forcing the words out.

Minji watches her for a long moment before nodding, as if accepting it. “Okay,” she says softly. “Then why did you leave the bar like that?”

“I was embarrassed,” Ning lies, her voice steadier now. “I saw you two kissing, and... I don’t know. I thought you’d be mad at me for walking in on you.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Why would we be mad? It’s not like we were doing anything wrong.”

Ning doesn’t respond, her fingers still picking at her shirt.

Minji reaches for the ice cream, peeling off the lid and handing it to Ning along with a plastic spoon. “Here,” she says, her voice gentle. “Eat.”

Ning takes it reluctantly, her movements mechanical as she scoops a bite into her mouth.

Minji watches her for a moment before speaking again. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”

Ning forces a smile, one that feels brittle even to her. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Minji exhales softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she says. “Because I think... I think I’m falling for him.”

Ning freezes mid-bite, the spoon hovering in the air.

Minji doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t fall for guys easily,” she continues, her tone contemplative. “You know that. I don’t date just to date. But with him...” She trails off, shaking her head slightly. “It feels different.”

Ning forces herself to swallow, her chest tightening painfully.

Minji reaches out then, her thumb brushing against the corner of Ning’s mouth. “You’ve got ice cream,” she says softly, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

The gesture sends a jolt through Ning, and she quickly looks away, focusing on the ice cream in her lap.

“Eat, Ning. You’ll feel better.”

Ning nods, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth, her movements hurried and desperate.

She glances at Minji, who’s watching her with a faint, unreadable smile, and decides to take the plunge.

“Did he say anything about last night?” Ning asks, her voice casual, as if the question doesn’t mean much.

Minji raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Just... I don’t know,” Ning says, forcing a shrug. “Like, did he mention anything weird? About the party, I mean.”

Minji tilts her head slightly, studying Ning like she’s trying to figure out what angle she’s working. “No,” she says finally. “Why?”

“No reason,” Ning replies quickly, her eyes dropping back to the tub of ice cream in her lap. “I was just curious. He got very drunk yesterday.”

That makes Minji laugh, soft and elegant. “Oh, trust me, I know. He told me he had a splitting headache and a killer hangover. Said he drank so much he forgot a lot of what happened.” She pauses, her smile turning almost amused. “Apparently, that’s not the first time it’s happened. Seems to be a habit of his.”

Ning nods, her grip on the spoon tightening slightly. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Minji leans back slightly, resting her hands on the bed. “But he was really happy about the surprise party. And he loved your gift.”

Ning feels a sudden urge to cry, but it’s different this time—something bittersweet, something almost tender. “It wasn’t anything special,” she says.

“It was,” Minji counters, her tone firm but kind. “Mostly because it came from you.”

Ning doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she takes another bite of ice cream, the sweetness almost too much now. She glances at Minji, who’s still watching her, and before she can stop herself, the next question tumbles out.

“Have you and him... you know.”

Minji blinks, caught off guard for the first time that night. Her composure falters just slightly before she regains it, smoothing her expression into something neutral. “Not yet,” she says, her voice carefully even.

“But you’ve done something?”

Minji hesitates, then nods, her eyes flickering toward the window as if she doesn’t want to meet Ning’s gaze. “I... gave him a blowjob.”

She doesn’t know why she asked—doesn’t know what she expected—but the answer still hits her like a punch to the chest.

Minji, sensing her discomfort, lets out a soft laugh. “It was the first time a guy’s ever... you know, finished in my mouth.”

Ning swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. She forces herself to keep her voice steady. “And? How was that?”

Minji shrugs, her lips curving into a faint, wry smile. “Not as bad as I thought it’d be. A little weird, but... not terrible. But no facials with me. That's my limit. It would ruin my skin.”

Ning doesn’t respond, her mind racing. She feels like she’s on the edge of something, teetering between jealousy and shame and something dangerous, something she doesn’t want to name.

Minji stretches slightly, her movements graceful as always, and lets out a small sigh. “I’m exhausted,” she says, her tone softening. “You should brush your teeth when you’re done with that ice cream.”

She leans in then, pressing a light kiss to Ning’s cheek, her lips soft and cool. Ning freezes, the touch sending a shiver through her, but Minji pulls back quickly, standing and moving toward her dresser.

“I’m going to change,” Minji says, her voice light and casual as if nothing unusual had just happened.

Ning watches her, the tub of ice cream still heavy in her hands, and wonders how Minji always manages to walk that perfect line between kindness and control, between affection and distance. And she wonders, for the hundredth time that night, why it hurts so much to lose something she never really had.

—

The kitchen glows under the soft light of your pendant lamp, a warm oasis on a cold evening. Minji is standing at the counter, dressed in a slim, forest-green silk dress that clings to her form without being ostentatious. The fabric moves like water, catching the light every time she shifts her weight or raises her arm. A subtle slit at the hem reveals just a hint of her toned leg as she steps closer to the chopping board. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face, and her gold-rimmed glasses sit neatly on her nose, catching the light like a delicate accessory she doesn’t even notice.

You stir the sauce simmering on the stove, stealing glances at her as she expertly dices a red bell pepper. The soft rhythm of her knife against the cutting board blends with the faint hum of music coming from the speaker in the corner. It’s some instrumental jazz you picked randomly, but it fits—smooth, understated, just like her presence.

“It’s funny,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. Her voice is calm, clear, the kind that pulls you in without demanding attention. “The lecture I had today—it was about communication, or the lack of it, really.”

You glance over your shoulder, curious. “Yeah? What about it?”

Minji doesn’t look up from her task, the tip of her tongue caught briefly between her teeth as she concentrates on slicing the pepper into perfectly even strips. “How dangerous it is,” she says simply.

“Dangerous?” you echo, turning back to the stove. The sauce is thickening nicely, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filling the space.

“In my field, sure,” she continues, setting the knife down and picking up a carrot. “Business is all about negotiation, asserting yourself, making your position known. If you can’t communicate—if you’re passive, afraid to take up space—people walk all over you. You become... irrelevant.”

You nod, scooping up a spoonful of sauce and tasting it. It’s missing something—salt, maybe. “Makes sense. You’ve got to make yourself heard.”

“Exactly.” She pauses, running the carrot under the faucet, then patting it dry with a paper towel. “But it’s not just in business. It’s everywhere. Relationships, friendships, even just day-to-day interactions. If you can’t say what you think, if you’re always holding back...”

She trails off, her knife poised over the carrot. For a moment, you think she’s lost in thought, but then she shakes her head slightly and starts slicing again.

“It’s cowardly,” she says finally, her tone sharp but not loud. “To let life pass you by because you’re too afraid to say or do anything. It’s—" She stops herself, exhaling softly. “I don’t understand how people live like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say instead, reaching for the salt and sprinkling a bit into the sauce. “But some people are just wired differently. They don’t know how to... I don’t know. Assert themselves?”

“That’s an excuse,” Minji replies. She sets the knife down and turns to face you, leaning slightly against the counter. “It’s not about being wired differently. It’s about choice. If you let fear dictate your life, if you don’t fight for what you want—what does that say about you?”

Her eyes are dark, steady, the kind of look that makes you want to nod and agree with her, even if you don’t fully understand.

“I guess it says you’re not living,” you say finally.

“Exactly.” She smiles faintly, turning back to her work. “Not living. Just... existing. Letting other people decide everything for you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on the food instead. The sauce is perfect now, the pasta boiling steadily in the pot next to it. You grab a wooden spoon and stir, the repetitive motion grounding you.

Minji starts talking again, her voice lighter now, almost casual, but there’s still an edge to it. “We had this case study in class,” she says, slicing the carrot into neat, thin rounds. “A guy who inherited a failing company from his father. Had all the tools, all the resources, but he couldn’t make decisions. Always second-guessed himself, deferred to his advisors, avoided confrontation.”

“What happened to him?” you ask.

“The company went bankrupt,” she says simply. “And he blamed everyone but himself.”

You whistle softly. “Harsh.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s deserved. If you can’t take responsibility—if you can’t stand up and say, ‘This is what I think, this is what I want’—you don’t deserve to succeed. Period.”

There’s a finality to her tone that makes you glance at her again. Her hands are steady as she gathers the sliced vegetables and transfers them to a bowl. There’s no anger in her expression, just quiet conviction, like she’s already decided what the world should be and won’t waste time pretending otherwise.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, draining the pasta and dumping it into the pan with the sauce. “But some people are just... afraid. Of rejection, failure, whatever.”

She snorts softly, reaching for a tomato. “And that’s supposed to excuse them? We’re all afraid. The difference is whether you let it control you.”

“You’re good at this,” you say, gesturing to the cutting board as you plate the pasta.

She glances at you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “At cooking?”

“At everything,” you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your tone.

Her smile widens slightly, and she tilts her head, studying you for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, her voice softer now. “Honestly, I don’t think people realize how much they lose when they hold back,” Minji says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s like...” She pauses, searching for the right words, her knife resting momentarily on the cutting board. “Imagine having all this potential—ideas, feelings, everything—and just letting it rot inside because you’re too scared to let anyone see it. It’s...”

“Wasted,” you finish for her, nodding.

“Exactly. Wasted,” she echoes, her gaze flicking to yours for a moment before returning to the half-sliced tomato in front of her. “I see it all the time. Students who are brilliant but can’t speak up in class. Colleagues who let others take credit because they can’t bring themselves to push back. It’s infuriating.”

“Not everyone can be as fearless as you,” you tease, half-smiling as you wipe your hands on a dishtowel.

She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “It’s not about fearlessness. It’s about... discipline. Conviction. Knowing what you want and not apologizing for it.”

The words linger in the air, and for a moment, you think she might say more. But then she shakes her head slightly and focuses back on the tomato, her knife moving with a precision that seems almost meditative.

“You really have this figured out, huh?” you say, watching her work.

“I try,” she replies, her voice almost introspective. “But it’s easier to see these things in other people. When it’s yourself...” She trails off, slicing through the tomato, her knife slipping slightly as she loses focus.

“Shit!”

The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and she pulls her hand back, blood welling up from a neat cut on the side of her index finger. For a moment, she just stares at it, as if unable to comprehend what’s happened.

“Are you okay?” you ask, already stepping closer.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammers, holding her hand up as blood starts to drip onto the counter. “I’ve never...”

“It’s not bad,” you say quickly, grabbing a paper towel and wrapping it around her finger. “It’s just a small cut. Let me see.”

She doesn’t move, her body rigid, her breath shallow as she stares at the blood soaking into the towel. “I’ve never cut myself before,” Minji says.

“It happens,” you say gently, trying to keep your tone calm. “Everyone does it sooner or later. Here, hold this tight while I grab the first aid kit.”

You guide her hand to press the towel against the cut and rummage through the drawer until you find the small, rarely used kit. When you return, she’s still standing in the same spot, her expression a mixture of shock and something sharper—anger, maybe.

“Let me clean it,” you say, carefully unwrapping the paper towel. The cut is thin but deep enough to keep bleeding. “It’s not serious, I promise.”

She flinches as you dab at it with an antiseptic wipe, her jaw tightening. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

“Minji, it’s really not a big deal,” you say, glancing up at her.

“It is to me,” she snaps, then immediately looks away, exhaling sharply. “Sorry. I just... I don’t like this.”

“I get it,” you say, wrapping a bandage around her finger. “But it’s going to heal. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”

Her head snaps up at that. “A scar?”

“Maybe a tiny one,” you admit, trying to keep your tone light. “Nothing noticeable.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she pulls her hand away as soon as you finish wrapping it. “I’ve never had a scar before,” she says, her voice low but sharp. “Not a single one.”

“Well, if it does scar, it’ll be really small. Barely visible.”

“That’s not the point,” she says, her tone rising slightly. “I don’t want one at all. Why should I have to live with something like that?”

“It’s just a part of life,” you say, shrugging. “Everyone gets scars eventually.”

“Not me,” she retorts, pacing to the other side of the kitchen. “I’ve always been careful. Always.”

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping closer. “It’s really not that bad. I promise.”

She doesn’t look at you, her gaze fixed on her bandaged finger. “Do you think there’s something that can get rid of scars? Like a cream or... something?”

“Maybe,” you say carefully. “I think there are treatments, yeah.”

“Good,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “I’ll look it up later.”

You nod, deciding not to push her. “If it bothers you that much, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”

She exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay.”

The air between you feels fragile now, like a thread pulled too tight. You want to say something to break the tension, to bring back the easy warmth from before, but you don’t know how. Instead, you reach for the chopping board, picking up where she left off.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggest, glancing at her. “I’ll finish the vegetables.”

For a moment, she hesitates, her gaze lingering on you. Then she nods, walking to the table and sitting down, her movements slower than usual.

—

Dinner unfolds with a quiet kind of intimacy. The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, your plates piled high with pasta, the vegetables Minji had been chopping earlier perfectly sautéed and scattered on top. The warmth of the meal fills the space, but the air between you feels delicate, like a glass balancing on the edge of a table.

She’s been quiet since the incident in the kitchen, only speaking when you ask her something directly. You don’t mind the silence, though. You know her well enough by now to understand that she’s working through her thoughts, rearranging them until they feel presentable.

Finally, as you’re finishing the last bite of your pasta, she sets her fork down and looks at you. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight but not stiff.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

You lean back slightly, letting her words settle. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice calm, steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” she insists, her gaze dropping to her plate for a moment. “I... I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to make such a big deal out of it. Or ruin the night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you say firmly, leaning forward now, your elbows resting on the table. “I promise. It’s not a big deal. Things like that happen all the time.”

“Not to me,” she murmurs. She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly in her lap. “I’ve always been... careful. Protected. My parents, my doctors, even my friends... they’ve always made sure I never got hurt. Physically, I mean.”

You nod slowly, giving her space to continue.

“I guess that’s why it rattled me so much,” she says, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. It’s just a tiny cut.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say gently. “I get it. If you’ve never had to deal with something like that before, of course it’s going to feel... bigger.”

She looks at you then, her expression softening. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, curious.

“Understand me,” she says simply, her voice warm. “Even when I don’t make sense, you... you just get it. Get me.”

You smile, a quiet sense of gratitude settling in your chest. “That’s because I like you, Minji. A lot.”

She ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I like you too,” she says softly.

After a moment, you both rise from the table, moving together to clear the dishes. The easy rhythm returns as you rinse the plates, her hand brushing against yours as she hands you a glass to dry.

When everything is cleaned and put away, you lead her to the couch, the soft hum of the jazz playlist still filling the background. She sits down first, but then, without hesitation, shifts onto your lap. Her body fits against yours like it belongs there, her dress cool against your hands as they find their way to her thighs.

Her arms loop around your neck, and for a moment, she just looks at you.

“I really like you,” she says again, her voice quieter now, more intimate.

“I feel the same way,” you reply, your hands instinctively tightening their hold on her thighs.

She leans in then, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts soft, tentative. But as you respond, as your hands slide up her legs and her fingers tangle in your hair, the kiss deepens, the world outside the two of you fading into nothing.

Her breath hitches slightly as you pull her closer, your hands finding the bare skin just above the slit in her dress. Her lips taste faintly of the wine you had with dinner, warm and lingering, and you think you could stay like this forever.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours, she exhales softly, her fingers tracing the back of your neck. “I’m happy,” she says quietly.

You smile. “Me too.”

Her warmth presses against you, your hand rests lightly on her thigh, the silk of her dress cool and slippery under your palm. It should feel perfect, unbroken, but something niggles at the edge of your mind.

Ning.

You don’t know where the thought comes from, but it’s there, uninvited, lingering like a shadow just out of reach. Your hand flexes slightly against Minji’s thigh, and she notices, tilting her head to look at you.

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

You hesitate, trying to shake it off, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Is Ning okay? I mean, really okay?”

Minji blinks, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For a moment, she’s quiet, her gaze searching yours. Then, she smiles faintly, leaning back just enough to study your face.

“I told you,” she says calmly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the nape of your neck. “I talked to her. She’s fine.”

You nod, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “What did she say? I just—she seemed upset that night at the bar.”

Minji’s smile doesn’t falter, but something shifts in her eyes. “She said she was embarrassed. That’s all. Embarrassed and worried she might be... getting in the way of us.”

“In the way?” you echo, frowning.

Minji hums softly, her thumb brushing against your jaw. “You know how she is. Always second-guessing herself, always afraid of being too much. She didn’t want to... complicate things.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing her words. Your hand is still on her thigh, your thumb brushing absently against the slit in her dress. The thought of Ning being embarrassed—or worse, feeling like she doesn’t belong—makes you feel wrong somehow. “She didn’t need to leave like that,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Minji.

“No,” Minji agrees, her voice soothing. “But that’s Ning. She always runs before she can let anyone help her.”

The words sting, though you’re not sure why. Minji shifts in your lap then, her movements deliberate, and takes your hand in hers. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull it away, but instead, she guides it down, sliding it under the edge of her dress.

You freeze, your breath catching as your fingers brush against the soft fabric of her panties. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, her hand pressing yours firmly against her.

“Keep going,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Minji,” you start, but she cuts you off with a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s fine,” she says, her voice steady. “I want you to.”

Her hips roll subtly against your hand, and instinct takes over, your fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles over the fabric. She exhales softly, her body relaxing against yours, but her gaze remains locked on you, sharp and unflinching.

“Ning really is a good friend,” she says suddenly, her tone casual.

The words catch you off guard, but you nod, your movements faltering slightly before you find your rhythm again. “Yeah. She is.”

Minji hums in agreement, her head resting against your shoulder. “I like her. She’s sweet. A little naive, maybe, but sweet. Sometimes I think of her as a doll, but I can never decide whether she's made of cloth or porcelain.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Your hand is still moving, the heat of her seeping through the fabric, and the dissonance between her words and what you’re doing is dizzying.

“She’s always been so... eager to please,” Minji continues, her voice soft but steady. “It’s endearing. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, unsure if you’re agreeing with her or just trying to keep up.

“She looks up to you,” Minji adds, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Did you know that? She talks about you all the time.”

“Does she?” you ask, your voice thick, your movements slowing as the conversation twists into something unknown.

“Mhm.” Minji’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, her body arching slightly against your hand. “She admires you. Trusts you. I was the only one she felt this way about… until you came along.”

The weight of her words settles over you, heavy and disorienting. Your fingers pause, but Minji presses down against your hand, guiding you to keep going.

“She’s lucky,” she murmurs, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “To have someone like you.”

“Minji...”

Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours, and the intensity there makes your breath hitch. “Don’t stop,” she says, her tone firm but not unkind.

You obey, your hand moving again, and she lets out a soft sigh, her head tilting back slightly.

“I mean it,” she says, her voice quieter now. “You’re good to her. Better than she knows how to be to herself.”

There’s a finality to her words, a weight that presses against you even as her body moves in perfect sync with your hand. The contrast—the tenderness of her words, the sharpness in her gaze, the heat of her pussy against your fingers—leaves you unmoored, unable to do anything but follow her lead.

As her breathing quickens, her grip on your shoulder tightens, and you can feel the tension building in her body. But her expression remains calm, composed, her eyes never leaving yours.

When she finally pulls back, her chest rising and falling with each breath, she smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that feels like both a reward and a warning.

“Do you understand?” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “We must take care of her.”

And somehow, despite everything, you nod.

Minji’s lips press against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for misunderstanding. It’s a kiss that demands, that consumes, that floods every sense. Her fingers find the back of your neck, pulling you closer, her touch as steady and deliberate as the woman herself.

When she finally breaks away, just enough to catch her breath, her dark eyes search yours, gleaming with something you can only describe as hunger. She reaches up, slipping her gold-rimmed glasses off her nose with a slow, deliberate motion, and places them on the cushion beside her.

“Take me to the bedroom,” she murmurs, her voice low, husky.

You hesitate for just a moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice softer than you expect.

“Yes,” she says firmly, her hands gripping the sides of your face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her words leave no room for argument. You kiss her again, deeper this time, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours like she’s trying to meld into you. It’s clumsy and desperate as you guide her toward the bedroom, bumping into walls and laughing softly between kisses.

By the time you reach the bed, you’re both breathless, flushed. She steps back for a moment, her hands moving to the straps of her dress. You watch, your pulse pounding in your ears, as she lets the silk slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor in one fluid motion.

Her lingerie is understated but stunning—a black lace bra that clings to her curves and a matching pair of panties, delicate and sheer, the fabric clinging to her hips like a second skin. The lace pattern catches the dim light of the bedside lamp, adding an air of quiet elegance to the raw heat between you.

She smiles then, a slow, teasing smile that makes your stomach flip. Stretching her arms out, she falls back onto the bed, her hair fanning out against the pillows. “Your turn,” she says.

You chuckle, feeling a rare flicker of self-consciousness as her eyes roam over you. Kicking off your shoes and pulling off your shirt, you move quickly, her gaze following every movement. By the time you’re down to just your underwear, she’s propped herself up on her elbows, her smile widening.

“Not bad,” she teases, her tone light but edged with genuine appreciation.

“Not bad?” you repeat, grinning as you crawl onto the bed.

Before she can answer, you’re on top of her, your hands braced on either side of her head, your lips crashing into hers with a force that steals her breath. She arches against you, her hands running down your back, her nails pressing lightly into your skin as your kisses grow more frantic, more demanding.

Her laughter mixes with soft gasps as you trail kisses down her neck, her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone. Her skin tastes faintly of the lavender lotion she always uses, warm and familiar.

“You’re overdressed,” you mutter against her skin, your fingers toying with the clasp of her bra.

She laughs softly, her hands sliding into your hair. “Then do something about it.”

You do, the clasp giving way easily under your fingers. The bra slips off, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, taking in the sight of her bare skin, her confidence, the way she doesn’t flinch or shy away from your gaze.

“You’re incredible,” you whisper, and her smile softens, her hands pulling you down for another kiss.

Her skin is impossibly soft under your hands, warm and alive as your fingers trail over her collarbones, down the slope of her shoulders, and back to the curves of her breasts. The contrast between her confidence and the slight tremble in her breath makes your pulse race. You take your time, letting your thumbs graze over her nipples, dark and inviting, their perfect areolas standing out against her smooth skin.

Minji sighs softly, her chest rising under your touch. You lower your head, your lips brushing against one nipple before your tongue flicks over it, savoring the way her body responds—a sharp intake of breath, her fingers tangling in your hair.

You suck gently at first, then harder, your mouth working over her, tasting her, teasing her. Your other hand cups her other breast, your thumb circling her nipple in time with the rhythm of your mouth. She gasps, her back arching into you, her hips shifting beneath your weight as if she can’t stay still.

“God,” she whispers, her voice breathy and raw. “You’re—” She doesn’t finish, the words melting into another soft moan as you move to her other breast.

You give it the same attention, your tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles around her nipple before you take it fully into your mouth. Her hands tighten their hold on you, pulling you closer, her body alive under yours.

When you finally pull back, both nipples glistening, hard from your attention, she’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, her lips parted, her breath shallow. You lift your head, your lips brushing hers lightly before your noses meet, a quiet moment of intimacy as they nudge and caress each other.

She smiles against your lips, soft but full of mischief. “My turn,” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with desire.

Before you can respond, she pushes against your chest, flipping you onto your back with surprising strength. She straddles you for a moment, her hair falling around her face like a curtain as she leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, her tongue teasing yours before she pulls away.

She crawls backward, her hands trailing down your chest, your stomach, until she reaches the waistband of your underwear. Her fingers hook into the fabric, and she glances up at you, her eyes dark and gleaming with intent.

“You don’t mind if I take these off, do you?” she asks.

“Be my guest,” you manage, your voice thick.

She smirks, tugging your underwear down slowly, deliberately, her nails grazing your skin as she goes. She takes her time, her movements unhurried, like she’s savoring the moment. When she finally pulls the fabric free, she tosses it aside without a second glance, her eyes fixed on you, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“Perfect,” she says softly, more to herself than to you, her hands sliding up your thighs as she settles between your legs.

Minji lingers for a moment, her lips hovering just above your skin, close enough that you can feel her breath but not her touch. The anticipation is maddening, every nerve in your body strung tight as she takes her time, her hands steady on your thighs.

She starts slowly, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the base of your shaft. The warmth of her lips makes you shudder, and she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. Her mouth trails upward, planting light kisses along the length of you, her tongue darting out occasionally to flick against your skin.

“God, Minji,” you murmur, your voice thick and strained.

“Patience,” she says softly, her tone almost playful. “I want to enjoy this.”

Her lips reach the tip, her kiss lingering there as if she’s savoring the moment. Her tongue flicks out, running over the head in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch. The first bead of precum gathers, and she laps it up with a quiet hum of satisfaction, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“You taste good,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.

You’re too far gone to respond, your body already aching for more. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing, letting her tongue circle the head, her movements deliberate, teasing. Every flick, every graze, every soft kiss feels calculated to drive you to the edge without giving you what you’re desperate for.

When she finally takes you into her mouth, it’s slow, her lips wrapping around the tip and sucking gently, just enough to make you groan. She pulls back slightly, her tongue pressing against the underside as her hand wraps around your base, stroking in time with her movements.

She takes more of you in, her mouth warm and wet, her lips sliding down your length with a slow, practiced rhythm. Her hand moves with her mouth, stroking the part of you she can’t yet take, her fingers firm but gentle. She hums softly, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands gripping the sheets as she sets a steady pace, her head bobbing slowly, her hair falling around her face.

She glances up at you, her eyes locking with yours, and the intensity there nearly undoes you. Her movements quicken slightly, her tongue working in tandem with her lips as she takes you deeper, her free hand pressing against your thigh to keep you steady.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, her focus unbroken as she works you over, her lips and tongue and hand driving you to the brink.

And just when you think you can’t take any more, she slows, her mouth pulling back slightly, her lips leaving you with one last teasing kiss before she leans back, her smile wicked and satisfied.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.

“Are you kidding?” you manage, your breath ragged.

She laughs softly, her hand still stroking you lazily. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.” Her hand replaces her mouth for now, stroking you slowly, deliberately, as she leans down further. Her lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the sensitive skin beneath your length, her tongue flicking out to taste as she goes.

She settles between your legs, her warm breath ghosting over your balls before she places an open-mouthed kiss there, her tongue dragging lazily over the soft skin. A low groan escapes your throat, your hands fisting the sheets as she takes her time, exploring every inch with her lips and tongue.

“Fuck, Minji,” you murmur, your voice hoarse.

She hums softly in response, the vibration sending a spark of pleasure through you. Her tongue traces slow, deliberate circles over one ball, her lips following close behind to suck gently, her saliva pooling and making everything slick. She pulls back slightly, her gaze flicking up to meet yours as a string of spit clings to her lips before breaking.

“You like this?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, her hand still stroking you in time with her movements.

“God, yes,” you groan, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Good,” she whispers, leaning back in.

Her mouth wraps around one ball fully this time, sucking lightly, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin in slow, deliberate motions. She pulls back only to give the other the same attention, her hands never stopping their steady rhythm along your shaft. Her spit drips down, messy and unabashed, mixing with the heat of her mouth and the wet glide of her strokes.

The sound of it—the wet, lewd noises her mouth makes as she works—fills the room, mingling with your ragged breathing. Every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck, every glance up at you from beneath her lashes feels like it’s designed to undo you completely.

Her free hand moves lower, her fingers pressing lightly against the base of your balls, massaging them in time with her tongue. She’s thorough, relentless, her lips and hands and tongue working in perfect harmony to keep you on the edge without letting you tip over.

“Minji,” you groan, your voice strained, your body taut with need.

She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Not yet,” she murmurs, her smile wicked as her hand tightens slightly around your length.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your hips jerking against her touch.

“Patience,” she says again, her voice soft but commanding.

Minji’s mouth wraps around you with a deliberate slowness, her tongue swirling over the sensitive head before she slides her lips down your length. Her eyes remain locked on yours, dark and gleaming, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth even as she takes you deeper. The sight of her, so poised and yet so filthy in the way she works you, sends another wave of heat coursing through your body.

Her hand strokes the base of your cock in time with her mouth, her spit dripping down, messy and unapologetic. She hums softly, the vibration making your thighs tense as your breathing grows ragged. You’re holding on by a thread, her movements so precise, so unrelenting, that you can’t think of anything but the need building inside you.

“Minji,” you groan, your voice thick and raw.

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips glistening, her hand still working you. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence, her smile widening as her tongue flicks out to taste you again.

“Enough,” you manage, your hand tangling in her hair. “I need to fuck you. Now.”

She laughs softly, her hand slowing but not stopping. “Hmm, okay, I think you deserve a break,” she teases, pressing one last kiss to the tip of your cock before pulling away.

You sit up, reaching for the drawer beside the bed, your hands fumbling slightly as you grab a condom. Minji watches you with a smirk, leaning back on her elbows, her chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, her hair wild, her lips swollen.

You tear open the foil, rolling the condom over yourself quickly. When you look back at her, she’s watching you with a raised eyebrow, her smile almost mocking.

“You’re on top?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, climbing over her, your hands bracketing her hips. “I want to see your tits bounce while I fuck you.”

Her laughter is low and throaty, her hands sliding up your chest. “Direct. I like that.”

You slide your hand between her legs, hooking your fingers around the edge of her panties and pulling them aside. She’s already wet, the heat of her pussy making your pulse quicken as you position yourself at her entrance.

“Minji,” you murmur, leaning down to brush your lips against hers. “If you need to stop—if it’s too much for your heart—you have to tell me.”

For a moment, something flickers in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper. But she nods, her voice soft but firm. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just... go on.”

You nod, pushing forward slowly, your cock stretching her inch by inch. The warmth of her, the tightness, the way her body yields to yours—it’s almost too much, and you have to force yourself to go slow, to savor the moment.

Her breath hitches, her nails digging lightly into your shoulders as you sink into her fully. “Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You feel...”

“You okay?” you ask, your voice strained as you fight to keep still.

She nods quickly, her hands sliding down your back. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please.”

You begin to move, your hips rocking into hers with slow, deliberate thrusts. Her body arches beneath you, her breasts bouncing with every motion, her moans soft and breathy as you find your rhythm. It’s new, electric, every sensation heightened as you lose yourself in her completely.

Your hips move with slow, deliberate precision at first, every thrust designed to make her feel the full length of you. Minji's back arches beneath you, her head pressing into the pillows, and the soft, breathy moans slipping from her lips fuel the fire raging in your veins.

"God, you're so deep," she gasps, her voice breaking as you sink into her again, her tight heat enveloping every inch of you. Her nails rake down your back, her fingers digging into your skin as though she needs to hold on for dear life.

You lean forward, your chest brushing against her bouncing breasts, each motion of your body sending them into a hypnotic rhythm. Your mouth finds her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, leaving trails of wet, open-mouthed kisses. "You like that, Minji?" you growl against her skin, your voice rough and ragged. "Feel me stretching you, filling you up like this?"

Her answer is a strangled moan, her hands gripping your shoulders so tight it’s as if she’s afraid you’ll stop. "Yes," she pants, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer. "God, you’re so big—I can feel you so deep inside me."

Her words make your pulse spike, a growl rumbling low in your chest as you shift your weight, planting your hands on either side of her head. You increase the pace, your thrusts growing harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. Her moans grow louder, less controlled, her usual composed demeanor shattered beneath the pleasure you're giving her.

"Fuck, Minji," you hiss, your eyes locked on her face, on the way her mouth falls open, her brows pinched in bliss. "You look so fucking good like this—moaning under me, begging for it. Never thought I'd see you like this."

"Fuck—you're... driving me crazy."

"Yeah? That so?" you taunt, leaning down to kiss her, your lips claiming hers with a roughness that leaves no room for doubt. Her tongue meets yours, desperate and needy, her hands threading into your hair and pulling hard.

Her walls tighten around you, her body responding to every thrust, every grind of your hips against hers. "Harder," she whispers, then louder, "Harder! God, I can take it—don't hold back!"

You oblige, slamming into her with a rhythm that’s wild, relentless, each movement pushing her closer to the edge. The headboard rattles against the wall, the slick, wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the room. Her cries grow higher, her hands clawing at your back as if she’s trying to anchor herself amidst the chaos.

"You're so fucking tight, Minji," you groan, your head dipping to suck one of her nipples into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the hardened bud, biting lightly, and her reaction is immediate—a loud, desperate moan that makes you even harder.

"Yes!" she cries, her hips bucking to meet yours. "Oh my God—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!"

"Look at you," you rasp, pulling back just enough to watch her. Her chest heaves, her hair sticks to her damp skin, and her lips are swollen from your kisses. "You're a fucking mess for me, Minji. You like being fucked like this? Having me ruin you?"

"Yes!" she screams, her voice breaking as her body shudders beneath you. "Fuck, yes! You're—ah—you’re going to make me—oh, God!"

Without missing a beat, you pull back, your cock slipping free from her soaked pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes her gasp. Minji looks up at you, her flushed face a mix of frustration and anticipation, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

“I'm gonna make you cum hard,” you growl, your hands sliding down her thighs. Her skin is damp and hot under your palms, trembling slightly as you grip her legs and shift her position.

You lift her legs, folding her knees toward her chest, then place them on your shoulders, her panties still aside. The movement leaves her completely exposed, her slick folds glistening in the dim light, her body open to you in a way that makes your cock throb.

Minji lets out a shuddering breath, her hands gripping the sheets beside her head. “What are you waiting for?” she snaps, her sharpness laced with a raw, desperate edge. “Fucking do it.”

Your smirk is wicked as you lean down, pressing your weight into her just enough to make her feel the shift in power. The new angle makes her eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but revel in the way she’s completely at your mercy.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” you rasp, your cock pressing against her entrance again. “I’m gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

She doesn’t even have a chance to respond before you thrust back inside her, hard and fast, your cock stretching her again in one smooth motion. Her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as the new position lets you sink even deeper.

“God, yes!” she gasps, her hands flying to your forearms, nails digging in as you start to move. “Fuck—so deep—Jesus, you’re—”

“You like that, huh?” you grunt, your hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that’s rough and unrelenting. Her legs tremble against your shoulders, her body jolting with every thrust. “Like being stretched open like this, taking all of me?”

“Yes! Fuck—yes, don’t stop!” she cries, her voice high and breathless. Her walls squeeze you tight, her slick heat making every movement feel like heaven.

You lean forward, pressing her knees closer to her chest, the angle driving you even deeper. She lets out a broken moan, her head thrashing against the pillow as her hands claw at your arms.

“Look at you,” you growl, your eyes locked on her flushed face, the way her mouth falls open with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect like this, Minji. So wet, so tight—taking my cock so well.”

Her reply is a choked moan, her words lost in the overwhelming sensation. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, her nipples hard and begging for attention. You lean down further, capturing one in your mouth, sucking hard as your hips keep their punishing rhythm.

“God, yes!” she wails, her nails raking down your back. “I can feel you—oh, my God, I can feel you in my stomach!”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, spurring you on. The sound of your bodies meeting—the wet, lewd slap of skin against skin—is loud, raw, and completely unrestrained. Her cries grow louder, her hips lifting to meet yours despite the overwhelming pressure.

“You’re mine, Minji,” you hiss against her skin, your teeth grazing her nipple. “You hear me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this.”

“Yes!” she gasps, her body tightening around you. “Yours—I’m yours—just don’t fucking stop!”

Her words are a command, a plea, and you obey, driving into her harder, faster, your cock slamming into the spot that makes her whole body tense and shudder. Her legs shake against your shoulders, her walls clenching so tightly around you that it’s almost too much.

Her head falls back, her voice breaking into a string of curses and moans as her orgasm builds, her body arching beneath you. “Fuck—yes—don’t stop—I’m so close!”

You reach between your bodies, your thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation makes her scream, her entire body locking up as the climax overtakes her.

Her walls flutter and squeeze around you, her cries filling the room as she comes hard, her body shaking violently beneath you. The sight of her—completely undone, wild and raw—nearly pushes you over the edge, but you grit your teeth, determined to hold on just a little longer.

As her orgasm subsides, her body slackens slightly, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter open, glazed and hazy, but the look she gives you is pure hunger.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but insistent. “Fuck me until you come.”

You don’t waste a second. The moment those words leave her lips, something primal inside you takes over, your need to claim her completely, to make her yours in every way, surging to the surface. You shift her body with practiced ease, turning her onto her side, her legs tangling slightly as you follow her movement.

She gasps at the new angle, her body arching instinctively as you position yourself behind her. Your chest presses against her back, your arm slipping under her head to cradle her, your other hand gripping her hip to pull her flush against you. The intimacy of the position is electric, raw, and the way her body yields to yours drives you wild.

“You feel that?” you rasp against her ear, your voice low and rough as you slide back inside her, your cock filling her with a single, deep thrust. “Feel how perfectly you fit around me, how tight you are?”

“God, yes,” she whimpers, her hand flying back to grasp at your hip as you start to move, your pace slow but relentless. “You’re so deep—I can’t—oh, fuck—”

Her voice falters as you rock into her, the sideway angle letting you reach deeper than before, your cock pressing against spots that make her whole body tremble. Your hand on her hip slides up, roaming over the curve of her waist, her ribs, her breast. You squeeze her flesh possessively, your thumb flicking over her hard nipple, and she lets out a soft, needy moan, her body arching into your touch.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear before trailing down the side of her neck. “Every inch of you. I could fuck you like this forever, Minji.”

Her answer is a shaky, desperate whimper, her head tilting back against your shoulder to give you more access. Your mouth moves lower, leaving hot, wet kisses along her neck, her shoulder, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on her skin. The scent of her—sex and sweat and lavender—fills your senses, intoxicating and addictive.

Your hand slides down her stomach, your fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, firm circles that make her hips buck against you. She’s so wet, so slick, and every time you thrust into her, the sound of it is loud and obscene, driving you both higher.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice soft but filled with need. Her hand reaches back, her fingers threading into your hair as she clings to you. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

“Never,” you growl, your teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. “You’re mine, Minji. All of you. And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but how good I make you feel.”

Her body shudders against yours, her walls tightening around your cock as your words send a new wave of heat through her. She turns her head, seeking your lips, and you kiss her hungrily, your tongues tangling as your thrusts grow harder, faster.

Her moans become louder, higher, her hand clutching yours where it cups her breast, her other hand gripping the sheets. “Oh, my God—fuck—I’m so close—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you whisper fiercely, your mouth moving to her ear. “Come for me, Minji. Let me feel you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, your cock driving into her with a pace that’s relentless, merciless. Her body tenses, her breath hitching, and then she’s coming undone, her climax hitting her like a tidal wave.

She cries out, her walls clenching around you so tightly that it pulls a groan from your throat, her entire body shaking in your arms. You don’t stop, don’t let up, fucking her through her orgasm as her pleasure peaks. The way she’s clinging to you, her nails digging into your forearm, her breathless gasps of your name—it’s all so intense.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your thrusts growing erratic, completely focused on her pleasure.

“Yes,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Please—don’t stop—I want to feel it all—”

Her words spur you on, and you continue to drive into her, every movement designed to prolong her ecstasy. With one last, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, feeling her body convulse around you as her orgasm reaches its peak, your breath ragged as you hold her close.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled. Then Minji shifts slightly, turning her head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.

“You’re incredible,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with warmth.

“So are you,” you murmur, your arms tightening around her.

She’s still trembling slightly, her slick pussy clenching around your cock, her breath shallow and uneven as she tries to recover. You pull back slightly, adjusting your angle, and thrust into her again, slow but deliberate, dragging a gasp from her parted lips.

"Not done with you yet," you growl against her ear, your hand sliding down her body, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, her hip. "You’ve got another one in you, don’t you, Minji?"

"I—" she starts, but her words cut off with a sharp moan as you roll your hips, the movement grinding your cock against her sweet spot. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her hand clawing at your forearm where it holds her steady.

"That’s what I thought," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear before trailing down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave a mark, your tongue soothing the sting as your other hand slips between her legs.

Her breath catches as your fingers find her clit again, slick and swollen, and you rub slow, teasing circles over it in time with your thrusts. "God, you’re so wet," you say, your voice rough with desire. "You hear that? Hear how messy you are for me?"

The lewd, wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her echo through the room, and Minji’s cheeks flush even deeper. "Please—ah, fuck—" she tries to speak, but another roll of your hips cuts her off, leaving her gasping.

"Uh-uh," you taunt, biting down lightly on her shoulder. "You don't have to say anything, baby. Just moan for me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel."

Her moans grow louder, her hips rocking back to meet yours despite the overwhelming pace. Her body is completely pliant in your hands, her usual control stripped away by the sheer intensity of the pleasure you’re giving her.

"Fuck—so deep—" she gasps, her voice breaking as you press harder against her clit, your thumb working in tight, relentless circles. "I can’t—oh, God, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," you whisper fiercely, your teeth grazing her earlobe. "You’re gonna come for me again, Minji. I can feel it. Your body’s begging for it, squeezing me so fucking tight—"

"Shit—ah—" Her words dissolve into a strangled cry as your fingers pinch her clit lightly, the shock of sensation making her thighs tremble.

"You like that?" you rasp, your thrusts growing harder, sharper, each one driving her closer to the edge. "You like being fucked like this? My cock filling you so deep you can’t even think straight?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—" Her voice pitches higher, her hands scrambling to find purchase on the sheets, your arm, anything to anchor herself. "I’m so close—I’m gonna—ah, fuck, I’m gonna—"

"Come for me, Minji," you command, your voice low and rough. "Come on my cock again. Let me feel you fall apart."

It’s all she needs. Her body seizes up, her walls clamping down on you in a vice grip as her orgasm tears through her. She lets out a loud, broken cry, her nails digging into your arm, her legs shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

"That’s it," you murmur, riding her through it, your thrusts slow but deep. "Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."

Her cries taper off into soft, breathless whimpers, her body going limp against you, utterly spent.

You pull her close, wrapping her up in your arms and covering her in kisses. Your lips trace her cheeks, her jawline, the delicate curve of her neck, every press of your mouth filled with an intensity that makes her sigh softly against you. Her plump lips, slightly smudged with lipstick from your earlier assault, part as she lets out a quiet moan when your tongue teases along her bottom lip.

“You’re stunning,” you murmur against her mouth before capturing it again in a deep kiss. When you finally pull back, your forehead presses against hers, your breaths mingling in the shared, charged air. “Do you want to take control now?”

Her answer comes as a throaty moan, her nails lightly grazing your chest. “Yes,” she whispers.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile as you tilt her chin up to meet your gaze. “Do you like being in control?”

“Yes,” she breathes, the single word coming out as a desperate sound. Her hips shift slightly against yours, the motion sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Do you want to make me cum?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, rougher.

Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of mischief and raw desire. “I really want to,” she confesses, her voice dripping with need.

Your hand comes up to cradle her face, your thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “You have no idea,” you murmur, your tone heavy with honesty, “how hard it’s been to keep my eyes off you since the first day you walked into that bar.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers curling around your wrist as her lips brush against your thumb. “Is that so?” she asks, her tone light, teasing, but her cheeks flush a deeper red.

“Yes,” you admit, your eyes scanning her face. “Every time you walked in, I couldn’t stop staring. You were so calm, so composed, and all I could think about was ruining you.” You let the words hang for a moment, letting their weight settle between you.

She bites her lip, her gaze flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes again. “And did you ever imagine us like this?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”

Your hand trails down her back, pulling her even closer. “Yes,” you confess, your voice raw. “I imagined you riding me. I imagined watching you take control, watching you use me to make yourself come.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, you think she might shy away. But then her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushes you back onto the mattress. The movement is assertive, commanding, and it sends a thrill straight through you.

“Then let’s make that fantasy real,” she purrs, swinging her leg over you to straddle your hips. Her hands slide up your chest, her nails dragging lightly over your skin as she settles herself on top of you.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands finding her hips as she shifts her weight, the heat of her pussy pressed against you through the slick mess between you.

“Like this?” she asks, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your cock twitch beneath her. “Is this what you imagined? Me on top, calling the shots?”

“Exactly like this,” you admit, your voice strained. “Except you’re even hotter than I ever imagined.”

Her smirk widens as she reaches down, wrapping her fingers around your length and guiding you to her entrance. “Good,” she murmurs, sinking down onto you with a slow, deliberate motion that makes you both gasp.

Her head falls back, a soft moan spilling from her lips as she takes you in, inch by agonizing inch, until you’re buried fully inside her. Her walls squeeze you tightly, her body adjusting to your size as she braces herself against your chest.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathes, her nails biting into your shoulders as she starts to move.

Your hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as she grinds down on you, her rhythm slow and sensual at first. The sight of her above you—her flushed skin, her breasts bouncing slightly with each roll of her hips, her hair falling around her face in a wild curtain—is enough to make your restraint falter.

“God, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows. “You’re incredible. You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

She leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “You like it?” she whispers. “Like watching me fuck you like this?”

“Fuck yes,” you growl, your hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “You’re fucking perfect. Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”

Her laughter is breathy, her movements growing faster, more erratic, as she loses herself in the pleasure. “I wasn’t planning to,” she pants, her breath catching as she rides you harder, her nails raking down your chest.

The sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s overwhelming, intoxicating. Every roll of her hips sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, and you can tell she’s close again, her moans turning into broken cries, her rhythm faltering slightly as she chases her release.

“Come for me again, Minji,” you urge, your hands gripping her ass, helping her move. “Show me how good it feels to take control.”

Minji settles into a rhythm that’s nothing short of hypnotic. Her hips roll with a perfect, deliberate precision, her thighs flexing as she lifts herself just enough to tease before sinking back down, taking you to the hilt. Every motion sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet heat.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands sliding up her ass to her hips, gripping them tightly. “The way you move—it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

She smirks down at you, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. “Good,” she breathes, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she grinds her hips in slow, torturous circles. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Your grip tightens, your fingers digging into her soft skin as you fight the urge to flip her over and take control. But you hold back, letting her have her moment, letting her ride you the way she wants. Her pace is maddening—slow and deliberate, her body squeezing you so tightly with every movement that you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of control.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your voice rough with strain. “I can feel every inch of you, Minji. It’s like you were made for me.”

Her breath hitches, her smirk faltering for just a second as a soft moan slips past her lips. “God, you feel so good,” she whispers, her hands bracing against your chest for balance as she starts to move faster, her rhythm quickening.

The sight of her is almost too much—the way her plump lips part with each breathy moan, the light sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, the way her breasts bounce with every movement. She’s a vision, completely uninhibited, completely in control, and it only makes you want her more.

“You look fucking perfect, Minji. The way you take me—shit, I could stay like this forever.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, and leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “Forever, huh?” she whispers, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your hands sliding up to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. Her moan is immediate, her body arching into your touch as her hips buck against you. “You’re fucking incredible, Minji. The way you feel, the way you move—I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Her reply is a strangled gasp as she grinds down on you, her movements growing rougher, more desperate. “God, you’re—” She cuts herself off with a sharp moan, her head falling back as her pace falters for just a second. “You’re so big—I can feel you everywhere—”

Her words send a surge of heat through you, your grip on her hips tightening as you thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. “Yeah?” you growl, your voice low and rough. “You like the way I fill you up? Like the way my cock stretches you, baby?”

“Yes,” she cries, her nails digging into your chest as she moves faster, her moans turning into soft, breathless gasps. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—I don’t want this to stop—”

“Then don’t stop,” you urge, your hands guiding her as she bounces on your cock, the slick sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Ride me just like that, Minji. Fuck, you’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

She moans louder, her movements growing more frantic as the pleasure builds between you. Her body squeezes you tighter with every motion, the heat and wetness of her making it almost impossible to hold back. But you don’t care. You don’t want to hold back. You want to lose yourself in her completely.

Minji’s movements grow frantic, her rhythm breaking as she chases her high. Her hips slam down onto you, her thighs trembling as she rides you harder, faster, the sound of her ass meeting your hips filling the room in wet, obscene slaps.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows, your hands gripping her hips to steady her. Her pussy clenches around your cock, impossibly tight, her slick heat driving you closer to the edge with every erratic motion.

Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps, her nails digging into your chest as she moves. Her hair is wild, damp with sweat, sticking to her flushed skin as her moans turn into broken cries.

“God—fuck—I’m so close,” she gasps, her voice high and strained. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Before she can finish, you act. Sitting up, you wrap your arms around her, lifting her with ease as she lets out a startled gasp. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms looping around your shoulders as you hold her against your chest.

“My turn,” you growl, your voice low and rough as you adjust your grip, your hands sliding down to cup her ass. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, pulling a scream from her lips as you take back control.

“Fuck—oh, my God—” she cries, her head falling back as you pound into her, your cock driving deep into her tight, slick heat. Every thrust is hard, relentless, your hips slamming against hers as her body bounces against yours.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you groan, your breath ragged as you move. “Jesus, Minji—you feel like heaven. Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

Her only response is a series of broken moans, her nails clawing at your back as she clings to you, completely at your mercy. Her pussy tightens around you, her walls fluttering as her cries grow louder, more desperate.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice breaking as her body tenses, trembling in your arms.

“Come for me,” you command, your voice rough and strained. “Scream for me, Minji. Let me feel it.”

Her entire body seizes up, her head pressing against your shoulder as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave. She screams your name, her nails digging into your shoulders, her pussy clenching around you in tight, rhythmic pulses that make you see stars.

“Fuck, yes,” you groan, your thrusts never faltering as you ride her through it, your grip on her ass tightening as you slam into her over and over. Her body shakes violently, her cries turning into soft, breathless whimpers as she collapses against your chest, completely spent.

You don’t stop, your cock still buried deep inside her as you hold her close, your lips brushing against her ear. “You’re fucking incredible,” you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. “The way you come for me—Jesus, Minji—you’re perfect.”

She shudders at your words, her breath hot and ragged against your neck as her fingers tangle in your hair.

You gently lift Minji from your lap, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. Her legs are weak, and her cheeks are flushed, but there’s a gleam in her eye, a hunger that hasn’t been sated yet. You kneel on the bed, tilting her chin up so her gaze meets yours.

“On your knees,” you murmur.

Her lips part in a breathless little gasp, but she obeys without hesitation, slipping down to kneel on the floor in front of you. Her hands rest lightly on your thighs, her touch hesitant for a moment as if waiting for your instruction.

You reach down, peeling the condom off and tossing it aside. Your cock is still rock-hard, and her eyes dart down to it, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips.

“Make me cum,” you say. “Make me cum in that pretty little mouth, Minji.”

She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her hands move to your length, her slender fingers wrapping around you as she leans in. Her tongue flicks over the tip first, tasting herself on your cock, and she lets out a soft hum of satisfaction that sends a shiver through you.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hand finding its way into her hair as she slowly takes you into her mouth.

Her lips wrap around your head, soft and warm, and she starts with slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue swirling over the sensitive underside as she takes more of you in. Her hand strokes the base, slick with her spit, matching the rhythm of her mouth.

She glances up at you, her dark eyes locking with yours, and the sight of her like this—on her knees, your cock in her mouth, her lips stretched around you—is almost too much.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” you murmur, your hand tightening in her hair, guiding her movements. “Look at you—such a messy, beautiful little slut for me.”

Her eyes sparkle at your words, and she hums around your length, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your shaft with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gripping her hair tighter.

Her pace quickens, her spit dribbling down her chin as she starts to lose herself in it, her hunger taking over. She pulls back slightly, her tongue swirling around your tip before plunging back down, taking you deeper than before. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth fill the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head tilting back as she works you over. “That mouth of yours—you’re so fucking good at this.”

She gags slightly as she takes you too deep, her throat contracting around you, but instead of pulling back, she swallows hard and coughs a little. Then she looks up at you, her lips swollen, her chin slick with spit, and gives you the cutest, most mischievous smile you’ve ever seen.

“Goddamn,” you mutter, your fingers tightening in her hair as your hips jerk forward slightly. “You are the hottest girl I have ever seen, you know that?”

Her only response is a low hum as she dives back in, her mouth warm and wet, her tongue moving in perfect rhythm with her hand. You take control then, gripping her hair firmly and guiding her movements, setting the pace.

“Just like that,” you rasp, your voice rough and strained. “Take it, baby. Take all of it. You love this, don’t you? Being on your knees for me, choking on my cock?”

She moans around you, her hands gripping your thighs for support as you move her head faster, harder. Tears well up in her eyes, her makeup smudging as spit pools at the corners of her mouth and drips down her chin.

“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, watching her struggle to take you deeper. “Look at you—so fucking messy for me, and I can’t get enough of it.”

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, and she starts sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you over with a fervor that makes your thighs tremble. You’re close, so fucking close, the tight knot of pleasure in your core threatening to unravel at any second.

Your grip on her hair tightens as her pace grows more frantic, her mouth sliding over your cock with a wet, obscene rhythm that has your entire body trembling. The tight warmth of her lips, the way her tongue works against you, the sight of her on her knees like this—it’s all too much.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your voice strained as you feel the tension building, coiling tight in your core. “I’m so fucking close.”

She pulls back suddenly, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, and she looks up at you, her lips red and swollen, spit dripping down her chin. “Go all out,” she says, her voice breathless but firm. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your breath catches, your grip in her hair slackening for just a moment. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice low, rough, almost a growl.

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes dark with determination. “I can handle it. Give me everything.”

Her words ignite something feral in you. Without hesitation, you tighten your grip in her hair, guiding her back to your cock. “Open wide, baby,” you rasp, your voice raw with need.

She obeys, parting her lips and taking you in again, her mouth warm and eager as she lets you set the pace. This time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. You thrust into her mouth, deep and deliberate, the head of your cock brushing the back of her throat with every motion.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hips moving with a steady, relentless rhythm. “Your mouth—it’s so fucking perfect. Feels just like your pussy. So tight, so warm—shit, I'm gonna cum so hard.”

Her moans vibrate around you, her hands gripping your thighs for balance as she takes you deeper and deeper. Her throat tightens around you, the sensation almost unbearable, and her eyes water, tears spilling over as drool drips from the corners of her mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, your voice rough as your thrusts quicken. “Taking me so fucking well. Look at you—so messy, so perfect.”

She glances up at you, her eyes red and shining with unshed tears, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder, her tongue working in tandem with the movements of your hips.

“Goddamn,” you rasp, your hand tightening in her hair as you hold her in place. “I’m gonna cum, Minji. Gonna fill your mouth with it. You ready for that?”

She hums her approval, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back any longer. With a guttural groan, your hips jerk forward, burying yourself deep in her throat as your release hits.

Hot, thick spurts of cum shoot down her throat, and she chokes slightly, her body trembling as she struggles to take it all. But she doesn’t pull away, her hands gripping your thighs tightly, her throat working around you as she swallows.

“Fuck,” you groan, your head tilting back, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you. “Take it all, baby. Swallow every fucking drop.”

She does, her throat contracting as she drinks you down, her tongue swirling over your length as if coaxing more from you. When your hips finally still, your cock twitching as the last of your release spills into her mouth, you don’t pull back right away.

Instead, you keep her there, your hand still firm in her hair, her lips wrapped around you as you catch your breath. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice hoarse as you look down at her.

She blinks up at you, her cheeks flushed, her chin slick with drool and cum, and smiles around your cock, her eyes filled with satisfaction. It’s a sight that sends another shiver through you, even as the intensity of the moment begins to fade.

You finally release her hair, your fingers brushing against her cheek in a moment of tenderness. “You okay?” you ask softly, your voice still rough around the edges.

She nods, pulling back slightly, her tongue darting out to lick her swollen lips. “More than okay,” she whispers, her smile turning wicked. “I told you I could handle it.”

—

The morning is still. The faint light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting soft, pale lines across the bedroom walls. The room is warm, cocooned in the leftover heat of two bodies tangled together through the night, but outside, the air bites with the typical cold morning wind. Minji lies on her side, the blanket pulled up just enough to cover her hips, her upper body bare against the cool sheets. She’s been awake for a while now, watching you sleep.

Your breathing steady, your chest rising and falling under the rumpled comforter. Minji studies you, her dark eyes roaming over the curve of your cheek, the slight furrow of your brow even in rest. She wonders if you always look like this in the morning—calm, almost boyish, as if the weight of the world hasn’t found you yet.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. Like last night. Intense. Raw. Alive in a way she hasn’t been in years, maybe ever. Her heart aches—not in the poetic sense, but the literal one—and she remembers the sharp, searing pangs that struck her chest after you left the bed last night.

You’d gone to brush your teeth, humming faintly to yourself, water running in the sink. She’d waited until the door closed before scrambling to her purse, her fingers fumbling to find the small orange bottle. The pills rattled like a cruel reminder as she popped the cap and dry-swallowed two, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

The worn pill bottle, a constant companion in her purse for safety and convenience, as her doctor had recommended, held only two pills remaining after months of sporadic use. But now it's empty, and the prospect of replacing it fills her with a sense of dread.

Even now, the memory of it stirs something dark in her. Disgust. Weakness. She is beautiful, young, confident—by all accounts, powerful. But her body betrays her, fragile and unreliable, reminding her with every beat of her heart that she is not invincible.

Her lips press into a thin line as the thoughts threaten to pull her under, but Minji has never been one to drown. She takes action.

Sitting up, she reaches for her glasses on the nightstand and slides them onto her face, the world snapping into focus. The blanket slips from her shoulders, exposing her naked body to the cool air, but she doesn’t shiver. She stands, her movements deliberate, and crosses the room to the chair where you’ve draped one of your shirts.

She picks it up, the fabric soft and worn under her fingers. It’s loose on her, hanging down to mid-thigh, the hem brushing her bare skin as she adjusts it. She could’ve grabbed any shirt, but she chooses this one—the one Ning had complimented once. “I like that shirt,” she’d said, almost shyly, her catlike eyes flicking over you.

Minji smirks faintly to herself, her lips curling as she pads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

The apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floor. She pulls back the curtains, inviting the soft, gray light of the cloudy morning to fill the room and spill across the kitchen counter, and sets to work. She opens the fridge, pulls out eggs, butter, and milk, and sets them on the counter. The cabinets yield bread and a frying pan.

As the pan heats, she flips on the TV mounted above the counter, more for noise than anything. The channel is set to some early-morning talk show, the kind with too much smiling and overly earnest hosts. But she doesn’t bother changing it, her attention focused on cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them into a frothy yellow mixture.

The host is interviewing someone—an author, maybe, or a psychologist. The woman’s voice carries over the gentle sizzle of butter hitting the pan.

“Sexual frustration in young people has reached an all-time high,” the woman says, her tone serious. “We’re seeing a generation that’s more disconnected from their own sexuality than ever before.”

Minji pauses, the spatula in her hand hovering over the pan as the words register. She glances at the screen, where the guest sits primly, her hands folded in her lap, speaking with clinical precision.

“Pornography, dating apps, social media—these things create a toxic environment where unattainable standards of beauty and performance are the norm,” the woman continues. “Young people are left feeling inadequate, their self-esteem eroded. They’re losing touch with the natural, messy, human nature of sex.”

Minji snorts softly, shaking her head as she flips the eggs. “Interesting topic for seven in the morning,” she mutters to herself.

Still, the words linger. She finishes the eggs, sliding them onto a plate and setting bread in the toaster. The coffee pot gurgles behind her, filling the air with its rich, familiar scent. She moves with purpose, each motion precise, controlled. It’s how she keeps the dark thoughts at bay—by filling every moment, every space, with action.

But as she spreads butter over toast and pours two cups of coffee, the woman’s voice echoes in her mind. Minji doesn’t consider herself disconnected. She knows what she wants, who she is. But there’s something about the idea of inadequacy, of being shaped by forces beyond your control, that gnaws at her.

She pushes the thought away as she carries the plates and mugs to the table, the smell of breakfast filling the apartment. She glances toward the bedroom, where you’re still asleep, and allows herself a small, fleeting smile.

—

You wake slowly, your body heavy with the warmth of the bed, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you like cobwebs. The first thing you notice is the absence of Minji. The sheets on her side are cool, and the room is quiet, but the smell of breakfast—coffee, butter, eggs—wafts in from the kitchen. It's a good sign.

You sit up, running a hand through your hair, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's earlier than you thought, but you don’t mind. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, you shuffle out of the bedroom, drawn by the sounds of movement and the clink of plates.

Minji is there, near the table, pouring coffee into two mugs. She’s wearing your shirt, loose and hanging off one shoulder, her hair messy from sleep but her posture calm, deliberate. She looks over her shoulder when she hears you, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning,” you say, your voice still rough with sleep as you walk up behind her and kiss her. Her lips are warm, soft, and she smiles against your mouth.

“Morning,” she murmurs, turning to face you. “Coffee?”

You nod, glancing at the plates on the table. Eggs, toast, and even a small bowl of fruit. “This looks amazing. Thanks, but you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Consider it a little favor. A thank-you.”

“For what?”

She smirks, raising an eyebrow. “For last night.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss her again, then take your seat at the table. She joins you. The morning feels easy, warm, the kind of domesticity you didn’t realize you wanted until now.

As you eat, the conversation flows naturally, alternating between teasing and genuine reflection about the night before.

“So,” you say, spreading butter over your toast, “how’s your finger?”

Minji glances down at her hand, flexing her fingers before carefully peeling off the band-aid. The cut is clean, small, but still raw around the edges. “Not bad,” she says, holding it up for you to see. “But there’ll probably be a scar.”

You set down your toast, reaching for her hand. She lets you take it, her fingers warm and delicate in yours. Without thinking, you lean down and kiss the tiny wound, your lips brushing against her skin lightly.

She inhales sharply, a soft, barely audible sound, but the goosebumps that ripple across her arm don’t lie. When you look up, her expression is unreadable, her eyes dark and steady on yours.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly.

“Good.”

The moment stretches, the air between you charged. You lean closer, your lips brushing hers once, then again, deeper this time. Her hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer, and just as the rest of the world starts to fade away, the intercom buzzes, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

You both freeze, the sound startling in the quiet morning. Minji pulls back, her brow furrowed. “Who the hell...?”

You stand, crossing the room to the intercom. Pressing the button, you lean in. “Hello?”

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice, hesitant but unmistakable. It’s Ning. “Uh, it’s me. Can I come up?”

You glance back at Minji, who is now standing, her arms crossed, her expression equal parts surprised and wary.

“It’s Ning,” you say, your tone as confused as hers.

“At this time?” Minji asks, her voice sharp but quiet.

You press the button again. “Yeah, sure. Come up.”

The intercom buzzes as Ning lets herself in, and you turn to Minji, shrugging. “I have no idea what this is about.”

Minji exhales sharply, adjusting her glasses as she leans against the counter. “Neither do I. But I guess we’re about to find out.”

The knock comes a minute later, light but insistent, and you open the door to find Ning standing there, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looks up at you with her usual nervous energy, her cat-like eyes darting behind you to where Minji is standing.

“Hey,” Ning says, her voice small but steady. “Am I... interrupting something?”

You hesitate, glancing back at Minji, whose expression remains carefully neutral. “Uh, no. Come in.”

She steps inside, the warmth of the apartment seems to relax her slightly.

“Hey,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice is soft, careful. “I hope it’s okay I came by. I was feeling... I don’t know. Weird. Lonely.”

Minji is the first to respond. “Did something happen?”

Ning shakes her head quickly, her hands gripping the straps of her purse. “No, nothing like that. I just didn’t want to be by myself.” She glances at you, her catlike eyes wide and almost pleading. “I thought maybe I could hang out here for a while? Keep you guys company.”

You and Minji exchange a glance, her eyebrows raising slightly as if to say, “What the hell is this about?”

“Of course,” you say, your voice more certain than you feel. “You’re always welcome.”

Ning takes off her coat and places it on the couch, the purse too.

The smell of breakfast seems to catch her attention, and she glances toward the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something?” she asks, her voice tinged with self-consciousness.

“Just breakfast,” Minji replies smoothly, already moving toward the stove. “Have you eaten? I can make you something.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to bother you—” Ning starts, but Minji cuts her off with a small, easy smile.

“It’s no bother,” she says, pulling a pan from the rack with practiced efficiency. “Sit down. I’ll make you something quick.”

Ning hesitates for a moment before nodding, taking a seat at the table across from you. Her eyes flick to your plate, then back to you. “Thanks. I wasn’t really hungry earlier, but... I guess I could eat now.”

You nod, watching as Minji moves around the kitchen with her usual precision. She doesn’t even ask Ning what she wants, just starts preparing something—scrambled eggs with a little sesame oil, a slice of toast, and some sliced fruit. You can tell it’s not random; she knows exactly what Ning likes.

“So,” Ning says after a moment, looking at you with a small, nervous smile. “What are you guys doing today?”

You hesitate, glancing at Minji, who doesn’t look up from the stove. “We didn’t really make plans,” you say carefully.

“Well, I was thinking,” Ning continues, her voice growing a little more confident, “it’s been so long since the three of us did something together. Maybe we could go to the movies? Like old times?”

You blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. You’d been planning to spend the weekend with Minji, just the two of you, but you don’t want to outright refuse Ning. You glance at Minji again, who’s now plating Ning’s breakfast, her expression unreadable.

Before you can respond, Ning’s face lights up with a new idea. “Actually, better than the movies—what if we just watched something here? At your place?”

The enthusiasm in her voice is hard to ignore, and you find yourself nodding automatically. “Sure. That could work.”

Minji sets the plate in front of Ning with a small smile. “But first, eat,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been eating so little lately.”

Ning ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I haven’t been that bad...”

“You have,” Minji counters lightly, sitting back down at the table. “But it’s okay. Just eat this, and then we’ll figure out what to watch.”

Ning picks up her fork, her smile growing as she takes a bite. “This is really good. Thanks, Minji.”

Minji waves off the gratitude with a small shrug, her focus shifting to her coffee. The three of you fall into an easy rhythm as Ning eats, the conversation turning to light topics—shows you’ve been watching, new restaurants you want to try. Ning seems to relax more with every bite, her earlier awkwardness fading into something closer to comfort.

But then she pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at Minji. “Hey,” she says, her tone still casual but tinged with curiosity. “Is that... my favorite shirt of his?”

Minji glances down at the shirt she’s wearing, then back at Ning with a small, knowing smile. “Maybe. Why?”

“I love that shirt,” Ning says, her voice slightly higher now, almost pouty. “It looks so soft. Lucky you.”

“It’s just a shirt,” you say lightly, trying to diffuse whatever tension is brewing.

Ning looks at you, her expression suddenly shy. “Can I have one of your shirts?”

“What?” you ask, laughing a little. “Why?”

“Just... because,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. “I want something special. From you.”

The request is so childlike, so out of nowhere, that you’re not sure how to respond. Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, her eyes flicking between you and Ning with quiet amusement.

“I mean,” you say slowly, “you can take one, I guess. Just not one of the good ones.”

Ning lights up immediately, clapping her hands together. “Really? Okay! I’ll pick something after breakfast.”

You glance at Minji, whose smirk is subtle but unmistakable. She sips her coffee, saying nothing, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes.

—

The dorm room seems to get smaller and smaller as the mess grows, cramped with the kind of lived-in clutter that comes with two girls sharing a space for years: piles of books on the desk, a forgotten hair tie looped over the edge of a lamp, shoes scattered haphazardly near the door. It works like a cycle of nature: Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. (Although Minji's efforts have diminished, almost considering them in vain).

Minji stands in front of the mirror, fastening her earrings, the soft click of metal against metal the only sound besides the faint hum of the blow dryer. She’s already dressed, her black skirt snug around her waist, a cropped sweater revealing just enough of her stomach to be intriguing but not loud. Her hair, sleek and shiny, falls perfectly into place with only a few quick passes of her hand.

The plan? You and the two girls go out to dinner and then go back to your house to watch a movie (which will surely be chosen by Ning).

Behind her, the bathroom door creaks open, and Ning steps out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin still damp from the shower. Steam follows her into the room, curling around her like smoke. Her bare shoulders glisten, and her dark hair sticks in wet strands to her cheeks. She holds the towel tightly against her chest as if she’s still unsure about her own body, even after years of sharing this space with Minji.

Minji catches her reflection in the mirror and smirks faintly. “You’re going to freeze like that,” she says, turning around to look at Ning. “Dry your hair before you catch a cold.”

Ning nods, her movements tentative, and plugs in the blow dryer. The roar of the machine fills the room, and Minji returns to the mirror, adjusting her earrings, turning her head to check how they hang against her jawline.

When the blow dryer clicks off, Ning stands there, her hair still a half-tangled mess. She looks at Minji hesitantly, her hands hovering near her head as if unsure what to do next.

“Come here,” Minji says, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I’ll do it.”

Ning doesn’t hesitate. She walks over, dropping to the floor in front of Minji, sitting cross-legged. Minji picks up a wide-toothed comb from the nightstand and starts working through Ning’s hair, careful but firm. The room feels quieter now, as if the act of detangling Ning’s hair has drawn them into a bubble separate from the rest of the world.

Ning exhales softly, leaning back into Minji’s hands. “I like it when you take care of me,” she says quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the rustle of the comb through her hair.

Minji pauses for a moment, then resumes, her tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Of course. That’s what friends do.”

Ning hesitates, her hands resting on her knees, her fingers picking at the hem of her towel. “Sometimes... I wish I could be more like you. And less like me.”

Minji laughs softly, the sound light but not mocking. “You don’t want to be like me.”

“I do,” Ning insists, turning her head slightly to glance back at her. “You’re confident. Cool. You don’t let people push you around. And you’re... I don’t know. Just... you.”

Minji tilts her head, her lips curling into a small, almost secretive smile. “You think that’s all good things?”

“Yes,” Ning says firmly, her voice stronger now.

“Well,” Minji says, her hands still moving through Ning’s hair, “I wouldn’t want to be you either. You’re too sweet. Too soft. You’d make a terrible Minji.”

Ning lets out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. She stares at her lap, her fingers still pulling at the edge of the towel.

“You know,” Minji says after a moment, her voice quieter now, almost playful, “sometimes you remind me of a doll.”

“A doll?” Ning asks.

Minji hums softly, setting the comb down and smoothing Ning’s hair with her hands. “That's why I like taking care of you. And, you know, If you were my doll, I’d take you everywhere. Even to bed. You’d sit on the pillow next to me, and I’d never let anyone else touch you.”

Ning’s cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, her voice wavering. “You’d get tired of me.”

“No,” Minji says simply, her tone decisive. “I wouldn’t.”

After a long moment, she turns slightly, her face tilted up toward Minji’s. “After university... do you think we’ll still see each other? Or will we... you know... separate?”

Minji frowns slightly, her hands resting on Ning’s shoulders. “Why would we separate? Of course, we’ll still see each other. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Ning smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling... strange lately.”

“Strange how?” Minji asks, her tone still calm but edged with curiosity.

Ning hesitates, her gaze dropping again. “Like... like love hurts. Is that normal?”

Minji seems caught off guard. She blinks, her hands stilling on Ning’s shoulders before she leans back slightly, considering her words. “Sometimes love hurts,” she says finally, her voice softer now. “But it’s a good kind of pain. It reminds us that we’re alive.”

Ning is silent for a moment, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the towel. “It doesn’t feel good,” she says quietly.

“No,” Minji agrees, her voice low. “Not always. But that’s what makes it real.”

Minji brushes a strand of hair from Ning’s face, her touch gentle, almost reverent.

“Come on,” she says finally, her voice lighter now. “We’ll be late if you don’t get dressed.”

Ning nods, standing slowly and heading to the closet. Minji watches her for a moment, her gaze lingering before she turns back to the mirror.

—

The credits roll, and the room falls into a quiet, dim stillness. The TV screen casts a faint blue glow over the apartment, and Ning is sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Her head rests on Minji’s lap, her hair fanning out like ink on the soft fabric of Minji’s skirt, while her legs stretch out over yours. She’s wearing her usual mismatched pajamas—striped shorts and a slightly oversized blouse—and her breathing is steady, her face slack with the kind of peace that only sleep can bring. You glance at Minji, who’s idly running her fingers through Ning’s hair, her other hand resting lightly on her own thigh. She doesn’t look at you, her gaze instead fixed somewhere past the TV, lost in thought.

“She’s out,” you whisper, your voice soft so as not to wake Ning.

Minji hums in agreement, her fingers still moving gently through Ning’s hair. “She always crashes like this when she’s comfortable.”

You nod, shifting slightly, careful not to disturb Ning’s legs on your lap. “We should move. She can sleep here.”

Minji’s hand pauses for a moment before she nods. Slowly, the two of you maneuver yourselves off the couch, trying not to jostle Ning. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her body curling in on itself as you reach for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

You unfold it and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders. She lets out a soft sigh, her hand twitching slightly as if reaching for something in her sleep.

“She’s fine,” Minji says quietly, her voice almost absent as she watches Ning for a moment longer. Then she turns, heading toward the bedroom.

You follow her, closing the door softly behind you. The room is dark except for the faint light spilling in from the hallway, and Minji moves with a kind of quiet efficiency, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. She pulls off her sweater next, leaving her in a simple white bra and matching panties, her movements as unselfconscious as ever.

You tug your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and sit on the edge of the bed, watching her. “She’s been acting strange lately,” you say, breaking the silence.

Minji glances at you over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “How so?”

“She’s... clingy,” you say, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s always been kind of like that, but lately, it’s more. She’s always around. Always with us. Even at weird times.”

Minji turns back to the dresser, rummaging for something before straightening up. “That’s normal,” she says simply.

“Normal?” you repeat, your brow furrowing. “How do you know?”

“I know Ning,” Minji says, her voice calm, measured. “This is just a phase.”

You shake your head, leaning back slightly. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but... it’s too much. I mean, I like Ning. She's my friend, and sometimes she's like a little sister to me. But she’s everywhere. And it feels like she doesn’t even realize how... weird it is.”

Minji sits on the edge of the bed, her back to you. She stretches her arms above her head before turning to face you, her legs crossed under her. “It’s both,” she says.

“Both what?”

“On purpose and unintentional,” she replies.

You stare at her, more confused than ever. “What does that even mean?”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “It means she doesn’t fully understand why she’s doing it. But part of her does. Part of her knows exactly what she wants.”

You shake your head again, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get it. You make it sound like some... elaborate plan.”

“It’s not a plan,” Minji says. “It’s instinct. She’s shedding her skin.”

That stops you. You blink at her, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “Shedding her skin?”

Minji smiles faintly, leaning forward slightly. “Like a snake. She’s outgrowing herself. She doesn’t know what’s next, but she knows she can’t stay the same. And it’s messy. Confusing. For her and for everyone else.”

You shake your head again, feeling like you’re missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“We don't need to understand everything,” Minji says simply, standing and walking toward you.

She climbs onto your lap, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders, her body warm and familiar against yours. “She just wants love,” she says. “That’s all anyone wants. What’s wrong with giving it to her, until she learns to find it for herself?”

You stare at her, your hands resting on her hips, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“Minji...”

She shakes her head, silencing you with a small smile. “It’s okay,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not forever. Just for now.”

And somehow, that’s enough to quiet the unease in your chest, at least for tonight.

—

Ning stirs awake, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cutting across the living room. She groans softly, the weight of sleep still heavy on her as she stretches out on the couch. The blanket you’d thrown over her the night before slides down, pooling at her waist as she blinks groggily at the room.

She sits up, yawning hard enough that her jaw cracks, and rubs at her eyes, her hand raking through her messy hair. The TV is off now, but the faint echo of the movies you binged together still lingers in the back of her mind. She smiles sleepily, recalling the way you’d teased her about falling asleep halfway through the second one.

Her bladder nudges her out of the haze, and she stands, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. She heads to the bathroom, her movements slow, unhurried, the quiet stillness of the morning lulling her into a half-awake stupor.

Inside, she flips on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness, and shuffles over to the toilet. She tugs her loose shorts down her hips, settling onto the seat with a sigh of relief as the sound of her peeing fills the small space. Her head tilts back slightly, her body relaxing as the last remnants of sleep start to ebb away.

When she's done, she lazily reaches for some toilet paper, tearing off a few squares and carefully wiping herself, the paper crinkling softly in her hand. She gives a quick glance to make sure she’s clean before tossing it in the toilet and standing up.

The loud whoosh of water startling her slightly. Still on autopilot, she moves to the sink, turning the tap on and letting the water run cool before washing her hands. The soap smells faintly of citrus, and she rubs it into her skin, rinsing and drying off quickly.

She leans against the sink, staring at her reflection for a moment, her fingers brushing over her slightly puffy face. She frowns at the bags under her eyes, then cups her hands under the water to splash her face, the cold shock waking her up a little more.

Grabbing a toothbrush from the cup on the counter, she squeezes a line of minty toothpaste onto the bristles and starts brushing, the rhythm of it almost mechanical. She looks at Minji's toothbrush and yours and for a moment thinks about how it looks like a dystopian domestic scene. Her thoughts wander, drifting back to the conversation from last night, the easy laughter, the way you’d tossed popcorn at her when she said something smart. Or when Minji stroked her hair until she fell asleep. She smiles faintly around the toothbrush, rinses, and spits, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

As she leaves the bathroom, the quiet of the apartment feels different now—less serene, more alive somehow. Her footsteps slow as she makes her way back to the living room, a faint murmur catching her attention.

She pauses, tilting her head, her brows furrowing. The sound is faint, indistinct, but it’s coming from your room. She takes a step closer, curiosity tugging at her as her ears strain to make out the words.

The murmur becomes clearer as she approaches, her heartbeat quickening. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, she knows that, but something about the tone—the soft giggles, the whispered urgency—pulls her in.

When she reaches your door, she hesitates, her hand hovering near the handle. The murmur continues, and a thrill of something she can’t quite name runs down her spine. Slowly, carefully, she crouches down, her knees brushing against the carpet, and leans in to peek through the keyhole.

Her breath catches in her throat as her gaze sharpens on the scene inside. You’re there, standing next to your bed, your hands sliding up Minji’s thighs. Minji’s back is arched slightly, her nipples hardened by the cold, arousal and risk, her head tilted back, her hands gripping your shoulders as she lets out a breathless laugh.

“We need to be quick,” you mutter, your voice low but playful, your fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. The delicate white lace slides down her hips as she bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Before Ning wakes up.”

Ning freezes, her heart pounding in her chest as the words sink in.

Ning’s breath hitches, her heart hammering in her chest as she presses her eye closer to the keyhole. The angle isn’t perfect, but she can see enough. You’re on your knees now, your hands gripping Minji’s thighs, spreading her legs as you bury your face between them.

Minji’s fingers tangle in your hair, her knuckles whitening as she fights to keep her composure. Her lips part, and Ning can barely make out the soft, desperate moans that slip past them, muffled by the hand she brings up to cover her mouth.

“Fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice trembling as her head falls back, her hips jerking slightly against your mouth. “You’re—ah—you’re so fucking good at this.”

From Ning’s perspective, it’s almost surreal. Minji’s bare skin gleams in the soft light of the room, her body shivering as your hands roam her thighs, your grip firm and possessive. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth working on her pussy carry through the quiet, and Ning’s thighs press together instinctively, her body reacting without permission.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her breathing shallow as she keeps watching, her cheeks heating as she realizes how wet she’s getting just from the scene unfolding before her.

Minji bites her fist, her other hand gripping your shoulder for balance as you suck on her clit, your tongue flicking over it with deliberate, relentless precision. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her voice still quiet but shaky. “Right there—fuck, don’t stop.”

You don’t. If anything, your movements grow hungrier, more focused, your hands sliding up to grip her ass and pull her closer to your face. Minji’s knees tremble, her body swaying slightly, and Ning can see the tension in her muscles, the way her chest heaves as she tries to suppress her cries.

“Please,” Minji whispers, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against your mouth. “Please—don’t make me scream. Ning—oh, fuck—Ning’s right out there.”

Your laugh is muffled, the sound vibrating against her, and Minji’s response is immediate—a sharp, shuddering gasp that has her nearly collapsing into your arms. “You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in her words, just breathless, desperate need.

Ning’s hand slips between her own thighs without her even thinking, her fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her shorts. She curses softly under her breath, her cheeks burning as she realizes how turned on she is. Her fingers press down lightly, teasing herself through the material as she watches you work, her breath catching every time Minji lets out another muffled moan.

“God, you’re gonna make me—” Minji gasps, her nails digging into your shoulder. “I can’t—I can’t stay quiet—”

Your hands tighten on her ass, holding her in place as your tongue moves faster, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth against her pussy growing louder. Minji’s body trembles, her legs nearly giving out as she fights to hold herself together, her cries growing more desperate despite her best efforts.

And all the while, Ning watches, her fingers pressing harder against herself, her body trembling as arousal coils tight in her stomach. She knows she should stop—knows she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching—but she can’t tear her gaze away.

Your tongue works Minji’s clit relentlessly, swirling, flicking, sucking with a precision that has her trembling against you. Her legs are unsteady, her grip in your hair tightening as you lap at her pussy, your face buried in her heat. The wet sounds of your mouth on her, combined with her quiet, gasping moans, fill the room.

“Fuck—fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice barely controlled as she tries to keep her cries quiet. “You’re gonna make me cum, you asshole—I’m so close—”

You don’t let up, doubling down as your lips close around her clit, sucking hard and then flicking your tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. Her whole body jerks, her thighs squeezing your head as she bites her fist to muffle the scream that’s building in her throat.

Ning watches through the keyhole, her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers press harder against herself, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She shouldn’t be watching this—she knows that. But watching you make Minji cum, watching the way you dominate her with your mouth, is more than she can resist.

Minji’s body locks up suddenly, her breath catching as her orgasm crashes over her. Her nails dig into your scalp, her hips bucking against your mouth as she lets out a muffled cry, her legs shaking as she tries to keep standing. You don’t pull away, your tongue and lips drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she’s practically collapsing into your arms.

“Fuck,” Minji gasps, her voice weak, her body trembling as she clings to you. “I’m done—I’m so fucking done—”

But you’re not. You guide her toward the bed, gently lowering her onto her knees, her arms bracing against the mattress as she pants for breath. “I know you can handle more, on all fours for me,” you tell her, your voice rough with hunger.

Minji obeys without hesitation, her knees sinking into the mattress as she shifts into position. You stand behind her, your hands hooking into the waistband of your underwear and sliding them down. Your cock springs free, thick, hard, and glistening with need, and for a moment, the room seems to pause.

Ning stifles a gasp, her eyes widening as she stares through the keyhole, her breath catching in her throat. She’d imagined it before—fantasized about what you might look like, what you might feel like—but nothing had prepared her for the reality. It’s almost too much, seeing you like this, seeing the cock she’s dreamed about so vividly right there in front of her, but not for her.

You stroke yourself slowly, your eyes fixed on Minji’s ass, the curve of her back, the way she looks so perfectly ready for you. “I’ll grab a condom,” you mutter, your voice rough, your tone almost detached as you try to keep control.

Minji glances back at you, her eyes hazy with lust. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Just fuck me now—I need you inside me.”

Her words resonate with Ning. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, the ache of desire building to an unbearable level. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tugging her shorts and panties down her thighs, her fingers slipping between her slick folds as she watches you climb onto the bed behind Minji.

You line yourself up with Minji’s entrance, your hands gripping her hips as you press the head of your cock against her wet, swollen pussy. She lets out a shuddering breath, her body trembling with anticipation, and then you’re inside her, sliding deep with one smooth, deliberate thrust.

“Goddamn,” you groan, your head tilting back as you bury yourself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight, Minji. So goddamn perfect.”

Minji cries out, her hands gripping the sheets as she adjusts to your size. “Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You feel—shit—you’re so deep—”

Ning’s fingers work faster, her hips lifting slightly as she rubs her clit in tight, desperate circles. Her other hand grips her thigh, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her, her breath catching every time you thrust into Minji. She’s wet, so wet, her fingers sliding easily as she imagines it’s her on the bed instead, her body stretched and filled by you.

“Harder,” Minji begs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “Please—fuck me harder—”

You don’t hesitate, your hips slamming against her ass with a rhythm that’s rough, relentless, each thrust driving you deeper. Minji’s moans grow louder, less controlled, and Ning bites her lip to keep from crying out herself as she watches your cock disappear into Minji’s tight, glistening pussy over and over again.

“Look at you,” you growl, your hands tightening on Minji’s hips. “Taking me so fucking well. You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like this?”

“Yes,” Minji cries, her voice cracking as her body rocks with every thrust. “Yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

Ning’s breath hitches, her fingers sliding faster, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge. She’s so close, the sight of you fucking Minji, the sound of your groans and her cries, pushing her to the brink. She bites down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she imagines what it would feel like to have you inside her instead.

This makes her go beyond reason, her body moving on instinct, completely overtaken by the scene playing out in front of her. Her fingers, already slick with her arousal, slide down to her dripping entrance, and before she can second-guess herself, she pushes two fingers inside.

The sensation is electric, her walls clenching around her fingers as she starts thrusting in time with your movements, mirroring the rhythm of your cock driving into Minji. Her other hand remains pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the quiet, breathy moans that spill out as she fucks herself.

On the other side of the door, you’re relentless, your hips slamming into Minji with a force that makes her cry out, her voice muffled against the mattress. “God, Minji,” you growl, your tone dripping with dominance. “You’re so fucking wet, squeezing me so tight. You love being my little slut, don’t you?”

Ning’s eyes flutter shut, her fingers curling inside her as if you’re the one filling her up. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible, her voice shaky and desperate. Her fingers move faster, her thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she can’t stop herself from whispering again. “Yes, I love it—I love being yours.”

Your voice cuts through the door again, rough and commanding. “Say it, Minji. Say how much you love being fucked like this, how much you need my cock.”

Ning's head leans against the door, her lips parting as her fingers drive deeper, the wet sounds of her own arousal mingling with the lewd noises from the other room. She’s lost, caught up in the fantasy, responding as if the words were meant for her.

“I need it,” Ning murmurs, her hips rocking against her hand. “Fuck, I need you so bad—”

Inside the room, Minji’s voice rises, a high-pitched, breathless cry. “Yes, I need it—I need your cock so bad—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ning matches the rhythm of her fingers to the frantic pace of your thrusts, her knees trembling as she pushes herself closer to the edge. Her juices drip down her thighs, her clit throbbing under the relentless assault of her thumb. She’s mumbling now, her words incoherent, her body shaking as she chases the pleasure building inside her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers curl inside her, brushing that spot that makes her legs weak. “So deep, baby—feels so good—oh, my God—”

You grunt loudly, your hands gripping Minji’s hips tighter, pulling her back against you with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect, Minji,” you growl, your voice rough. “Taking me so fucking well—like you were made for this.”

Ning can’t hold back her response, her whispered voice growing louder despite herself. “Yes—I was—I was made for this,” she mutters, her breath hitching as her fingers slam into her wet pussy. “Fuck me harder—please—don’t stop—”

Her words blur into soft moans and gasps, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge of release. Her eyes are glued to the keyhole, watching the way your cock disappears into Minji’s pussy, the way Minji’s body arches with every thrust. It’s too much, the visual, the sounds, the fantasy she’s building in her head—all of it pushes her closer, her fingers working furiously as she chases the same pleasure Minji is drowning in.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her fingers curl again, her body arching off the floor. “I’m so close—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”

But she doesn’t let herself finish, biting down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out. She’s too lost, too far gone, completely consumed by the rhythm of your thrusts, the sound of Minji’s cries, the fantasy of being in her place.

You slow your thrusts, pulling out of Minji for just a moment, earning a frustrated whimper from her as you guide her toward the edge of the bed. Sitting down, your cock slick and throbbing, you grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap.

Minji straddles you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your legs. Her chest brushes against yours as she lowers herself, your cock sliding back inside her in one smooth motion. She lets out a shaky gasp, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she settles into the position, her tight pussy squeezing you in all the right ways.

“Ride me,” you murmur, your hands gripping her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Show me how much you love this cock, Minji.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hips starting to move in slow, deliberate circles. Her pace is teasing at first, her heat clenching around you as she adjusts to the angle. Her chest presses against yours, her nipples brushing your skin, and you can’t resist leaning forward to capture one of her breasts in your mouth.

Your tongue flicks over her hardened nipple, your lips closing around the sensitive bud as you suck greedily. Minji moans above you, her nails digging into your shoulders as she starts to bounce on your lap, her movements growing more erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I love your cock—I love the way it fills me, stretches me—God, I can’t get enough.”

Ning’s breath catches as she watches through the keyhole, her own hand moving instinctively to her breast. Her fingers slip under her tank top, squeezing the soft flesh as her thumb brushes over her nipple. Her other hand is still buried between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as she thrusts them in and out, imagining it’s your cock instead.

“Yes,” she whispers softly to herself, her cheeks flushed as her hips rock against her hand. “I love it too—I love the way it feels—”

Your mouth moves to Minji’s other breast, your tongue swirling around her nipple before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her back arches, her cries growing louder, her hips slamming against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you growl against her skin, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, helping guide her movements. “The way you ride me, Minji—fuck—you’re perfect.”

“God, yes,” she moans, her head tilting back as she grinds down on you, her pace frantic. “You make me feel so good—so fucking good—I never want to stop.”

Ning’s thighs tremble as she matches her rhythm to Minji’s, her fingers curling inside her, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She squeezes her breast harder, her thumb flicking over her nipple as she imagines it’s your mouth on her, your hands gripping her body, your cock buried deep inside her.

“I need you,” Ning whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with raw need. “Fuck, I need you so bad—I’d ride you just like that—I’d make you feel so good, baby—”

Inside, Minji’s cries grow louder, her hips slamming down on you with a force that makes the bed creak. Her hair sticks to her damp skin, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she moans your name over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your grip on her waist tightening as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements. “You take me so fucking well, Minji. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” Minji moans, her nails raking down your chest. “I love it—I love your cock—I love the way you fuck me—”

Ning’s own voice joins hers, a soft, breathy murmur as her body shakes with pleasure. “I love it too—I love it—I’d take you so well,” she whispers, her words blending with the sounds of your thrusts, the wet, obscene noises filling the room.

Her hips rock harder, her fingers plunging deeper as she imagines you looking at her the way you look at Minji, your hands on her, your cock filling her completely. She’s on the edge, teetering between reality and fantasy, her entire body trembling as she chases the release building inside her.

You grip Minji’s waist tighter, your breath coming in ragged gasps as her movements grow faster, more erratic. The tight, wet heat of her pussy has you on the edge, your cock twitching inside her as your body threatens to lose control.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head falling back as she rides you harder, her hips slamming down with a desperate rhythm. “You’re gonna make me cum—God, you’re gonna fucking make me cum.”

Her nails dig into your shoulders as her moans mix with yours, her face flushed, her lips parted. “Me too,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I’m so close—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum, too.”

You grip her ass, pulling her closer as you thrust up into her, your words spilling out in a rush. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me where you want my cum.”

Her eyes lock on yours, filled with wild lust. “On my tits,” she says, her voice cracking with need. “I want it all over my tits.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and Minji’s body responds, her pace growing frantic as she bounces on your cock, trying to hold back the screams threatening to burst from her lips. Her hips jerk, her thighs trembling, and then she’s cumming—hard.

Her back arches, her nails scraping down your chest as her pussy clenches around you in tight, rhythmic spasms. “Oh, fuck—fuck—” she cries, her head tilting back, her eyes rolling as waves of pleasure crash through her.

Ning’s fingers falter for a moment as she watches through the keyhole, her breath hitching at the sight of Minji’s orgasm. The way her body shakes, the sheer rawness of it, sends a fresh wave of arousal through Ning’s already trembling body. She bites her lip, her own fingers slick with her juices as she thrusts them deeper, chasing the same release.

Minji’s hips slow, her movements languid as she comes down from her high, her breath ragged as she whispers, “Please—I need your cum—I need it so bad.”

You growl low in your throat, gently lifting her off your cock and guiding her to lie back on the bed. Her chest rises and falls, her skin flushed, her eyes hazy with lust as she looks up at you.

You climb over her, your hand wrapping around your cock, stroking it slowly as you hover above her. Minji’s lips curl into a wicked smile, her voice soft but dripping with urgency. “Give it to me,” she whispers, her hands sliding over her own body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them together. “I want it all—cover me in it. Please, baby, cum for me.”

Ning’s breath comes in shallow gasps as she mirrors Minji’s words, her voice barely audible as she whispers, “Cum for me—please, I need it—I need you.” Her fingers pump in and out of her dripping pussy, her other hand teasing her breast, pinching her nipple as she imagines being in Minji’s place.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you groan, your hand moving faster as you watch Minji writhing beneath you, her words driving you closer to the edge. “You’re gonna get it—all of it. You ready?”

“Yes,” Minji moans, her eyes locking on your cock. “Yes, I’m ready—give it to me, please.”

The tension snaps, and with a deep, guttural moan, you let go. Hot spurts of cum shoot out, painting Minji’s chest and dripping down her cleavage as she gasps with each pulse. “Fuck, yes,” she cries, her hands smearing the thick, warm fluid over her skin. “God, there’s so much—”

Ning’s body arches, her fingers thrusting deep as she watches your release, the sight of you cumming and Minji’s reaction sending her spiraling. “Oh, God,” Ning whispers, her breath catching as her own orgasm crashes over her. Her thighs tremble, her hips bucking against her hand as pleasure floods her senses, leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

Back in your room, Minji reaches up, her hand wrapping around your cock as she guides the tip to her lips. She sucks greedily, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, and you let out a shuddering groan, the overstimulation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your body trembling as she cleans you off, her mouth working over you with slow, deliberate precision.

In the hallway, Ning slumps against the wall, her body still trembling from her climax. Reality crashes back in, her cheeks burning as she realizes what she’s done. Her fingers are sticky with her own juices, her shorts and panties pushed down around her ankles. She feels the ache of her release, but also the heavy weight of knowing she’s still alone, left only with the echo of her own mind.

—

The kitchen is quiet except for the clink of forks against plates and the faint hum of the coffee machine. Breakfast is simple—scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit—because none of you had energy for anything more elaborate after the intense morning sex. You and Minji sit side by side, her hand occasionally brushing yours under the table, while Ning sits across from you, her posture slightly hunched, her head down as she picks at her food.

You and Minji exchange a glance, subtle but questioning.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask finally, your voice cutting through the silence.

Ning looks up briefly, her eyes darting between you and Minji before settling back on her plate. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “The couch was fine.”

“Are you sure?” you press, trying to read her expression. “If it wasn’t comfortable, you could’ve said something.”

She shakes her head quickly, her fingers tightening around her fork. “No, it was fine. Really.”

Minji leans back slightly, her dark eyes studying Ning with a precision that always feels a little too sharp. “You seem... off,” she says, her tone light but probing. “Nervous, almost.”

Ning’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but she forces a small smile. “It’s just... college stuff,” she says, her voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. “You know how it is.”

Minji hums softly, her gaze lingering on Ning for a moment longer before she nods. “Yeah. I get it. Stress gets to everyone.”

There’s a pause, the silence stretching out again as Ning takes a small bite of her toast, her movements mechanical. You glance at Minji, who shrugs subtly, as if to say, “Leave it alone.”

You’re not sure why the mood feels so strange. You’re satisfied—more than satisfied, really—after the slow, sleepy morning you spent with Minji. But Ning’s tension casts a shadow over everything, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re missing.

“Anything specific?” Minji asks suddenly. “With college, I mean. Anything you’re struggling with?”

Ning’s head snaps up, her expression briefly startled before she smooths it out. “No. Nothing like that. Just... the usual. Assignments, deadlines. It’s fine.”

“You know you can talk to us, right?” you say, trying to sound reassuring.

“I know,” Ning says quickly, her voice tight. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

Minji doesn’t push further, instead picking up her coffee cup and taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Ning. It’s a look you’ve seen before—the way she dissects people without them realizing, pulling apart their words, their body language, their silences… You wonder if she knows something you don’t.

“Okay,” Minji says finally, setting her cup down. “But if it ever does become a big deal, you know where we are.”

“Thanks,” Ning murmurs, her smile faint but grateful.

The conversation fizzles out after that, and the rest of breakfast passes in strained silence. Ning keeps her head down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, while you and Minji exchange the occasional glance, unsure how to bridge the gap.

When Ning finally stands to clear her plate, you notice the way her hands shake slightly, the way she avoids looking at either of you. Minji notices too—you can tell by the faint narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head. But she doesn’t say anything.

—

The sun hangs high in the sky, its warmth spilling over the quiet streets as Minji and Ning walk side by side. The air smells faintly of spring—cut grass, blooming flowers, the faint musk of pavement warmed by sunlight. It’s the kind of day that makes you forget there’s still homework to finish, lectures to catch up on, deadlines looming like dark clouds in the distance.

Minji is wearing her usual glasses, her stride confident, her shoulder purse slung loosely over one arm. Ning is quieter, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt, her pace a little slower. The two of them have walked this route several times, but today, the silence between them feels heavier, more intentional.

Ning is the one who breaks it. “How are you?” she asks, glancing sideways at Minji.

Minji doesn’t falter, but the question surprises her. She tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “I’m fine,” she says. “Why?”

Ning shrugs, her gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “Just asking.”

Minji hums softly, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” she repeats, her tone a little firmer now. “Really.”

Ning hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I meant... how’s your heart?”

Minji slows, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as she turns to look at Ning. It’s always a complicated question (even if she pretends it isn't), one she’s learned to deflect with ease. But Ning’s tone—gentle, almost hesitant—makes it harder to brush off.

“It’s fine,” Minji says finally, her voice even. “Everything’s fine.”

Ning doesn’t push, at least not directly. Instead, she pretends to shift the conversation. “Are you and him having sex?”

Minji stops walking, blinking at Ning like she’s just been hit with a bucket of cold water. “What?”

“You heard me,” Ning says, her voice steady but her expression unreadable.

Minji stares at her for a moment before she starts walking again, her steps a little quicker now. “Yes,” she says finally, the word clipped, like she’s trying to end the conversation before it starts.

“How’s it been?” Ning asks, keeping pace with her.

Minji’s jaw tightens. “Good. Very good.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ning says. “I mean... is it too much? For you, I mean. With your condition...”

Minji’s steps falter, just barely, but she recovers quickly. “No,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends. “He’s... gentle. Respectful. He knows my boundaries.”

Ning nods slowly, as if considering her words. “I know you took the medicine,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

Minji freezes. “What?”

“Your medicine,” Ning repeats, stopping to face her. “You took it. I know you did.”

“That’s not true,” Minji says, her voice flat.

“It is,” Ning says, crossing her arms. “Before we left for the restaurant yesterday, the bottle was sealed. This morning, when I saw it in your purse, it was open.”

Minji’s mouth opens, then closes, her mind scrambling for a response. “Why are you going through my purse?” she demands finally, her tone defensive.

“You told me I could borrow your lipstick,” Ning says simply.

Minji stares at her, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of her answer. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Then she exhales sharply, tugging her glasses off and running a hand through her hair before putting them back on. “Fine,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I took it. After... after we had sex.”

Ning’s brows knit together, her tone growing sharper. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Minji says, brushing past her and continuing down the sidewalk.

“Not a big deal?” Ning echoes, catching up to her. “Minji, your heart hurts so much you need medicine, and you think that’s not a big deal?”

Minji stops again, turning to face her. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Ning says bluntly, her voice rising slightly. “You’re putting your health at risk, and for what? To prove that you can handle it? That’s not fair, Minji. To him or to you.”

Minji’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond. She can feel the heat rising in her chest—not from her heart this time, but from the frustration of being called out, of having someone see through her so easily.

“You need to tell him,” Ning says firmly, her voice steady despite the tension between them. “If you don’t, I will.”

Minji stares at her, her lips parted slightly in shock. Ning’s tone, her posture, the unwavering determination in her expression—it’s not the Ning she’s used to. It’s... impressive, in a way. “Fine,” Minji says finally, her voice softer now, almost grudging. “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Ning says, her expression softening slightly. They start walking again, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Minji glances at Ning out of the corner of her eye, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises,” she says quietly.

Ning doesn’t look at her, but there’s a faint flush on her cheeks. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she murmurs.

The words hang in the air between them, heavier than the warm sunlight, and the ambivalence of feelings silently settles in Minji, something without its own identification. Gratitude, maybe. Pride. Love. Or something else entirely.

For Ning, the moment is different. Seeing Minji vulnerable—seeing her imperfect—fills her with something that feels almost like relief. Minji isn’t untouchable, after all. And somehow, that thought is comforting.

Continued in part 4...

[senascoop]

GET WELL SOON , P.SH !

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

PAIRING: racer ! sunghoon × orphan ! afab reader.

SYNOPSIS: You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

WORD COUNT: 19.2K

FEAT: WONYOUNG from IVE, JAY from ENHYPEN, HANNI from NEWJEANS, + some ocs

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

MORE LIKE THIS? || MASTERLIST?

TAGLIST: @chexnluv @moonpri @wensurr @jiyeons-closet @isa942572 @jkslvsnella @woniefull @aleeza444 @capri-cuntz @vi-ri @hotteokisms @flwwon @shhth @lialaiakalaiiaia (the ones in bold couldn't be tagged)

AS YOU LAY IN THE HOSPITAL BED, the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air, your gaze drifted to the bouquet of white roses on the table beside you. A scoff slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a bitter reminder of why you were even here.

This was all his fault. Park Sunghoon.

For a second, you tried to maintain your calm, the nice person part of you struggling to hold on, but that guy—he tested all of it.

“Throw them away, please?” you asked, your voice clipped as you turned to the nurse adjusting your IV.

Before she could respond, an infuriatingly familiar voice cut through the room, smooth yet utterly exasperating. “You don't like white?”

You didn’t even need to look to know it was him. The sudden rush of irritation heated your cheeks as you whipped your head towards the door. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Strolling in casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive designer coat, as if he hadn’t ruined your entire week.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you shot back, your glare burning through him. The forced smile on your face was saccharine, dripping with the very clear message that he was definitely not welcome.

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Of course, he had the audacity to smirk—like always. "Sadly," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself, “you gotta keep them.”

Without invitation, he sauntered over to the side of your bed, his presence filling the room, as if his wealth and arrogance alone could smother the oxygen. You watched him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over your chest in defiance.

“Just leave me alone, you rich jerk,” you spat, unable to hold back the venom in your tone. Your fists clenched beneath the thin hospital sheets, a reminder that you couldn’t even storm out of here like you wanted to. You were stuck—and it was all because of him.

His face faltered for a split second, the cockiness slipping ever so slightly as your words hit him. But like clockwork, he masked it, that composed, arrogant look sliding back into place.

It should’ve been satisfying to see the momentary flash of guilt cross his features, but it wasn’t enough. Not when your life had been flipped upside down, not when you were confined to this bed because of his mistake.

BUT HOW DID ALL OF THIS HAPPEN?

Well…

FLASHBACK!

Your eyes were stinging from the tears, and you clumsily wiped them away with the back of your hand. You weren’t exactly drunk—maybe two shots deep after an agonizingly stressful day—but it was enough to make your head spin. Why did it all have to be so sad?

Sniffling, you stumbled down the empty street, your shoes scuffing the pavement as you sobbed quietly into the night. The darkness felt overwhelming, like it was swallowing you whole, and even though your tears blurred your vision, you knew where you were heading—or at least you thought you did.

It wasn’t until you heard the loud, abrupt honk of a motorbike that you even realized you were standing in the middle of the street. You barely had time to turn your head towards the blinding lights before—BAM!

The impact wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was enough. The bike, thankfully, had slowed down, but not nearly enough to stop it from hitting you. Pain shot through your leg as you collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You groaned loudly, clutching your leg, wincing at the sharp sting that radiated through your body. Meanwhile, the rider, who had also fallen, was busy steadying himself, dusting off his helmet as if he wasn’t the reason your entire life had just flashed before your eyes.

“THE HELL?!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you tried to shift your weight but immediately regretted it. The sharp pain in your leg intensified, forcing you back down onto the concrete. You gritted your teeth, tears stinging your eyes once again as you glared up at him.

The guy finally looked your way, lifting his visor to reveal his face. "Ma’am, are you okay?" he asked, his voice eerily calm, as if he hadn’t just crashed his motorcycle into you. Like it was some minor inconvenience to him.

Your blood boiled. “Okay???" you spat out, your voice a mix of disbelief and fury. "I’m literally bleeding! Are you dumb?!”

The guy blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but remained calm. Too calm. “Alright, alright, just calm down,” he muttered, crouching down next to you, but that only made you angrier.

"Calm down?” you snapped, clenching your fists as the pain and the frustration built up inside of you. “Say that when you’re the one lying here, bleeding out!"

He flinched at your words but didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, you were still seething, glancing down at your leg where the blood was now slowly trickling down your thigh, staining your jeans. The sight of it made you dizzy, your head swimming with pain and exhaustion.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you still had enough energy to notice him—freaking fixing his bike. He had the nerve to set it upright on its stand, making sure it was okay before coming back to check on you.

"If you even think about making this a hit and run," you rasped, your voice hoarse from both pain and anger, “I’ll haunt your entire family line.”

The guy stopped, visibly gulping as he knelt down beside you once again, clearly panicking now. "No, no, that’s not—look, the ambulance is coming, okay? Just… try to stay with me.”

Your vision blurred, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the world began to tilt. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was him leaning over, actually cleaning the blood off your thigh with his sleeve, his face a mask of panic and guilt. You didn’t know what was worse—the excruciating pain or the fact that you now hated him with every fiber of your being. Park Sunghoon.

And just like that, you passed out, your hatred for him searing into the darkness of your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

AND WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED AFTER THAT?

You may wonder, but well...

Turns out, the guy—Park Sunghoon—was not just any calm, overly collected motorcyclist who’d crashed into you that night. No, he was the son of a wealthy man, one of those who didn’t have to face consequences because money speaks louder than the truth. And apparently, money really does talk, especially when you’re up against a system rigged to work in favor of the rich.

Even though Sunghoon had confessed to being at fault—had told the police it was his mistake—the tests showed otherwise. Your blood test, which revealed traces of alcohol, was enough to tip the scales in his favor. You weren’t even drunk, for heaven's sake—two shots hardly counted—but that didn’t matter. The system had already labeled you as the reckless one. Your claims of innocence? Brushed off, like dust from his expensive jacket.

It was humiliating. The police barely questioned Sunghoon. His parents swooped in like hawks, ensuring their precious son wouldn’t be held accountable for such a trivial incident, and just like that, there was no investigation, no justice. Just a quick sweep under the rug, and you were left to fester in your anger, helpless against the machine that protected people like him.

Being an orphan only made things worse. You had no guardian, no family to back you up or fight for you. Your best friend, Wonyoung, was the only one who came to your side. She tried covering your hospital bills—she had offered, insisted even—but you couldn’t let her. She needed the money more than you did, and you weren’t about to burden her with your mess. But you couldn't deny her when she showed up every day with packed lunches, smuggling in home-cooked meals like they were contraband.

On one particular afternoon, you sat in the hospital bed, poking at the warm rice she had lovingly packed in a small bento box. Wonyoung sat across from you, her eyes burning with the same hatred you felt. She stabbed at her own food, her anger simmering with every bite.

“I still can’t believe him,” she muttered, barely able to contain her frustration. “How does he get to walk away from this like it’s nothing?”

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head as you swallowed a bite of food. “Because he’s rich. Rich guys don’t face consequences, apparently.”

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

You sighed, your gaze falling to your bandaged leg. It throbbed, a constant reminder of everything that had happened. “Join the club,” you muttered. “He hasn’t even tried to take responsibility. Not once.”

Wonyoung scoffed, glancing over at the sterile hospital room, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over everything. “How does he sleep at night? Like, seriously?”

You thought about that too. How did Park Sunghoon sleep at night? Probably on some ridiculously expensive mattress in his mansion, far away from the mess he’d left you in. You clenched your fists around the edge of your blanket, biting back the urge to cry. Not again. You were so tired of crying, of feeling powerless, of being at the mercy of someone else’s mistakes.

AND AS THE DAYS PASSED, the gnawing anxiety of being kicked out of the hospital clung to you like a dark cloud. Let's be honest—you had no money. The minute the hospital caught wind of that, you were sure they’d toss you out on the curb without a second thought. It wasn’t like you had any guardian to bail you out, no family waiting in the wings to cover the mounting costs. You were an orphan—alone, except for your best friend Wonyoung, who had already done more than she needed to.

Sitting up slightly in your bed, you glanced at the nurse as she came in to check your vitals. She seemed nice—too nice—and it was exactly that thread of hope you grasped at as you hesitantly asked, “So... when do I pay the hospital bill?”

You knew the question was pointless, knew the answer would sink like lead in your gut, but you had to ask. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen.

The nurse adjusted the IV drip, giving you a small smile as she jotted something down on her clipboard. “Someone already paid for you.”

Your jaw didn’t drop—not even a little—because let’s be honest, you knew who had covered it. Sunghoon’s parents. Of course they did. Anything to wipe their son’s record clean, to make sure no trace of this incident marred the reputation of their precious heir. Rich people.

“Right.” You muttered, sinking back into the pillows, staring at the plain white ceiling. It was always the same. Pay, forget, move on. No justice, just convenient cover-ups.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension building inside you, walked out of the room. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes, hoping—praying—that it wasn’t Sunghoon or one of his parents waiting for you outside. But your luck? Yeah, it never worked in your favor.

“Enjoying your stay here?” His voice was as smooth as silk, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, Park Sunghoon, standing in the doorway with that charming smile of his. It was the kind of smile that could have melted hearts—not yours, though. Not now, not when he was the reason you were lying here, stuck in this bed, smelling nothing but disinfectant and medicine.

“Yeah, it’s great,” you bit out, rolling your eyes. “A dream vacation. Smell of medicine, broken bones, IV drips—just paradise.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, like he wasn’t standing in front of you after nearly ruining your life. You could have thrown the flower pot sitting by your bed at him—would have if the nurse hadn’t spoken up at that exact moment.

“She has a fracture in her leg and some soft tissue damage, but with rehabilitation, she should recover in twelve to eighteen weeks,” the nurse said, looking at Sunghoon like he actually cared about your prognosis.

“Alright. I get it,” he muttered, nodding as if he was taking mental notes, and you wondered why. Why was he still here? Why did he even care? He had already done his job, hadn’t he? Paid the bills, covered the mess—so why was he still hanging around?

The nurse excused herself, flashing what you swore was a knowing smile before she left the room. “Okay, then, enjoy your time with your girlfriend,” she said as she slipped out the door.

Girlfriend?! You nearly choked on your own breath. Girlfriend?? Really?! Your eyes shot to Sunghoon, demanding an explanation as you sat up straighter, the hospital blanket clenched in your fists.

“Explain,” you hissed, glaring at him with all the hatred you could muster. Your leg ached with the movement, but you ignored it, your whole body brimming with frustration.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well... my dad wouldn’t let me get involved after the accident. But I wanted to take responsibility, and the only way I could stay connected to this without the media getting involved was to pretend you were my girlfriend. That way, it looks like I’m just... you know, paying your bills because I care.”

“Because you care?” You scoffed, your voice dripping with venom. “As expected. Rich people like you don’t actually care—you just want to clean up the mess and move on. Get the media off your back. Don’t worry about me though, Sunghoon. Just stay away from me, because if you keep hanging around, I swear, I will go insane.”

You grabbed the flower pot with one hand, aiming it directly at his face. Your knuckles whitened from the grip, the tension boiling over.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sunghoon raised his hands defensively, stepping back with a sheepish smile that only infuriated you more. “Calm down. I’m going, I’m going.”

He slipped out of the room with a smile that seemed too nonchalant, like none of this was serious to him. He disappeared into the hallway, leaving you to stew in your anger.

You let out a long string of curses under your breath, tossing the flower pot back onto the bedside table with a huff. Your head fell back against the pillow, and you closed your eyes, groaning in frustration.

Why did this guy have to be so infuriating? Every time you thought about him, your blood boiled, and now you were stuck in this mess with him as the person supposedly “taking care” of you. What a joke.

You clutched the blanket tighter, trying to shake off the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness.

THE NEXT DAY?

SUNGHOON WAS BACK AGAIN.

You groaned inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye as he quietly settled into the chair beside your hospital bed. He didn't speak, just sat there, his eyes glued to you. What the hell was his deal? You were already too tired to deal with the fact that this guy, who had already caused enough trouble in your life, was now making himself a permanent fixture in your hospital room.

“Can you just go away?” you murmured, voice low and raspy, refusing to look at him directly. It was irritating enough that he was here—you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly as if he were genuinely invested in whatever non-existent conversation you were about to have. “I just... I just wanted to apologize,” he started, his tone softer than you expected. “Look, I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, didn’t want you to get this fracture—”

“Don’t bother me with your false apologies,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as your eyes narrowed in on him. There was no way you were going to sit here and let him play the nice guy when he was the reason you were stuck in this bed. As far as you were concerned, his words were as hollow as his concern.

Sunghoon flinched at your dismissal, but his face quickly returned to that neutral, unreadable expression he always wore. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a small, elegant container from his side, opened it up, and began arranging a steaming bowl of ramen. The fragrant aroma hit your nose almost instantly—rich broth, a soft-boiled egg on the side, and a hint of spice. His personal chef’s touch, no doubt. How typical.

“Here.” He pushed the bowl towards you, chopsticks in hand, offering it like it was some grand gesture of peace.

You stared at it, the smell tempting your empty stomach. But hell no were you going to eat anything he gave you. Not after everything. It felt like taking pity food, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d done something nice.

“I don’t want to eat this,” you refused coldly, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away as if the sight of it disgusted you.

Sunghoon blinked, clearly taken aback by your blunt rejection. The chopsticks hovered mid-air, the ramen dangling precariously off the ends. “Then... what are you gonna eat?” His tone wasn’t mocking, just confused—like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would refuse gourmet ramen made by a personal chef.

You bit back a sigh, feeling the frustration bubbling under your skin. “The hospital food,” you replied flatly, knowing full well you had no intention of eating it. Who in their right mind actually wanted hospital food? But you weren’t going to let him win. Even if it meant enduring that tasteless mush, you would.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, completely unfazed, and with the same calm indifference, he took a bite of the ramen himself. Leaning back in his chair, he made himself comfortable, savoring each bite like he had all the time in the world. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of his quiet chewing, and your irritation spiked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, glaring at him as he continued to eat in silence.

He glanced at you, the corner of his lips twitching as if he found this whole situation amusing. “You said you didn’t want it. So, I’m eating it.” His tone was maddeningly casual, as if the fact that you were lying there in a hospital bed while he enjoyed a meal meant absolutely nothing to him.

“I—” You started, but your words stuck in your throat. Was he doing this on purpose? You glared at him, eyes narrowing, your frustration palpable. Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.

It hit him square in the chest, the force of it barely making him flinch, but it was enough to get his attention.

“Just eat somewhere else!” you snapped, your voice raising a bit louder than you intended. “Not near me. You’re making me feel nauseous,” you added, feigning an exaggerated gag as you pressed your hand to your stomach, though in truth, your frustration was more mental than physical.

Sunghoon paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, his gaze flickering over to you. For a split second, you saw something in his eyes—something like amusement, or maybe even disbelief. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual blank, indifferent expression.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pushing his chair back a few inches as if to placate you. He continued eating though, leaning further back, seemingly unbothered by your outburst.

You watched him in silence, your hands clenching the hospital blanket in frustration. How could someone be so infuriating? Every fiber of your being screamed to tell him off, to shout at him for being so... so... indifferent.

But deep down, you knew you couldn’t push him too far. As much as you hated it, this guy and his filthy rich family were the ones footing your hospital bills. Without them, you’d be in deep trouble, maybe even kicked out by now. You needed to be civil—just civil enough—to keep this uncomfortable arrangement going. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

As Sunghoon continued eating, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Your job. What the hell were you supposed to tell your workplace? They were going to fire you for taking such a long break, weren’t they? You were already behind on rent, behind on everything. And now, because of him, you were going to lose the only shred of stability you had left.

You glanced at him again, annoyance bubbling up inside you. This was all his fault.

Every second he stayed here, pretending to be remorseful, pretending to care—it only fueled your hatred more.

After finishing up his food, Sunghoon finally stood up from the chair, and for a blissful second, you thought he was about to leave. Peace, at last.

But no. You watched in dismay as he turned toward the door, only to return moments later with another steaming bowl of food—something undoubtedly made by his annoyingly talented personal chef again. Your stomach growled involuntarily at the sight of it, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you wanted it.

Just as you were about to shoot him a glare, the nurse caring for you entered the room, pushing a small tray cart with the dreaded hospital food on it. Great. She offered a brief, polite smile as she placed the tray on your bedside table. The food looked even worse today—if that was even possible—bland and unappetizing, the kind of meal that probably hadn’t seen salt or seasoning in years.

“Here you go, sweetie. Make sure you eat something,” the nurse said warmly before quickly leaving the room, clearly unaware of the ongoing battle of wills between you and Sunghoon.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you looked over at him. He was watching you, his elbow lazily perched on the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his chin. A slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That damn smirk. The one that made you want to throw something at him—if it weren’t for your fractured leg keeping you bedridden.

“Thank you,” you muttered halfheartedly, reluctantly picking up the plastic spoon that came with the hospital food. You took a bite of the mushy, tasteless concoction, and immediately regretted it. It was like eating wet cardboard. You fought hard not to gag, your throat tightening as the flavorless blob slid down.

Sunghoon chuckled quietly from across the room, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought you wanted hospital food?” he teased, leaning forward just a little as if to get a better look at your suffering.

You made a face, a sickened grimace pulling at your lips as soon as the nurse was out of sight. The taste was vile. And worse yet, Sunghoon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk widening. He knew you didn’t want the hospital food. He knew, and that only seemed to make this entire situation even more entertaining for him.

Your pride was the only thing stopping you from throwing the tray out the window and devouring the meal he brought, but your body was betraying you. Your stomach growled again, loud enough for Sunghoon to hear. He chuckled, clearly amused by your stubbornness.

Before you could protest, he moved closer, balancing the bowl of ramen on his knee as he picked up his chopsticks. With an exaggerated nonchalance, he twirled some noodles around the chopsticks and brought them to your lips.

“Here,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “Just try it.”

You stared at the chopsticks hovering in front of you, your resolve weakening. The savory scent of the ramen was intoxicating, and before you knew it, your body betrayed you once again. You leaned forward and took a bite, unable to resist the warm, perfectly seasoned noodles. The difference in taste was almost enough to make you groan in relief.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he watched you chew, his eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with a teasing lilt.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you glared at him through a mouthful of ramen. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered, voice muffled as you chewed.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking up in playful curiosity. “You don’t like being called a good girl?”

“It’s cringe,” you replied shortly, swallowing the bite. “Just... feed me, dude.”

He raised an eyebrow at the casual “dude” and let out a soft snort of laughter. “Don’t ‘dude’ me,” he shot back, his tone playfully offended. He twirled more noodles around the chopsticks and held them up for you again.

You glared at him but leaned in for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor. Dammit, the ramen was good. Stupid rich kids and their personal chefs.

“Why can’t you be nice to me for just one second?” he asked, his voice light but with an edge of genuine curiosity.

You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Maybe because you literally got my leg fractured.”

He let out a low sigh, his face softening as he leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other still held the chopsticks. “That was a mistake.”

“A mistake that cost me my life,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitter sarcasm. You gestured to your leg, propped up awkwardly with a cast. “I can’t work. I’m stuck here. All because of you.”

He winced slightly, but it was brief, his calm expression returning just as quickly. “Yeah, but I’m paying for your bills and feeding you gourmet food. I think that counts for something.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re throwing your money at the problem you caused,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He leaned in again, closer this time, his face just inches from yours as he held up the chopsticks with a piece of soft-boiled egg. “You need protein to recover,” he said with mock seriousness, as if that somehow excused everything.

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare but opened your mouth reluctantly, letting him feed you the egg. It was delicious, of course.

Your bickering continued, the tension between you palpable—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to examine too closely. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something almost... comfortable in this strange back-and-forth. Even if he was insufferable. Even if he had ruined your life. There was something about the way he teased you, the way he looked at you with that annoying smirk, that was... unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Next time,” you muttered between bites, “just don’t call me a good girl.”

Sunghoon grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ll see.”

A WEEK HAD PASSED,

AND SOMEHOW, THIS GUY,

PARK SUNGHOON—

Had become an inescapable shadow in your life. He was always around, lingering like a ghost in the corner of your hospital room, and frankly, it was getting on your nerves. You’d half expected him to get bored and move on, but no, he was persistent. Today was no exception, as he casually strolled in, dressed far too well for someone who supposedly had nothing better to do.

As if the universe wanted to test you even more, you suddenly realized you needed to use the bathroom. Perfect. With a fractured leg and several other annoying injuries, it wasn’t exactly a simple task to just get up and go.

Your eyes flickered over to Sunghoon, who, as usual, was making himself comfortable in the chair beside your bed, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world. How does he not have work? you wondered. But then again, he was rich. He probably was the boss—no one to yell at him for skipping out.

An idea popped into your head, one so devious it made you almost grin. If you were stuck in this hell because of him, then he was going to suffer for it, too.

“I need to use the washroom,” you said, your voice dripping with forced sweetness. You shot him a smile so sugary it could give someone a cavity.

He looked up from his phone, raising a single eyebrow, his expression both confused and slightly suspicious. “And why are you telling me this?” His tone was casual, but you could tell he was wondering what you were up to.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Did he really not get it?

“Well,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, “because you’re going to help me get there.”

Sunghoon’s face twisted into an expression of disbelief, the confusion deepening as he stared at you. His brows furrowed, and he glanced from you to your cast, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “Can’t you just call the nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.

You shrugged again, acting as though the answer was obvious. “The nurse is probably busy with other patients. You’re here, so... help me.”

For a moment, Sunghoon just stared at you, realizing that this was your revenge—your small, petty way of getting back at him. You could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options, but ultimately, he sighed, knowing full well this was his fault. He couldn’t say no. Not this time.

He stood up from his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket, and walked over to you. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath, though there was a subtle trace of amusement in his voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

You smirked, raising your arms toward him in a silent, exaggerated demand for help. He gave you a look—one that said he knew exactly what you were doing—but he bent down anyway, carefully placing his arm around your back to help you sit up.

His movements were surprisingly gentle as he shifted you, mindful of your injuries. For a moment, you almost forgot you were supposed to hate him, but the memory of your fractured leg came rushing back as you awkwardly stood, balancing on your good leg while he held you up.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you teased, leaning a bit more heavily on him than necessary.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, his grip tightening around your waist as he helped you off the bed. “Just don’t fall on me,” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.

You let out a small, fake gasp. “Are you afraid of a little contact, Sunghoon?” you asked, your tone dripping with mock innocence.

His jaw clenched slightly, but he ignored your jab, shifting his weight to better support you as he guided you toward the bathroom. “Gosh, why can’t you just call the nurse like a normal person?” he groaned, sounding far more exasperated now that he was actually having to deal with you.

“Because,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “this is your fault. You got me into this mess, and now you get to deal with it.”

He sighed again, clearly trying his hardest not to snap back at you. You could practically hear the patience draining out of him as he helped you into the bathroom, your body leaning heavily on his arm as you hobbled on one leg. His other hand hovered near your cast, careful not to jostle it.

Once you were inside the small bathroom, he slowly backed out, giving you space but not before shooting you a deadpan look. “You good?”

You smirked, biting back a laugh. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Sunghoon closed the door behind him with a soft click, but not before calling through the wood, “Just yell when you’re finished, Your Highness.”

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. Revenge tasted sweet, even if it was petty. You knew Sunghoon didn’t want to be here, playing nurse, but it felt good to trouble him—just a little.

You took your time, prolonging your stay in the bathroom for as long as possible, savoring the knowledge that Sunghoon was waiting outside. Maybe it was childish, but it made you feel a bit better, if only for a moment.

As you lingered in the bathroom, relishing in your small, mischievous victory, Sunghoon's voice rang out from the other side of the door, his tone laced with irritation.

“You done?” he called out, his voice slightly muffled through the door.

You smirked, leaning your head back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, debating whether to prolong this little game. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for you. In your attempt to stand up properly, your balance wavered. Your injured leg buckled slightly, causing you to slip, creating a loud thud that echoed off the walls.

“Oh God?! Did you break your leg again?” Sunghoon’s voice immediately shifted from annoyance to a surprising edge of concern. You could hear the door handle jiggle as he attempted to open it.

In a panic, you yelled back before he could barge in. “Don’t even try! I haven’t pulled my pants up!” Your voice wobbled between panic and embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks despite yourself.

There was a brief pause, followed by a mixture of relief and exasperation in his tone. “Seriously?”

You could practically feel his embarrassment from behind the door as he rubbed the back of his neck, caught between wanting to help and this awkward situation. “Then pull them up!” he said, as though that solved everything. The sheer audacity of his tone made your eye twitch.

“Listen, boy,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration. “If I could pull them up, don’t you think I’d be able to walk out? I’m literally stuck on the floor. And it’s disgusting down here!”

His groan was audible through the door, no doubt paired with him running a hand over his face in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

The back-and-forth bickering continued for what felt like forever, with you calling out orders and him grumbling on the other side of the door. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally gave up trying to maintain any shred of dignity in this situation.

“Okay, I pulled them up! Now, help me get out of here,” you finally yelled, exhausted from the struggle.

Sunghoon let out a deep, exaggerated sigh of relief, one that almost made you want to smack him if it weren’t for your current predicament. “Phew, finally.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

The door opened, and Sunghoon stepped inside with a mix of irritation and amusement. He bent down to help you, slipping his arm around your waist once more, lifting you up with practiced ease. You let out a small huff as he guided your weight against him, his warm hand steadying you as your body adjusted to standing again.

Without another word, you wobbled toward the sink, more than ready to return to the bed, but you couldn’t just ignore the fact that your hands were still dirty. Sunghoon kept his arm around you as you leaned over the sink to wash your hands, his eyes narrowing as he observed what you were doing.

"You..." he started, trailing off, his eyes slowly widening in horror. “You haven’t washed your hands yet, have you?”

You glanced up at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously not. I fell, genius,” you muttered, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon’s face instantly paled, his eyes darting from his hands to yours, his expression shifting from shock to absolute disgust. He immediately let go of you, stepping back like you’d just told him you had the plague.

“You did NOT just touch me with unwashed hands,” he said, his voice a mix of horror and disgust as he dramatically recoiled. His hand hovered in the air, shaking slightly, before he rushed to the other side of the sink, furiously scrubbing his hands with soap, as though he were trying to rid himself of every possible germ.

Watching him panic was somehow immensely satisfying, a smug grin curling your lips as you watched him suffer in disgust. “Eww, eww, eww!” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed, his face twisted in revulsion.

“Serves you right,” you quipped, leaning back against the wall, watching him frantically rinse his hands as though his life depended on it.

“You’re disgusting,” he shot back, glaring at you through the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were trying hard not to smile.

"Don’t act like I planned to fall, Sunghoon,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you continued to lean on him for support, your smirk never faltering. “But seeing you in pain—this... disgust—I gotta admit, it feels kinda good.”

He shot you a look, half exasperated and half amused, running a hand through his hair. “You’re something else,” he muttered, shaking his head as he helped you back toward the bed.

As much as you wanted to hate him, there was something oddly... endearing about his reaction. The tension between the two of you simmered beneath the surface, a strange mix of frustration, amusement, and something else you refused to acknowledge.

“I know,” you said, smirking as you let him help you lie down on the bed again. “I’m the best kind of trouble.”

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something that made the air between you shift. For a moment, the banter fell silent, replaced by an unspoken tension. You both looked away at the same time, the quiet hum of the hospital room filling the space where your words had been.

It wasn’t hatred, not anymore—not exactly. It was something far more complicated than that.

AGAIN,

The next week went by in a haze of frustration, playful revenge, and shared irritations. What had started as your deep-seated hatred for Sunghoon for causing your fractured leg evolved into something less easy to define. It became a bizarre game of you tormenting him with every small inconvenience, while he reluctantly dealt with the trouble, almost as if he believed he deserved it. You had no idea why he kept coming back, why he hadn't just left you to the hospital staff—yet here he was. Every day. Helping you.

And today? Today, you were bored out of your mind, sick of the sterile walls of your hospital room and the bland hospital gown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The thought of sitting in that stiff bed for another minute was unbearable. Naturally, you decided Sunghoon should suffer the consequences of your boredom too. After all, he was the reason you were here in the first place.

“Take me out for a walk,” you’d said earlier, putting on your best guilt-trip face. “It’s the weekend, you have time. I’ve been stuck here for days.”

Sunghoon, standing at the foot of your bed with an exasperated sigh, had rubbed his temples as if debating whether to throw you into the wheelchair himself or just walk out. But he didn't. With a reluctant grunt and a muttered “Fine, whatever,” he agreed, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner and helping you into it.

Now, as he pushed you down the hospital hallway, your eyes gleamed with mischief. Your fractured leg was propped up awkwardly, wrapped in thick layers of bandages, and your body was still healing, but you were reveling in making him work for it.

"The garden!" you demanded, pointing outside through the glass doors like a queen giving orders to her servant.

Sunghoon, visibly tired from both the physical effort and the mental strain of dealing with you, gave a long-suffering sigh. “You enjoy this,” he muttered, his voice barely hiding the annoyance beneath. It wasn’t a question. He knew you were having way too much fun making his life difficult.

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you leaned back in the wheelchair with a smug grin, watching the trees and flowers of the hospital garden come into view. The warm sunlight kissed your skin, a far cry from the cold hospital walls. This, oddly enough, felt freeing. And it was even better knowing Sunghoon was stuck with you through it. He owed you, after all.

As you rolled along the garden’s paths, you caught sight of something from the corner of your eye—flashes. The unmistakable click of cameras. Paparazzi.

Your smile widened. You remembered the lies Sunghoon had told the nurse—how he had casually, with that infuriating confidence, claimed you were his girlfriend to save face. He was wealthy, privileged, and undoubtedly terrified of the media catching wind of the real story—that he was the one who crashed into you and got you in this mess.

A WICKED IDEA BLOOMED IN YOUR MIND.

Without warning, you let out a loud, exaggerated sob, your shoulders shaking dramatically as you hid your face in your hands. The sound echoed across the garden, loud enough that even the photographers several feet away perked up, their lenses immediately focusing on you.

Sunghoon immediately froze, halting the wheelchair in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he moved to your side, kneeling down beside you. His eyes darted around, realizing the attention you were drawing.

But you didn’t stop. You cried even louder, your voice cracking as you spoke, “It’s because of you! You ruined me! You ruined my life!” Your words were over the top, a dramatic sob story for the cameras.

Sunghoon’s eyes went wide with panic, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He glanced over at the paparazzi, whose cameras were now flashing like crazy, capturing every tear, every quiver of your voice. “You’re kidding, right?” His voice was low, trying to keep his cool but clearly rattled.

You shot him a look through tear-filled eyes that could have won you an Oscar for Best Actress. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” you sobbed again, clutching your leg for dramatic effect. “All because you weren’t paying attention!”

He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he desperately tried to contain the situation. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded, his eyes darting nervously between you and the flashing cameras.

But you weren’t done. Oh no. You were just getting started. “I should’ve never trusted you!” you wailed, loud enough for the photographers to pick up every word.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, panic flooding his features as the paparazzi moved closer, their cameras capturing every second of your breakdown. He looked desperate, and it was almost... satisfying. Watching him squirm under the weight of his own lies felt like sweet revenge.

You were just about to spill the whole truth—about how he’d been the one to hit you with his motorbike, how he’d been pretending you were his girlfriend to save his reputation—when Sunghoon, clearly sensing what you were about to do, suddenly placed his hand firmly over your mouth, silencing you in an instant.

Your eyes widened in shock as his palm pressed against your lips. Without saying a word, he grabbed the wheelchair handles with his other hand and started pushing you back toward the hospital entrance, ignoring the flurry of camera flashes now going wild as the paparazzi captured the scene.

You muffled against his hand, glaring at him furiously as he practically ran down the hospital pathway, steering you out of sight from the media frenzy.

He didn’t stop until you were back inside the hospital, away from prying eyes. When he finally removed his hand from your mouth, you gasped, shooting him a withering glare.

“What the hell, Sunghoon?!” you yelled, still breathless from the intensity of it all.

He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. “What the hell? Are you insane?! You were going to ruin me out there!”

“I should ruin you!” you shot back, crossing your arms as best as you could in the wheelchair. “You deserve it!”

His face softened for just a split second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you drag me down that easily.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden tension between you—something beyond the irritation, beyond the bickering. Something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

He turned away, gripping the wheelchair handles once more as he moved you back toward your room in silence. And as much as you hated him, you couldn’t help but feel something else too.

As Sunghoon pushed your wheelchair back into the hospital, you couldn’t help but notice the other patients scattered throughout the halls. Most were older, their faces worn with the kind of wisdom you only get from enduring the passage of time. You saw them glance your way, eyes lighting up with admiration, clearly assuming that you and Sunghoon were some kind of tragic but loving couple, destined to overcome hardship together.

Ha. As if.

There wasn’t a drop of love here. The very thought made you internally cringe. If only they knew the truth—that Sunghoon was the reason you were in this wheelchair in the first place. That this whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ facade was just a cover-up for his recklessness. But, no. To them, he was probably some knight in shining armor, dutifully pushing his beloved around the hospital.

You caught a glimpse of an elderly woman giving you a soft smile, and you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. This wasn’t a fairytale romance—it was a mess. A tangled, ridiculous mess.

Sunghoon finally maneuvered you back into your hospital room, the wheels of the chair squeaking as he parked it beside your bed. He bent down, his fingers curling around the handles of the wheelchair as if ready to help you out. For a brief second, you could see the faint lines of stress etched into his face, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.

Before he could do anything, though, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to answer, but eventually muttered, “I’ll just take this real quick.”

He stepped away, answering the call with a curt, “Yeah?” His voice was low, tense. As the conversation unfolded, you heard snippets of his replies: “I know better,” and “I’m an adult,” followed by a string of sighs. You couldn’t hear the other person on the line, but you could guess. It was probably one of his parents, likely lecturing him for spending so much time around you. After all, why would the rich, polished Sunghoon waste his precious time with some girl he’d accidentally injured?

But the truth was, Sunghoon couldn’t just up and leave you. Oh no. The media was already onto you both, snapping pictures every time you were in public together. If he suddenly disappeared now, they’d think he was the kind of guy who bailed on his girlfriend just because she got injured. His reputation would plummet faster than you’d hit the ground earlier.

Still, was it the truth? That Sunghoon didn’t want to be around you?

The reality was more complicated. You couldn’t even imagine calling him a friend, let alone anything more. This was a weird, temporary arrangement—nothing else.

“I’ll be back,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, still distracted by his phone. Without a second glance in your direction, he hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared.

Wait. What?

You blinked, staring at the empty space where he had been just moments ago. Did he seriously just walk out without helping you get back into bed? Your mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered to the empty room.

You waited, expecting him to come back any minute now, to walk in with that same frustrated expression and a sarcastic apology on his lips. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Nothing.

An entire hour dragged by, and still—no Sunghoon. The nurse was nowhere to be found either, probably off on her rounds, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

The frustration boiled inside you. There was no way you were going to stay trapped in this wheelchair any longer. It wasn’t comfortable, and the bed—despite being stiff and unwelcoming—looked like heaven compared to the cold seat you were stuck in.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to do it yourself.

Carefully, you placed your hands on the armrests, trying to hoist yourself up. Your fractured leg protested immediately, the dull ache turning into a sharp pain, but you ignored it. You couldn’t afford to fall, not now. You just had to get onto the bed.

One step. Then another.

You winced as your good leg took the brunt of your weight, wobbling unsteadily. It was like trying to walk a tightrope while holding a stack of plates. Your body swayed, arms trembling as you gripped the bed frame for support. Almost there. You could feel the edge of the mattress pressing against your fingertips.

And then—your foot slipped.

With a sickening thud, you fell face-first into the mattress, your body collapsing awkwardly against the bed frame. Pain shot through your leg as you let out a sharp gasp.

“Damn it!” you cursed under your breath, your voice muffled by the bedspread. “Sunghoon, this is all your fault!”

You lay there for a moment, too stunned and too furious to move. How could he just leave you like that? The idiot was probably off taking some important call while you were stuck in this miserable situation. Your hatred for him simmered again, bubbling to the surface like boiling water ready to spill over.

With a groan, you tried to push yourself up, your muscles straining as you fought to get into a proper position on the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. All you could think about was how Sunghoon was going to get an earful when—if—he ever came back.

But, despite the frustration, there was something else gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. Something about the way his expression had softened just before he left, like he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you. Like there was something there, beneath all the sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs.

No. You shook your head, refusing to entertain the idea. This wasn’t some cliché hospital romance where the guy who ruined your life suddenly became your savior. Sunghoon wasn’t some misunderstood prince charming. He was just... Sunghoon. Annoying, frustrating, and absolutely the last person you wanted to deal with.

Still, as you lay there, face buried in the hospital bed, you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing frustration twisting into something else. Something far more complicated.

THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A HAZE.

And the day after that.

And another day.

Each one crawled by, dragging itself through hours that felt like days. But Sunghoon didn’t return. Not a text, not a call, not even a shadow of his presence outside your hospital room. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence gnawed at you. Was he sick? Had something happened? Why the hell were you even wondering about it?

You shouldn’t care.

You didn’t care.

In fact, you should be overjoyed if he had caught some miserable flu. Or—better yet—if he had gotten into trouble of his own for once. You’d be happy. Relieved, even.

Right?

Except, you weren’t. Something unsettling tugged at the back of your mind. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t said a word before disappearing. But the more you tried to push the thought away, the more it latched onto you.

And then the door to your hospital room creaked open, a slow twist of the knob announcing a presence you hadn’t expected.

In walked a woman.

Her aura screamed wealth, a kind of quiet, effortless opulence that you recognized instantly—the tailored coat, the way her silk scarf draped perfectly over her shoulders, and most notably, her glasses. You had never seen anyone wear glasses that looked like they cost more than your entire hospital stay.

She didn’t spare you much of a glance at first, too busy taking off her glasses with a dismissive flick of her wrist. But as soon as her eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, and instantly made you sit up straighter in bed, pressing your back against the headboard.

Was this Sunghoon’s mother?

The question popped into your mind, but the answer came without you having to ask. Her next words confirmed everything.

“So, you’re that girl,” she said, her voice clipped as her eyes flickered over you. It wasn’t even a question, more of a statement. You were that girl—the one her son had dragged into this mess. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but somehow managed to muster some sarcasm.

“Yeah, the girl your son fractured the leg of,” you shot back, the words leaving your mouth with a little too much venom. But, realizing this was probably not the time for jokes, you cleared your throat.

The woman didn’t look amused. Instead, she merely hummed, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m here to talk,” she said flatly, ignoring your tone entirely. Her eyes, sharp as ever, stayed fixed on you, not even bothering with an introduction. You could hear some faint commotion outside the room, likely the nurses eavesdropping, curious about the sudden appearance of such an elegant woman.

“Okay…” you replied, scratching the back of your neck nervously, your mind already racing. What could she possibly want?

Without a hint of hesitation, Sunghoon’s mother stepped closer to your bed, pulling something out of her bag—a cheque. She laid it on your blanket-covered lap with a kind of quiet authority that made it clear this wasn’t a negotiation.

“Take this,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And leave my son.”

You blinked, staring at the cheque in disbelief. Was this really happening? It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a cheesy drama. Your mouth opened to respond, but before you could, she continued, her tone icy and business-like.

“If the media says anything, tell them the two of you broke up because of something you did.”

The words hit you like a slap. So this was it, huh? A payoff. A quick exit plan for the inconvenience you had become. Without thinking, you picked up the cheque. Shamelessly, even. You weren’t going to pretend like you weren’t curious. Your eyes widened slightly as you glanced at the amount.

It was a lot.

Enough to cover an expensive surgery. Heck, enough to completely change your life—your face, your identity. Maybe even start fresh. Your heart raced for a moment, but then a sneaky idea popped into your head. Maybe you could push this a little further.

“I can’t take this,” you muttered, putting on your best ‘reluctant’ act. You hoped it came off as genuine, like you were too noble to accept a bribe. You glanced up at her from under your lashes, waiting to see her reaction.

For a split second, her eyes narrowed, and then—without a word—she reached into her bag again, pulling out another cheque. This one was double the amount of the first.

Your internal grin nearly split your face in two.

“I’ll take it,” you replied immediately, the words leaving your mouth faster than you could process them. You grabbed the second cheque, abandoning any pretense of hesitation. This was too good to pass up. Who cared about Sunghoon? You weren’t even his girlfriend. You didn’t owe him anything, and this was way too much money to let go.

Sunghoon’s mother arched a brow, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “You’re smart,” she said, her voice dripping with a patronizing kind of approval. Before you could even react, she patted your head like you were some kind of obedient puppy. The gesture made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to stay still, biting back the urge to snap at her.

With that, she turned and strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the tiled floor in a rhythm that oozed confidence and control. You watched her leave, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the distant chatter outside the door. You glanced down at the cheques in your hands, the weight of them sinking in.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. This was it. After years of living in that godforsaken orphanage, of scraping by, of enduring the endless bullying—you were finally getting a break.

Who knew a fractured leg could be this profitable? If this was what came from one little accident, maybe getting hit again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

At least you knew one thing for sure: money beats boys. Every time.

YOU EXPECTED TO NEVER SEE SUNGHOON EVER AGAIN. In fact, you had made peace with it—or, at least, you thought you had. But that didn’t stop the daily ritual that had developed between you, Wonyoung, and Hanni.

They sat on either side of your hospital bed, a swirl of indignation and venom, bitching relentlessly about the guy who had caused all of this—Sunghoon.

At least you had your friends. They were here, taking time out of their lives to be by your side, and if that wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was. Wonyoung sat perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs crossed with effortless grace, while Hanni lounged at the foot of your bed, absently stroking your hair like you were a cat. They had barely paused for breath since they’d walked into the room, diving headfirst into their favorite topic: how much they despised Sunghoon.

"I mean, the guy just fractures your leg and disappears without so much as a note?" Wonyoung scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief as she flung her arms in the air like she wanted to strangle him. She shot you a look that said how could you have possibly put up with this idiot?

“And let’s not forget,” Hanni added, leaning forward conspiratorially as if Sunghoon might somehow hear them through the walls, “he’s probably just out there living his little rich boy life while you’re stuck in here, waiting for your leg to heal.”

She shook her head in disgust, fingers still lightly grazing your scalp. “Rich bastards are always like this,” she muttered under her breath, giving you a soft pat like she was reassuring you that you weren’t alone in your suffering.

You could feel a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, watching the two of them fuel each other’s fire. Neither of them had actually met Sunghoon, but they hated him with the burning passion of a thousand suns, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious to watch.

“I know, right? Like, how dare he?” Wonyoung continued, practically vibrating with indignation. “Does he think just because he’s rich and pretty, he can just act like that and not have any consequences?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a thin line, as she mimicked slapping someone in the air. “If I ever see him, I swear to god I’m going to knock some sense into that stupid, spoiled—”

“Oh, please,” Hanni interrupted with a snort. “If you ever saw him, you'd probably get distracted by how disgustingly handsome he is and forget all about punching him.”

Wonyoung blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Me? Never. I’m immune to pretty boys.”

“Sure.” Hanni teased, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to your last crush.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their bickering, the sound surprising you. It was strange how comforting their presence was, even though all they seemed to do was rip into Sunghoon. Not that you minded, of course. They were right—he deserved it. Completely.

…Right?

You listened as they went back and forth, each taking turns trashing him for his ghosting act. The more they bitched, the more venomous their words became, but somewhere deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a small, annoying tug of… something else.

Sure, you hated Sunghoon. You absolutely detested him. He had caused this whole mess, fractured your leg, and then vanished into thin air without so much as a “Sorry, hope you’re doing okay.” The guy didn’t even have the decency to send flowers. Who does that?

But… still. A part of you—a very, very tiny part—missed him. Even though he was infuriating. Even though he’d probably caused you more stress than anyone else in your life. You couldn’t shake the strange pang of absence, the way the hospital room felt oddly emptier without him awkwardly hovering around like your personal nurse. Maybe it was the fact that, for a few fleeting moments, you’d been able to annoy the hell out of him and enjoy watching him fumble over basic hospital tasks. There was a twisted kind of satisfaction in making a guy like him—a spoiled, oblivious rich boy—take care of you.

But more than that, you missed having someone to direct your frustration at. As much as you enjoyed watching Wonyoung and Hanni tear him to shreds on your behalf, it wasn’t quite the same.

“Seriously, though,” Hanni said, dragging you out of your thoughts, “I bet he’s out at some fancy restaurant right now, eating caviar or whatever rich people eat, without a single thought about you.”

Wonyoung huffed, leaning back on her elbows. “Probably. You know, I bet he’s never even eaten instant ramen. Can you imagine?”

You snorted. “Yeah, because the moment he tastes anything less than five-star cuisine, his delicate palate might collapse.”

Wonyoung laughed, but then her expression grew more serious. “It’s just messed up, though. He leaves you here to rot, and for what? Did he even like you?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Who knows? I think I was just a… distraction for him.”

“That’s even worse,” Hanni said, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you should’ve asked for more when his mom came by with that cheque. They owe you a hell of a lot more than just money after all this.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widened. “Wait, his mom came here? And gave you money?”

“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that part,” you said, suppressing a grin as you leaned back against your pillow. “Yeah, his mom basically bribed me to stay away from him. Two cheques, actually.”

Hanni’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” you replied, the grin breaking free. “Apparently, I was such a nuisance that she wanted to pay me off to disappear from Sunghoon’s life for good.”

Wonyoung let out a low whistle. “Damn. You should’ve held out for a third cheque.”

“Honestly,” Hanni added, shaking her head in disbelief. “Rich people are something else.”

You laughed, a bit more genuinely this time, as they continued to bitch about Sunghoon and his high-society family. But despite the humor and the camaraderie, there was still that nagging feeling. That tiny, irritating itch in the back of your mind.

You didn’t miss him—not exactly. But maybe, just maybe, you missed the chaos that came with him. And, unfortunately, chaos had a way of finding its way back.

You just didn’t know it yet.

“Woah, I didn’t expect you to bad bitch about me the second I disappear,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, smooth and dripping with sarcasm. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it was. The all-too-familiar dramatic hurt expression was already imprinted in your mind—the same one Sunghoon wore whenever he wanted to be the center of attention, which was, frankly, all the time.

You snapped your head in his direction, and there he was—leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as if he hadn't just walked in unannounced, with that smug smirk plastered on his ridiculously perfect face. His brows were raised in mock disbelief, his lips twisted into an amused pout, as if he'd caught you red-handed in the act of a crime. How dare you talk about me when I’m not here? his expression screamed. But it wasn’t just that. No. Sunghoon looked… annoyingly good.

The worst part? He knew it.

Hanni and Wonyoung, who had been enthusiastically leading the charge in your anti-Sunghoon crusade just moments ago, froze mid-rant, their jaws practically hitting the floor. The air thickened with awkward tension, the kind that made your stomach do a weird flip. You glanced at your friends, fully expecting them to keep up the bitching. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now—not after all the trash-talking they’d just unleashed on his name, right? But when you turned to look at them, all you saw were wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Wait a minute. Were they… shy?

Hanni was the first to break. Her voice, usually sharp and unfiltered, faltered as she stared at Sunghoon like he had descended from the heavens. “Were we talking about him?” she whispered under her breath, as if you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes cursing his existence. She blinked, clearly taken aback by his presence. So handsome, so— you could practically hear her thoughts scrambling for coherence.

Wonyoung, on the other hand, was shamelessly gawking. Gone was the fire-breathing dragon ready to rip Sunghoon to shreds. Instead, she was wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen a human so beautiful in her life. “Uh…” She trailed off, her brain short-circuiting under his gaze. So much for being immune to pretty boys.

You huffed, rolling your eyes at their sudden change of demeanor. Traitors.

Before you could say anything, Sunghoon took a leisurely step into the room, his presence practically swallowing the space whole. “Your mom told me to stay away from you,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him in the hopes that it would somehow send him running for the hills. As if mentioning his mother would magically undo his annoying existence. “And by the way,” you added, “I’m not giving that money back. No way.”

Sunghoon’s smirk only widened, the infuriating bastard. “Well, yeah,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, “she told you to stay away from me, but I’m still allowed to stay close to you. You’re not the one initiating this.” He shrugged, as if his logic was sound and you were the one being difficult.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. What? You actually had to tilt your head back to process that nonsense. Was he serious? You blinked, glanced up at the ceiling as if the answer to his ridiculous statement might be written up there, and then back at him.

He wasn’t joking.

You were about to retort—about to remind him just how absurd that sounded—when you glanced at your two supposed best friends, expecting them to jump in and tear him a new one. But instead, they were still sitting there, suddenly very preoccupied with… being shy? Their gazes darted anywhere but at Sunghoon, as if he was some untouchable, otherworldly figure they couldn’t dare criticize anymore.

You scoffed under your breath. Unbelievable.

“Well…” You tried to gather your thoughts, but before you could finish, Hanni shifted beside you—by accident, of course—and her elbow brushed against your injured leg. Pain shot through your body, and you winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ow!”

Immediately, Sunghoon was at your side, crossing the room in a flash, his expression now serious as he kneeled beside you, his hands hovering over your injured leg. “Are you okay? Let me see.”

Your instinct was to push him away—to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The last thing you needed was him fussing over you like he actually cared. But you were injured, and Sunghoon had the upper hand—literally. His fingers gently pressed against your leg, checking to see if you were in pain, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop him. You tried to shove him off, but he was stronger, and your body wasn’t exactly in fighting shape.

“Stop—” you muttered, but your voice was weak. And, truthfully, despite how much you hated him, you let him check because… well, he was good at it. Annoyingly good.

Hanni, meanwhile, had the audacity to mutter under her breath, “Should’ve brought popcorn. This is hella interesting.” She shot you a guilty look, clearly aware that she’d caused the whole thing by bumping into your leg, but that didn’t stop her from thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding right before her eyes.

Wonyoung, who had somehow recovered from her stunned silence, leaned back and muttered, “Right.” She was watching the whole scene play out like she was stuck in the middle of some romantic comedy, her eyes darting between you and Sunghoon like she was waiting for the inevitable kiss scene.

“Weren’t you two on the #hatehim team?” you hissed, glaring at both of them as Sunghoon finally pulled back, satisfied that your leg wasn’t worse off than before.

Wonyoung blinked innocently, already gathering her things. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Hanni added with a shrug, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “We’re just, uh… neutral parties.”

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, they both stood, gathered their bags, and exchanged quick looks like they had just silently agreed on something. In unison, they made their way to the door, Wonyoung gesturing for Hanni to follow her like they were in some secret mission.

“Wait—are you leaving?!” you called after them, your voice laced with disbelief.

Hanni flashed you an apologetic smile, but her feet didn’t stop moving. “We’ll see you later! Good luck!”

With that, the two of them excused themselves, slipping out of the room like nothing had happened, leaving you alone with Sunghoon. You blinked after them, incredulous. They had changed their minds way too fast. How the hell did that even happen? Just ten minutes ago, they had been ripping Sunghoon apart, and now? Now they were acting like he was some kind of romantic hero who had fallen from the stars to sweep you off your feet.

You sighed, sinking back against your pillow.

But even as you stared at the door, trying to figure out how your two best friends had suddenly betrayed you, the nagging worry crept back into your mind. The cheques. You couldn’t help but glance at Sunghoon out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he would tell his mom about this little reunion. You would kill him if the money got taken back.

And just like that, Sunghoon was once again at the center of your frustrations—always, always causing trouble.

THE FACT THAT THE SUNGHOON — the only son of Park Corporation—had re-entered your life wasn’t exactly a secret, nor did it stay hidden from the one person who mattered most: his mother. There was no way she’d let this slide. And just as you predicted, not long after Sunghoon's unexpected return, his mother showed up at your hospital room door once again, this time with backup.

And by backup, you meant Sunghoon's older cousin brother, Jay. A man whose only crime, as far as you could tell, was being related to the Park family. If Sunghoon was infuriating, Jay seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His discomfort radiated off him like a bad cologne—too strong, and kind of pitiful. His eyes darted nervously around the room, like he was scared to make eye contact with you. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if he knew why he was there.

Mrs. Park nudged him sharply, her manicured nails digging into his arm. “Tell her,” she hissed, clearly fed up with his lack of initiative.

Jay, however, looked more like he was preparing for a high school speech than an intimidating favor-demanding confrontation. He rubbed the back of his neck, looked down at his palm, probably reciting some mental script he had prepared on the way here, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh… so…”

You raised an eyebrow. Was this really happening? The Park Corporation sent this guy? This was their best shot at trying to intimidate you? First, Sunghoon barges into your life like a hurricane, and now his cousin shows up, looking like he’s one deep breath away from fainting. Honestly, you felt bad for Mrs. Park. How did she expect these two to run a massive conglomerate? You stifled a laugh, pity almost bubbling up in your chest.

Before Jay could stumble through another word, though, the door burst open, and in walked the person you least wanted to see. Of course. Of course Sunghoon had perfect timing. He always seemed to show up when things were about to get interesting, like some messed-up alarm system that detected whenever you were about to make some extra cash off his family’s dramatics. You barely blinked before he was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as if he hadn’t just barged in.

“Jay,” Sunghoon muttered, his tone heavy with disappointment, “You too?”

Jay immediately straightened up, as if trying to salvage what little pride he had left. “Your mom asked me to. Trust me, I didn’t want to do this.” He stepped back, throwing his hands up as though he were surrendering to the inevitable.

Sunghoon’s mother, however, had zero patience for this nonsense. She let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her temple as if dealing with two grown men acting like toddlers was giving her a migraine. “What else could I do when my son is wasting his time on this?” She waved a hand in your direction, as though you were an unpleasant distraction from Sunghoon’s otherwise charmed life. Her voice dripped with irritation, as though you were personally responsible for ruining her perfectly laid plans.

You paused mid-bite, glancing at her with an amused smirk. She had brought her son’s cousin to what? Scare you? Threaten you into backing off? You leaned back against the pillows on your hospital bed, casually spearing another piece of the expensive meal Sunghoon had brought you earlier. A luxurious spread, by the way. How thoughtful. You chewed slowly, savoring both the food and the unfolding chaos in front of you. It was like watching a soap opera, but better, because it was real. And because you were the center of it.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed by his mother’s theatrics. “This again? Seriously, Mom?” His gaze flickered toward Jay, who was doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. “You got Jay involved in this?”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Mrs. Park snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood in the middle of the room, clearly expecting to command the entire situation with her presence alone. “I can’t just stand by while you throw away your future on—” She glanced at you with disdain, the kind only a Park could muster. “This girl.”

You snorted, taking another bite of food. “This girl is sitting right here, you know.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you, briefly softening in what might have been sympathy—or maybe annoyance. Hard to tell. Either way, he turned back to his mother, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “I’m not ‘throwing away’ anything. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

His mother wasn’t having it. “You’ve been running around for days, ignoring your responsibilities for this… this situation!” She gestured dramatically toward you as if you were some scandalous tabloid headline.

You set down your fork and raised an eyebrow. “It’s cute that you think you can still control him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that screamed you’re not helping.

Mrs. Park glared at her son, then at you, her lips pressing into a thin line. “This isn’t about control,” she said icily, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s about ensuring you don’t ruin your life over some impulsive decision.”

Jay, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. He kept glancing between the three of you, clearly regretting every single decision that led him here. He took a step back, slowly edging toward the door, clearly hoping no one would notice him escaping.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, your voice teasing but firm, “You’re part of this mess now, Jay.”

His eyes widened in mild panic. “I—I don’t—”

But before he could defend himself, Sunghoon’s mother cut in, “Jay, tell her.” She prodded him again, practically pushing him into the spotlight.

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for an exit. “Uh, look, I… I don’t really want to do this, but…” He paused, throwing an apologetic look your way, “Can you just… maybe think about backing off? Just… consider it? For me?” His voice was pleading, clearly not cut out for this whole intimidation thing.

Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this entire situation was giving him a migraine. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His mother snapped. “You’re wasting your time. There are other priorities for someone in your position.”

Sunghoon’s patience was clearly wearing thin, his jaw tightening as he responded. “You keep saying that. But you’re not listening to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, low and quiet, as you continued to enjoy the spectacle. The three of them—Sunghoon, his mom, and Jay—bickering like some dysfunctional family sitcom, while you sat back, fully immersed in your gourmet meal.

“This is better than TV,” you muttered to yourself, watching as they tried to one-up each other.

Mrs. Park shot you a death glare, but you just smiled back innocently, because really, what was she going to do? Take your meal away?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward you again, and for a moment, there was a hint of something softer in his expression. Frustration, maybe. Or something that bordered on concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jay, finally finding his courage, jumped in again.

“You know,” Jay said, sounding more desperate than threatening, “this would all be easier if we just… moved on. You know?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “Easier for who?”

Jay hesitated, clearly realizing he was in over his head. His shoulders slumped, clearly realizing that he wasn’t getting out of this alive—figuratively, at least. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Sunghoon, probably weighing whether it was safer to keep talking or to just bolt. He ended up choosing the safer route: silence.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was far from done. His gaze sharpened as he turned toward his mother, who was glaring at him with the ferocity only a woman scorned by her own son could muster.

“I’m serious, Mom,” Sunghoon said, voice tense but controlled. “You can’t keep barging into my life like this. It’s not going to work.”

Mrs. Park scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I barged into your life? Are you kidding me, Sunghoon? You’re the one who keeps throwing everything away for… for her,” she spat, pointing an accusing finger in your direction.

You almost choked on your food but managed to swallow it down, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hey. Don’t drag me into this. I’m just eating.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked back to you for a moment, his expression softening. It was brief, but there was something almost apologetic in his eyes before he looked back at his mother.

“Whatever you think is going on here, it’s not what you think,” Sunghoon said, his voice taut with frustration. “I’m not ‘throwing anything away.’”

Mrs. Park’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wasting your time, Sunghoon. You should be focusing on the company, your future, not this… whatever this is.”

She waved a dismissive hand in your direction, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t exactly a fan of being treated like some pesky side project Sunghoon needed to get rid of, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to take seriously.

“So, what,” you said, leaning back in your bed, eyes flicking between the three of them, “You’re all here to—what? Threaten me? Make me back off? Because I gotta be honest, this isn’t working.” You gestured toward Jay, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, and Mrs. Park, who was glaring daggers at you.

Sunghoon’s mother took a step forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m not here to play games with you, girl. I’m here to ensure my son’s future. You’re nothing but a distraction.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, feigning hurt. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated with the whole ordeal. “Mom, you’re not helping. Just… stop, okay?”

“Helping?” Mrs. Park echoed incredulously, as though the very idea was laughable. “You think I’m not helping by trying to save your future from her?”

You were starting to get a little irritated, even if the whole situation was more laughable than threatening. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy land you’re living in, but Sunghoon is the one who came to me. Not the other way around. If you’re so worried about his future, maybe start with him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that said please stop fanning the flames, but you were past caring at this point. You’d had enough of this woman coming into your life and treating you like you were some common gold-digger. She didn’t know the half of it.

His mother, however, seemed immune to reason. She shot her son a glare. “You’re throwing your life away, Sunghoon. I raised you better than this.”

And finally, something in Sunghoon snapped. His usually calm demeanor cracked as he stepped forward, his voice low and sharp. “No, what you did was control my entire life. And guess what? I’m done. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need you micromanaging every decision I make.”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting this outburst. Even Jay looked taken aback, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. This was getting good.

“Sunghoon—”

“No, Mom. Stop,” Sunghoon cut her off, his voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this because you care about me. You’re doing this because you care about your image. About the company’s image.”

His mother recoiled as though she’d been slapped, her perfectly manicured nails curling into fists at her sides. “How dare you—”

“How dare I?” Sunghoon laughed bitterly. “You’ve been treating me like a business deal my whole life, Mom. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

The room fell silent, the tension so thick you could practically feel it pressing down on your chest. Sunghoon’s mother stood frozen in place, her face a mixture of fury and shock.

Jay, sensing the growing hostility, started inching toward the door again, but before he could make his grand escape, Mrs. Park turned to him, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Jay, we’re leaving.”

Jay practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to comply. He glanced at you briefly—an apologetic look that almost said sorry for the drama—before scurrying out of the room behind his aunt.

Mrs. Park paused in the doorway, turning to throw one last glare in your direction. “This isn’t over.”

You raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly taking another bite of your meal. “Looking forward to round two.”

She glared, and with a sharp turn, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the room, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the bickering that had just taken place.

For a moment, neither you nor Sunghoon spoke. He stood there, still reeling from the argument, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You swallowed the last bite of your meal, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you glanced up at him.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, “that was fun.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on the floor, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “For what?”

“For all of… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the door where his mother and cousin had exited. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m used to it. Your mom’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sunghoon muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, humorless smile.

A beat of silence passed between you, the tension slowly dissolving now that the storm had passed. But there was still something unspoken lingering in the air, something that felt heavier than the drama with his mother.

You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “So… what now?”

Sunghoon hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at you. For the first time, there was no sarcasm, no playful banter. Just the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “But I do know one thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his tone firm, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what she says. No matter what anyone says.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his voice, but you kept your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. “That sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Sunghoon stood by the edge of your hospital bed, arms crossed over his chest, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room as the dim light from the ceiling flickered slightly. His gaze was a mix of disbelief and frustration, but there was an edge of something softer, something unreadable, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or get defensive at your latest jab.

"Anyways, aren't you the heir?" You muttered, the words slipping out casually as you fiddled with the blanket, your tone attempting to sound neutral. But deep down, you knew exactly what you were doing. Trying to reason with Mrs. Park—despite her endless insults—wasn’t out of some newfound respect for her. No, this was a survival tactic. Sunghoon might equal trouble, but his mother? She was the gateway to all those fat cheques. You knew better than to entirely burn that bridge, even if it was hanging by a thread.

Sunghoon raised a brow at you, clearly not expecting the sudden change in direction. "You think she's worried about me?" he scoffed, almost incredulous.

You shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet his gaze for too long. "I just think… maybe she's concerned about your future," you muttered, your words laced with an attempt to seem logical, though your true motive lay elsewhere. You tugged the hospital blanket tighter around your legs, which still ached from the accident. A small price to pay for someone like him smashing into you.

He leaned against the wall, his stance casual but his expression anything but. "Future?" Sunghoon repeated, almost bitterly. He huffed before muttering under his breath, "I'm a racer."

You nearly choked on your own breath at that. A racer. The very notion of it was absurd, especially given how he ended up here with you in the hospital in the first place.

"No wonder she's worried." The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice barely audible, but loud enough for him to catch. You glanced at him through the corner of your eye, noticing how his expression morphed from mild irritation to downright disbelief.

“What do you mean, ‘no wonder she’s worried’?” He demanded, straightening up, arms uncrossing as he took a step closer to you, like you’d just accused him of being some criminal mastermind.

You didn’t even try to stifle the small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Come on, Sunghoon. Let’s be real for a second. You're not exactly... the best driver." You gestured lazily towards your leg, which was propped up in a cast. “Even on a motorbike, you managed to get my leg broken.”

He let out a deep sigh, frustration evident in the way he rolled his eyes, muttering, “Shut up,” under his breath, though the edges of his lips twitched upwards for a second. He hated that you had a point. But there was no real venom in his words, just mild annoyance, the kind that came from knowing someone had you cornered.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze drifting from you to the small bouquet of flowers on the side table, then back to you. His posture screamed discomfort, as if he wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to his own vulnerability. After a long pause, he finally asked the question you’d been dodging for a while now, his voice dipping into something almost concerned. “But why were you drunk, though? I mean, they found alcohol in your tests that day."

Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly waved it off, eyes flicking away to avoid his gaze. "I just had a bad day, okay?" The words came out a little too quickly, a little too defensive, and you knew it wasn’t the full story. But the last thing you wanted was to dive into your own mess, especially not with him.

Sunghoon didn’t push further, his gaze softening slightly, but he wasn't one to leave a conversation dangling for too long. “Why were you speeding, though?” You shot back, raising an eyebrow in return. If he was going to dig into your mess, you had every right to poke at his.

The corner of his mouth twitched nervously as he chuckled, his usual bravado faltering for a split second. You knew something was up. Sunghoon never got nervous. Not like this.

"Well..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes darting away from you, unable to maintain eye contact for too long.

“Well?" You pressed, folding your arms across your chest as you waited for whatever ridiculous excuse he had to offer.

Sunghoon let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "My dad saw me riding," he muttered. "So I was kinda in a hurry."

For a second, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "That’s it?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. "Your dad saw you riding, and that made you speed? You didn't even bother to stop when you crashed into me?”

He fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze, but he shrugged helplessly. "I didn’t see you, okay? I was too busy trying to avoid him."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, sinking back into your pillows with a sigh. “That's it? And here I thought you were doing drug deals or something.”

The sarcasm in your voice was unmistakable, though you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation had turned out to be. For someone who was supposedly the heir to a powerful corporation, Sunghoon had a way of complicating the most straightforward situations.

He blinked at you in disbelief, the tips of his ears turning red. "What? Drug dealing? Really?" he muttered, crossing his arms again as he leaned against the bed frame, clearly not impressed by your comment. But his reaction only made you grin wider.

You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean, with how secretive you’ve been acting, who could blame me for assuming the worst?”

Sunghoon huffed, shaking his head in mild exasperation, though the ghost of a smile lingered on his face. "Trust me, my life is complicated enough without any of that.”

“Complicated, huh?” you echoed, your gaze drifting toward him. His posture had relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of frustration hanging between the two of you. You could tell there was more to the story, more that he wasn’t saying.

But you weren’t one to push, not when you had your own secrets buried deep.

You let the conversation die down after that, the room filled with a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sunghoon stayed by your side, despite everything, leaning against the frame of your bed as his eyes softened, watching you finish your meal with quiet focus. And for a moment, the tension between you eased, like the storm had passed, leaving behind a fragile calm.

But even in the silence, you couldn’t help but notice the small gestures—the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the bedpost, the way his gaze lingered a little too long on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something between you two, a line that neither of you wanted to cross, yet both kept flirting with.

And for the first time, the thought of it didn't scare you.

THE NEXT MORNING,

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the sterile white walls of the hospital room. The monotonous hum of the machines, the occasional beep from the heart monitor, and the muted footsteps of nurses outside became the background symphony of your stay. You blinked your eyes open slowly, your body stiff from yet another restless night, and as your vision adjusted, the familiar dull ache in your leg grounded you back into the reality you’d been living for the past few days.

BUT TODAY, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

As you shifted slightly, careful not to agitate the cast on your leg, your gaze fell to the chair beside your bed. There he was—Park Sunghoon, slouched in the chair with his head resting against the armrest, his mouth slightly parted as soft, steady breaths escaped his lips. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach while the other rested close to yours, mere inches from the side of your bed. The sight was enough to make your breath hitch.

He’d stayed. Again.

For days, he had made this hospital room his second home, despite the biting remarks and the cold distance that had defined your relationship thus far. As if it was some kind of duty he couldn’t escape, some obligation he had to fulfill for the sake of his reputation or his family. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. There’s no way he actually cares.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, especially in moments like this, when his face was stripped of its usual bravado, his guard completely down. He looked… peaceful. Innocent, even.

“If I didn’t know you were doing this for your reputation,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper, “I would’ve thought you loved me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and laced with something unspoken, something you weren’t quite ready to confront. You didn’t mean for him to hear it—he was asleep, after all—but there was a strange comfort in voicing the thought aloud, even if only to yourself.

You found yourself leaning a little closer, the distance between your bed and the chair barely enough to separate you two. Your fingers moved almost of their own accord, hesitating at first, before gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm under your touch, soft despite the cold exterior he often portrayed. Your heart gave a nervous flutter as your finger ghosted over the delicate curve of his cheek, down to the bridge of his nose, and finally stopping at his lips.

Your breath caught as you stared at them—soft, slightly parted, and so close. There was something about this moment that felt dangerously intimate, a line you weren’t sure you should be crossing. But before you could pull away, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm, halting your retreat.

Your heart stilled, the world suddenly reduced to the quiet space between the two of you. Sunghoon's eyes fluttered open slowly, his lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. He blinked once, twice, before his sleepy gaze focused on you, still hazy with the remnants of sleep. His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, but not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you from escaping.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep, the kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine. His words hung in the air, thick with confusion but also curiosity, as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be offended or amused.

Your mind scrambled for an explanation, anything to diffuse the tension suddenly filling the room. "There was a mosquito," you blurted out, your voice barely steady, attempting to sound casual as you tugged on your wrist, but he didn’t let go.

His brow arched in suspicion, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "A mosquito… on my lips?” he questioned, the incredulity in his tone barely masked by amusement. He pushed himself up from the chair, his hand still holding yours, and in a fluid motion, he was leaning over the side of the bed, closer—much closer—than he had any right to be.

The proximity was suffocating. You could feel his breath fan across your face, warm and steady, each exhale sending a fresh wave of heat across your skin. His dark eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, were locked onto yours, and for a split second, you forgot how to breathe. The space between you was so small, so intimate, you could practically hear the rapid beat of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your face flushed crimson, the heat crawling up your neck as if you’d been caught doing something far worse than tracing his face. You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert, every muscle tensing under his intense gaze. "There… was something in my eye," you stammered, quickly averting your gaze as you finally pulled your hand away from his grip, your fingers trembling slightly as they found refuge behind your palms. You could feel the burn of embarrassment creeping up, your hands covering your face as if that could somehow hide the fact that you were blushing furiously.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed by your flustered state. He stood there for a moment longer, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something unreadable. He straightened up, stretching his arms above his head lazily, as if the moment that just passed was nothing more than a casual conversation.

But you knew better. There was something unspoken between you two, something that neither of you were ready to admit, but it lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

"Something in your eye, huh?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he glanced down at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with a casual familiarity that sent another wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

You peeked through your fingers, still hiding most of your face as you mumbled, "Shut up."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the tension in the air eased, replaced by something lighter, something teasing but… comfortable.

But even as he turned away, walking towards the window to stretch his legs, the ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was more to Sunghoon’s presence by your side than just reputation.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily as the midday sun spilled golden light into the hospital room, brightening the sterile white space that had become your temporary home. You sat on the edge of the bed, the nurse’s soft, encouraging voice still echoing in your ears after she had just removed your cast. The air felt electric with anticipation; you could finally walk again!

Sunghoon hovered by your side, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied you. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, but the seriousness behind it was unmistakable. You nodded enthusiastically, your heart racing with excitement. It felt like a monumental moment—like the first step of many to reclaiming your independence.

With the adrenaline coursing through you, you stood up, a determined grin stretching across your face. But as you took your first step, everything shifted dramatically. Your foot wobbled, and before you knew it, you were tumbling forward, hitting the floor with a thud that echoed around the room.

“Ugh!” you groaned, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you lay there, staring up at the fluorescent lights.

Sunghoon rushed forward, worry etched across his features, but before he could say anything, Wonyoung and Hanni burst into laughter, their giggles ringing like chimes through the room.

“Oh my god! Did you really just fall?” Hanni wheezed, nearly doubling over as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Looks like someone needs a little more practice!” Wonyoung added, her laughter infectious as she bent down to help you up, her hands extending towards you.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at yourself as they pulled you back to your feet. “Thanks, guys,” you mumbled, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

As they waved goodbye, still chuckling, Sunghoon remained behind, a bemused expression on his face. “That was quite the entrance,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, a playful glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” you retorted, trying to brush off your embarrassment as you plopped back onto the bed, sulking a little. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“Come on, you can’t let a little tumble discourage you!” Sunghoon grinned, stepping closer with a theatrical flourish. “I, Park Sunghoon, will be your walking coach! Let’s do this!” He mimicked a sports announcer, waving his arms as if hyping up a crowd. “And by the end of this session, you will be the champion of walking!”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. “I don’t need a coach. I just need to not fall again.”

“Too late for that! You’ve already set the bar pretty low,” he teased, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But don’t worry; I’ll help you reach new heights, or at least keep you from faceplanting again.”

With that, he extended his hand towards you, a gesture of encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering as you met his gaze, but the absurdity of the situation was too much to resist. Taking a deep breath, you grasped his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Okay, Mr. Walking Coach. Show me the way,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He positioned himself next to you, his grip firm yet gentle. “First lesson: Keep your center of gravity low. Think like a ninja! Light on your feet!”

You couldn’t help but snort at his ridiculousness, the tension of your earlier fall dissipating as you stood next to him. “Ninja? Really? You think I’m going to be stealthy when I can barely stand?”

“Exactly! You’re going to be a stealthy ninja who, like a graceful gazelle, glides across the floor!” he exclaimed, his arms gesturing dramatically as he took a step back to give you space.

With his comedic antics distracting you from your nerves, you took a tentative step forward, wobbling a bit but managing to keep your balance. “See? Look at me! I’m practically a gazelle!” you proclaimed with mock bravado, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Gorgeous! Absolutely majestic!” Sunghoon exclaimed, feigning applause as you took another step. “But you know, a gazelle might want to avoid falling on its face. You should really work on that.”

You shot him a glare, but a smile broke through your facade. “You’re such an idiot.”

“That’s why I’m here!” he laughed, inching closer again, still holding your hand to steady you. “Now, let’s go for round two. This time, no falling!”

With a deep breath, you focused on your balance, your heart racing not just from the thrill of standing but from the way his warm hand felt enveloping yours. You took another step, then another, Sunghoon’s encouraging words ringing in your ears, his steady presence anchoring you.

But with every shaky movement, reality set in. You were acutely aware of the gulf between the two of you—the wealth and expectations that surrounded his life, the disparity that loomed like a shadow over this moment of laughter and lightness. He was an heir, bound for greatness, while you felt like a mere accident in his world.

“Just a few more steps,” he encouraged, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he sensed your hesitation. “You’re doing great!”

With his support, you managed to make a few shaky strides, laughter bubbling up with each unsteady movement. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to walk out of here after all,” you joked, feeling lighter with each step.

“See? I told you! You’re going to be my ninja walking prodigy!” he laughed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But as the moment drew on, a bittersweet realization sank in. Once you were well enough to leave, his part in your story would fade into the background like a forgotten dream. You could already picture it—a world where he resumed his life, his responsibilities, leaving you behind like a chapter closed.

Yet here you were, the two of you intertwined in this moment, laughing and learning how to walk again, and for a fleeting second, you wished it could last just a little bit longer.

THE DAY HAD FINALLY COME,

THE ONE YOU DREADED MORE THAN ANYTHING.

Weeks had passed, and despite all the mental notes you made to remind yourself that this was temporary, you couldn’t shake the attachment you’d developed to Sunghoon. Maybe it was the routine, maybe it was the fact that he had been there every step of the way while you healed, or maybe, it was something else entirely—something more dangerous.

You watched from a distance as Sunghoon handled your final hospital bill. The cold sterility of the hospital didn’t bother you as much as the thought of walking out of it without him by your side. He paid the fees like he had promised from the start, his sleek credit card effortlessly handling the expenses that you knew would have financially crippled you otherwise.

You tried to convince yourself that this attachment, this gnawing feeling of loss before he even left, was simply because you had spent too much time with him. After all, you practically lived together for months. But even telling yourself that over and over again didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes, the prickling of tears that threatened to spill.

You took a deep breath and wiped them away quickly, just as you saw him walking towards you, his tall figure cutting through the hospital corridor with ease. His face was calm as usual, though his eyes held a quietness that made your chest tighten. You forced a smile, the same one you always gave him, but this time, it carried a weight of sadness you couldn’t shake.

At least Mrs. Park wasn’t here. You couldn’t imagine how much worse you’d feel with her scrutinizing every little move, every interaction, like she was tallying it up in some invisible ledger. But in this quiet space, where it was just you and Sunghoon, you started to believe that maybe… just maybe, he was worth more than the money she flaunted, more than the reputation you helped him protect.

He smiled back at you, but even that felt distant, as if the finality of this moment weighed on him too. His hand rested casually on your shoulder, the same way it had for the past few weeks, a gesture of familiarity that was once just for show in front of others, but now… now it felt different.

As you walked out of the hospital together, the flashing of cameras and the swarm of paparazzi waiting outside hit you like a tidal wave. They were here, of course they were. The media had been all over this—your fake relationship, the story of his girlfriend who nursed him back to health after an accident. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that the only reason you were here was because of a fractured leg caused by that same accident. It had all been to protect him from public backlash, to clean up his image, to shield him from the criticism that would have followed.

But now, as his hand lingered on your shoulder longer than necessary, as he guided you through the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t fake at all. Not anymore.

The car ride back was filled with a silence that felt almost suffocating. You stared out of the window, watching the city blur by, your heart heavy with the realization that this was it. Your leg had healed, the bills were paid, and now Sunghoon was going to disappear from your life just as quickly as he had entered it.

You sighed, the sadness in your chest growing. This was it. The end of whatever this was, of whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.

The car came to a stop at a quiet street, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. It wasn’t your home, not really—just the rented apartment you could barely afford. But it was where you were headed, and it was the place where Sunghoon would say goodbye.

You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped your lips, filled with an aching sadness that even you couldn’t fully comprehend. It felt almost comedic, like the setup for some bad joke. The rich boy, the poor girl, the fake relationship—they always ended like this, right?

“You seem to not enjoy getting better,” Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, his words light, almost teasing, but you could hear the undercurrent of something more.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, not even bothering to hide your emotions anymore. What was the point? “How could I enjoy it when it meant you would go away?” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered, before you had a chance to stop them.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. The soft hum of the engine faded into the background as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to understand the weight of your words.

And then, in one swift movement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll always be there,” he whispered, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Wherever you are, in bad shape or sick, I’ll be there.”

“Why?” You barely recognized your own voice, so soft, so vulnerable, as if you were afraid of the answer.

His lips were so close now, his breath fanning across your skin, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you didn’t, when you stayed frozen in place, his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a kiss, just the softest touch, like a promise not yet fully spoken.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Even when you get sick, I’ll be there. Waiting for you… to get well soon.”

His words were like a balm to your aching heart, but also a dagger to the fear you’d been holding inside. You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—relief, confusion, frustration, but above all, hope.

And just like that, everything between you shifted.

© senascoop | tumblr

[fastandcarlos]

Baby Sibling : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: whilst all his friends are having siblings, your son is keen for the two of you to start thinking about when he can have one too

Puzzled eyes looked to Max as your son refused to hold your hands as the two of you picked him up from school. It was routine for you both whenever Max was home, it had been since your son started school a little over a year ago, something you had done every single day together. 

Max shrugged back at you as his empty hand felt lost. His eyes glanced at your son who was a couple of steps ahead of you, scuffing his feet along the path. Neither of you quite knew what to say, it was unlike anything that you had ever seen from your son before.  

As you arrived home, your son immediately took himself into the living room where his toy box was. Max followed you into the kitchen as you took his bag to unpack and check for any letters or drawings. A huff came from Max as he took a seat, his head resting in his hands as he tried to piece together the pieces to figure out what was going on. 

“I don’t understand,” you sighed as you took a seat opposite Max. “His teacher didn’t say anything to make me think that something happened at school today.” 

“He was smiling until he saw us,” Max informed you. 

Your heart broke as you listened to Max, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Your son trudged in silently, picking up his water bottle that was on the side, turning his back to you both and drinking from it. 

“Evan, do you want to play a game?” Max offered, choosing one of his favourite things to do whenever his dad was home. “What about that board game you bought the other day?” 

Your son’s head shook as he took the bottle and headed back into the room. You both were sat in shock, mouths wide in disbelief at how distant Evan had suddenly become. 

“He’s quite sensitive, maybe he just needs a little bit of time,” you suggested, trying your best to reassure the two of you. 

“But we’re his parents, he should talk to us about anything,” Max despairingly sighed. 

Attempts were made by the two of you for most of the night but Evan gave you nothing. Whenever you struck up conversation you were met by short, snappy answers, or just the shake or nod of his head. 

As night arrived, Max was determined to unpick what was troubling your son, sitting down at the end of his bed after you’d tucked him in. You stayed in the room with them both, leaning against the doorframe and giving them both some space. There was a pause in the room once Max sat down, trying his best to figure out the right thing to say so that he didn’t worry Evan more. It took a moment, but eventually he cleared his throat. 

“Evan, you know if something, or someone, is upsetting you, mummy and I are here to help you, right?” Max asked him, keeping his eyes firmly on him. “We’re always here to help you, no matter what the problem is.” 

Evan nodded as Max spoke, shuffling slightly closer towards him. “I’m the only one at school who doesn’t have a brother or sister and people keep leaving me out of their conversations.” 

Max’s eyes flickered across to you to make sure that you were listening. “You’re feeling a little left out buddy? Are you saying that you want to have a little brother or sister?” 

Evan continued to nod back at Max, “I think it would be fun to have one.” 

A sigh of relief came from you, glad that it wasn’t anything worse that was troubling your son. It still upset you to know that he was being left out at school, but at least it was something that could be fixed. Most likely. 

“There’s a lot of reasons why people do, or don’t, have little brothers and sisters,” Max tried his best to explain to Evan. “It’s not always an easy thing for families to do.” 

“Is it tricky for you and mummy?” Evan enquired. 

Having another child was a subject that you and Max had barely even thought about. You were so busy, and Max’s schedule was insane, but with Evan nearing six, you didn’t want the gap between your children to be too big. 

“A little bit,” Max weakly smiled, not wanting to lie to your son. “Daddy works away a lot, don’t I? And mummy does a lot of caring for you, but hopefully one day it won’t be quite so difficult for us to potentially have a baby sibling for you buddy.” 

You weren’t entirely sure if Evan understood what Max was saying to him, but he nodded anyway. Max stood up and walked over to your son, pressing a relieved kiss to the top of his head as he began to say goodnight. 

“Can I do anything to help make it happen daddy?” Evan whimpered as Max stepped away from him, his hopeful eyes looking between you both. “If it’s tricky, then maybe I can help you and mummy.” 

“You just need to keep being awesome,” Max cheerfully told him, “that’s the only thing that me and mummy ever want from you, you’re already the best.” 

You went in to say goodnight to your son too before following Max out of the room. There was silence between you as you headed into your bedroom, both perching on your respective sides of the bed, giving yourselves a moment to debrief and take in the conversation that you’d just had. 

“Why do I feel guilty?” Max asked, breaking the silence. “It’s not up to anyone else but us when we have another child, but I hate that it’s leaving him feeling left out at school.” 

“Maybe it’s the shove that we need to do something about it,” you responded. 

Max’s body jumped, quickly turning to look at you. His smile was wide as he listened to you. “Are you saying you want to have another baby? I never thought you were keen on another with how much I’m away right now.” 

“I mean it would be tough,” you admitted, “but we’re not getting any younger, and I don’t want Evan being a single child forever. I think we’d be able to do it, it would be tough, but we’d smash it don’t you think?” 

“Absolutely, we’ve always been a great team,” Max reminded you, “and I can make sure that I’m home more often to help out too.” 

“Have we just agreed to a second baby right now?” 

“I think we might’ve done,” Max laughed, laying himself down and pulling you down with him. “Promise me that you’re not just saying this to please me, or to please Evan either.” 

“I promise, as long as you do as well.” 

Max nodded eagerly, leaning across and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your body turned inwards so that you were resting in Max’s side, feeling his arm wrap around you to keep you nice and close, exactly where he wanted you. 

“Do you think there’s any harm in getting a bit of practice in now? We might need it,” Max whispered. 

“I’d say there’s no time like the present.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[dulcescorderitas]

dean seeing you wearing his leather jacket

parings: dean winchester x reader

warnings: 18+, implied smut

the sound of the motel door clicking shut barely registered, your focus locked on the way dean froze in his tracks. his boots scuffed against the cheap carpet as his green eyes swept over you, darkening with every second they lingered. his leather jacket hung loose on your shoulders, the sleeves just a little too long, the worn fabric brushing your thighs. underneath, there was nothing but your skin and the thin scrap of lace you called panties, the kind he liked so much—the ones he always swore he’d tear off one day.

his breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he raked a hand through his hair, the gesture doing little to tame the mess of it. "jesus christ," he muttered, his voice low, rough, like gravel under a slow-moving car. "you’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?"

you smiled, a sly, knowing curve of your lips, and turned slightly, letting the jacket part just enough to give him a better view of the bare skin beneath. "you left this behind," you teased, your voice soft, sweet, laced with heat. "thought I’d try it on."

he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the floor, and you saw the muscle in his jaw tick again. "looks better on you than it ever did on me," he murmured, his voice thick with something darker now, his eyes glued to the expanse of your thighs where the hem of the jacket just barely covered you. "but you knew that already, didn’t you?"

his hands were on you before you could answer, rough palms sliding under the leather to grab your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to prove to himself you were real. he tugged you closer, your chest brushing his as he bent his head, his lips hovering just above yours.

"what am i supposed to do with you, huh?" he rasped, his breath hot against your mouth, his eyes flicking between your face and the sliver of lace peeking out from beneath the jacket. "wearin’ my jacket... lookin’ like this..."

you wrapped your arms around his neck, the worn leather creaking softly as it shifted with you. "i don’t know," you whispered, letting your lips ghost over his. "but i’m sure you’ll think of something."

he growled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through you, and suddenly his lips were on yours, hard and claiming. his hands moved to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed. the jacket slipped from your shoulders as he pushed you down, his body covering yours in an instant.

"you drive me fuckin’ crazy," he muttered against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously as he kissed and bit his way lower. "always pushin’ my buttons, always knowin’ exactly what you’re doin’ to me."

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with one sharp motion, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked at you laid out beneath him. "you wanna tease me, baby?" he said, his voice low, dangerous in the best way. "then you’d better be ready to take what’s comin’."

and with that, he was on you, his hands and mouth leaving no inch of you untouched, the night stretching out into something wild, something unforgettable, something that felt like it belonged to just the two of you and the leather jacket tossed carelessly to the floor.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze